“It’s a choice that I made. I could discuss the moral and intellectual aspects of what I
do; we could talk all night, but it wouldn’t change anything. Try to look at it this
way: a human being is a shell made of skin keeping the cells, blood, and chemical
components in place. Very few end up in the history books. Most people succumb
and disappear without a trace.”
“You kill women.”
“Those of us who murder for pleasure—I’m not the only one with this hobby—we
live a complete life.”
“But why Harriet? Your own sister?”
In a second Martin grabbed him by the hair.
“What happened to her, you little bastard? Tell me.”
“What do you mean?” Blomkvist gasped. He tried to turn his head to lessen the pain
in his scalp. The chain tightened round his neck.
“You and Salander. What have you come up with?”
“Let go, for heaven’s sake. We’re talking.”
Martin Vanger let go of his hair and sat cross-legged in front of Blomkvist. He took a
knife from his jacket and opened it. He set the point against the skin just below
Blomkvist’s eye. Blomkvist forced himself to meet Martin’s gaze.
“What the hell happened to her, bastard?”
“I don’t understand. I thought you killed her.”
Martin Vanger stared at Blomkvist for a long moment. Then he relaxed. He got up
and wandered around the room, thinking. He threw the knife on the floor and
laughed before he came back to face Blomkvist.
“Harriet, Harriet, always Harriet. We tried...to talk to her. Gottfried tried to teach
her. We thought that she was one of us and that she would accept her duty, but
she was just an ordinary...cunt. I had her under control, or so I thought, but she was
planning to tell Henrik, and I realised that I couldn’t trust her. Sooner or later she
was going to tell someone about me.”