She used Blomkvist’s cut-up T-shirt to wipe fingerprints from the handcuffs, the
knife, and the golf club. She picked up her PET bottle.
“What are you doing?”
“Get dressed and hurry up. It’s getting light outside.”
Blomkvist stood on shaky legs and managed to pull on his boxers and jeans. He
slipped on his trainers. Salander stuffed his socks into her jacket pocket and then
stopped him.
“What exactly did you touch down here?”
Blomkvist looked around. He tried to remember. At last he said that he had
touched nothing except the door and the keys. Salander found the keys in Martin
Vanger’s jacket, which he had hung over the chair. She wiped the door handle and
the switch and turned off the light. She helped Blomkvist up the basement stairs
and told him to wait in the passageway while she put the golf club back in its
proper place. When she came back she was carrying a dark T-shirt that belonged to
Martin Vanger.
“Put this on. I don’t want anyone to see you scampering about with a bare chest
tonight.”
Blomkvist realised that he was in a state of shock. Salander had taken charge, and
passively he obeyed her instructions. She led him out of Martin’s house. She held
on to him the whole time. As soon as they stepped inside the cottage, she stopped
him.
“If anyone sees us and asks what we were doing outside tonight, you and I went
out to the point for a nighttime walk, and we had sex out there.”
“Lisbeth, I can’t...”
“Get in the shower. Now.”
She helped him off with his clothes and propelled him to the bathroom. Then she
put on water for coffee and made half a dozen thick sandwiches on rye bread with
cheese and liver sausage and dill pickles. She sat down at the kitchen table and was
thinking hard when he came limping back into the room. She studied the bruises