“Henrik. You gave me an assignment to dig up the truth about what happened to
Harriet. Did you expect the truth to be painless?”
The old man looked at him. Then his eyes widened.
“Martin?”
“He’s part of the story.”
Henrik closed his eyes.
“Now I have got a question for you,” Blomkvist said.
“Tell me.”
“Do you still want to know what happened? Even if it turns out to be painful and
even if the truth is worse than you imagined?”
Henrik gave Blomkvist a long look. Then he said, “I want to know. That was the
point of your assignment.”
“OK. I think I know what happened to Harriet. But there’s one last piece of the
puzzle missing before I’m sure.”
“Tell me.”
“No. Not today. What I want you to do right now is to rest. The doctors say that the
crisis is over and that you’re getting better.”
“Don’t you treat me like a child, young man.”
“I haven’t worked it all out yet. What I have is a theory. I am going out to find the
last piece of the puzzle. The next time you see me, I’ll tell you the whole story. It
may take a while, but I want you to know that I’m coming back and that you’ll know
the truth.”
Salander pulled a tarpaulin over her motorcycle and left it on the shady side of the
cabin. Then she got into Blomkvist’s borrowed car. The thunderstorm had returned
with renewed force, and just south of Gävle there was such a fierce downpour that