“As I understand it, Cochran Farm is one of the bigger ranches.”
“We’re one of the largest in all of Australia,” Jeff said with a certain pride in his
voice. “We run about 9,000 sheep here in the Makawaka district, but we have
stations in both New South Wales and Western Australia. We have 60,000 plus
head.”
They came out from the ravine into a hilly but gentler landscape. Blomkvist
suddenly heard shots. He saw sheep cadavers, big bonfires, and a dozen ranch
hands. Several men seemed to be carrying rifles. They were apparently
slaughtering sheep.
Involuntarily, he thought of the biblical sacrificial lambs.
Then he saw a woman with short blonde hair wearing jeans and a red-and-white
checked shirt. Jeff stopped a few yards away from her.
“Hi, Boss. We’ve got a tourist,” he said.
Blomkvist got out of the Jeep and looked at her. She looked back with an
inquisitive expression.
“Hi, Harriet. It’s been a long time,” he said in Swedish.
None of the men who worked for Anita Cochran understood what he said, but they
all saw her reaction. She took a step back, looking shocked. The men saw her
response, stopped their joking, and straightened up, ready to intervene against this
odd stranger. Jeff’s friendliness suddenly evaporated and he advanced toward
Blomkvist.
Blomkvist was keenly aware how vulnerable he was. A word from Anita Cochran
and he would be done for.
Then the moment passed. Harriet Vanger waved her hand in a peaceful gesture
and the men moved back. She came over to Blomkvist and met his gaze. Her face
was sweaty and dirty. Her blonde hair had darker roots. Her face was older and
thinner, but she had grown into the beautiful woman that her confirmation portrait
had promised.
“Have we met before?” she said.