Harriet Vanger frowned. He met her gaze. Then he took off the ridiculous scarf he
was wearing, turned down his collar, and showed her the stripe left from the noose.
It was still red and inflamed, and he would probably always have a scar to remind
him of Martin Vanger.
“Your brother had hung me from a hook, but by the grace of God my partner
arrived in time to stop him killing me.”
Harriet’s eyes suddenly burned.
“I think you’d better tell me the story from the beginning.”
It took more than an hour. He told her who he was and what he was working on. He
described how he came to be given the assignment by Henrik Vanger. He
explained how the police’s investigation had come to a dead end, and he told her
of Henrik’s long investigation, and finally he told her how a photograph of her with
friends in Järnvägsgatan in Hedestad had led to the uncovering of the sorrows
behind the mystery of her disappearance and its appalling sequel, which had
ended with Martin Vanger’s suicide.
As he talked, dusk set in. The men quit work for the day, fires were started, and pots
began to simmer. Blomkvist noticed that Jeff stayed close to his boss and kept a
watchful eye on him. The cook served them dinner. They each had another beer.
When he was finished Harriet sat for a long time in silence.
At length she said: “I was so happy that my father was dead and the violence was
over. It never occurred to me that Martin...I’m glad he’s dead.”
“I can understand that.”
“Your story doesn’t explain how you knew that I was alive.”
“After we realised what had happened, it wasn’t so difficult to work out the rest. To
disappear, you needed help. Anita was your confidante and the only one you could
even consider. You were friends, and she had spent the summer with you. You
stayed out at your father’s cabin. If there was anyone you had confided in, it had to
be her—and also she had just got her driver’s licence.”
Harriet looked at him with an unreadable expression.