He sat for a long while, pondering what he should say. Finally he decided on the
truth.
“I had no defence. The information in the article was wrong.”
“When I hacked your computer and read your email exchange with Berger, there
were plenty of references to the Wennerström affair, but you two kept discussing
practical details about the trial and nothing about what actually happened. What
was it that went wrong?”
“Lisbeth, I can’t let the real story get out. I fell into a trap. Erika and I are quite clear
that it would damage our credibility even further if we told anyone what really
happened.”
“Listen, Kalle Blomkvist, yesterday afternoon you sat here preaching about
friendship and trust and stuff. I’m not going to put the story on the Net.”
Blomkvist protested. It was the middle of the night. He could not face thinking
about the whole thing now. She went on stubbornly sitting there until he gave in.
He went to the bathroom and washed his face and put the coffeepot on. Then he
came back to the bed and told her about how his old schoolfriend Robert Lindberg,
in a yellow Mälar-30 in the guest marina in Arholma, had aroused his curiosity.
“You mean that your buddy was lying?”
“No, not at all. He told me exactly what he knew, and I could verify each and every
word in documents from the audit at SIB. I even went to Poland and photographed
the sheet-metal shack where this huge big Minos Company was housed. I
interviewed several of the people who had been employed at the company. They
all said exactly the same thing.”
“I don’t get it.”
Blomkvist sighed. It was a while before he spoke again.
“I had a damned good story. I still hadn’t confronted Wennerström himself, but the
story was airtight; if I had published it at that moment I really would have shook
him up. It might not have led to an indictment for fraud—the deal had already
been approved by the auditors—but I would have damaged his reputation.”
“What went wrong?”