Berger has stopped arguing about the ads. Has she given up or does she have
something cooking? Your source at the editorial offices assured us that they were
on the brink of ruin, but it sounds as if they just hired a new person. Find out what’s
happening. Blomkvist has been working at Sandhamn for the past few weeks, but
no-one knows what he’s writing. He’s been seen at the editorial offices the past few
days. Can you arrange for an advance copy of the next issue?/HEW/
Nothing dramatic. Let him worry. Your goose is cooked, old man.
At 5:30 in the morning she turned off her computer and got out a new pack of
cigarettes. She had drunk four, no, five Cokes during the night, and now she got
out a sixth and went to sit on the sofa. She was wearing only knickers and a
washed-out camouflage shirt advertising Soldier of Fortune magazine, with the
slogan KILL THEM ALL AND LET GOD SORT THEM OUT. She realised that she was
cold, so she reached for a blanket, which she wrapped around herself.
She felt high, as if she had consumed some inappropriate and presumably illegal
substance. She focused her gaze on the street lamp outside the window and sat
still while her brain worked at top speed. Mamma—click—sister—click—Mimmi—
click—Holger Palmgren. Evil Fingers. And Armansky. The job. Harriet Vanger. Click.
Martin Vanger. Click. The golf club. Click. The lawyer Bjurman. Click. Every single
fucking detail that she couldn’t forget even if she tried.
She wondered whether Bjurman would ever take his clothes off in front of a
woman again, and if he did, how was he going to explain the tattoos on his
stomach? And the next time he went to the doctor how would he avoid taking off
his clothes?
And Mikael Blomkvist. Click.
She considered him to be a good person, possibly with a Practical Pig complex that
was sometimes a little too apparent. And he was unbearably naive with regard to
certain elementary moral issues. He had an indulgent and forgiving personality
that looked for explanations and excuses for the way people behaved, and he
would never get it that the raptors of the world understood only one language. She
felt almost awkwardly protective whenever she thought of him.