“The Wennerström affair?” Frode chuckled. “Yes, that did have a certain amusement
value. But to tell you the truth, it was the publicity surrounding the trial that caused
Herr Vanger to take notice of you. He wants to offer you a freelance assignment. I’m
only a messenger. What the matter concerns is something only he can explain.”
“This is one of the odder calls I’ve had in a long time. Let me think about it. How can
I reach you?”
Blomkvist sat looking at the disorder on his desk. He could not imagine what sort of
job Vanger would want to offer him, but the lawyer had succeeded in arousing his
curiosity.
He Googled the Vanger company. It might be in the backwaters but it seemed to
be in the media almost daily. He saved a dozen company analyses and then
searched for Frode, and Henrik and Martin Vanger.
Martin Vanger appeared diligent in his capacity as CEO of the Vanger Corporation.
Frode kept a low profile; he was on the board of the Hedestad Country Club and
active in the Rotary Club. Henrik Vanger appeared, with one exception, only in
articles giving the background of the company. The Hedestad Courier had
published a tribute to the former magnate on his eightieth birthday two years ago,
and it included a short sketch. He put together a folder of fifty pages or so. Then
finally he emptied his desk, sealed the cartons, and, having no idea whether he
would come back, went home.
Salander spent Christmas Eve at the Äppelviken Nursing Home in Upplands-Väsby.
She had brought presents: a bottle of eau de toilette by Dior and an English
fruitcake from Åhléns department store. She drank coffee as she watched the forty-
six-year-old woman who with clumsy fingers was trying to untie the knot on the
ribbon. Salander had tenderness in her eyes, but that this strange woman was her
mother never ceased to amaze her. She could recognise not the slightest
resemblance in looks or nature.