The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest Read Online Free PDF Page B

know about his role?”
    “He’s one of the major players. He’s on sick leave for a slipped disk and lives in Smådalarö at present.”
    “OK . . . we’ll keep the lid on Säpo’s involvement for the time being. The focus right now is to be on the murder of a police officer.”
    “It’s going to be hard to keep this under wraps.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I sent Andersson to bring in Björck for a formal interrogation. That should be happening”—Bublanski looked at his watch—“yes, about now.”
    “You
what?”
    “I was rather hoping to have the pleasure of driving out to Smådalarö myself, but the events surrounding last night’s killing took precedence.”
    “I didn’t give anyone permission to arrest Björck.”
    “That’s true. But it’s not an arrest. I’m just bringing him in for questioning.”
    “Whichever, I don’t like it.”
    Bublanski leaned forward, almost as if to confide in the other man.
    “Richard, this is how it is. Salander has been subjected to a number of infringements of her rights, starting when she was a child. I do not mean for this to continue on my watch. You have the option to remove me as leader of the investigation . . . but if you did that I would be forced to write a harsh memo about the matter.”
    Ekström looked as if he had just swallowed something very sour.
    Gunnar Björck, on sick leave from his job as assistant chief of the immigration division of the Security Police, opened the door of his summer house in Smådalarö and looked up at a powerfully built blond man with a crew cut who wore a black leather jacket.
    “I’m looking for Gunnar Björck.”
    “That’s me.”
    “Curt Andersson, County Criminal Police.” The man held up his ID.
    “Yes?”
    “You are requested to accompany me to Kungsholmen to assist the police in their investigations into the case involving Lisbeth Salander.”
    “Uh . . . there must be some sort of misunderstanding.”
    “There’s no misunderstanding,” Andersson said.
    “You don’t understand. I’m a police officer myself. Save yourself making a big mistake: check it out with your superior officers.”
    “My superior is the one who wants to talk to you.”
    “I have to make a call and—”
    “You can make your call from Kungsholmen.”
    Björck felt suddenly resigned.
It’s happened. I’m going to be arrested. That goddamn fucking Blomkvist. And fucking Salander
.
    “Am I being arrested?” he said.
    “Not at the moment. But we can arrange for that if you like.”
    “No . . . no, of course I’ll come with you. Naturally I’d want to assist my colleagues in the police force.”
    “All right, then,” Andersson said, walking into the hallway to keep a close eye on Björck as he turned off the coffee machine and picked up his coat.
    In the late morning it dawned on Blomkvist that his rental car was still at the Gosseberga farm, but he was so exhausted that he did not have the strength or the means to get out there to fetch it, much less drive safely for any distance. Erlander kindly arranged for a crime scene tech to take the car back on his way home.
    “Think of it as compensation for the way you were treated last night.”
    Blomkvist thanked him and took a taxi to City Hotel on Lorensbergsgatan. He booked in for the night for 800 kronor and went straight to his room and undressed. He sat naked on the bed and took Salander’s Palm Tungsten T3 from the inside pocket of his jacket, weighing it in his hand. He was still amazed that it had not been confiscated when Paulsson frisked him, but Paulsson presumably thought it was Blomkvist’s own, and he had never been formally taken into custody and searched. He thought for a moment and then slipped it into a compartment of his laptop case, where he had also put Salander’s DVD marked “Bjurman,” which Paulsson had also missed. He knew that technically he was withholding evidence, but these were the things that Salander would no doubt