Free The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson Page A

swung south. Have we alerted Malmö?”
    “Yes, and Helsingborg, Landskrona, and Trelleborg. And Karlskrona. I’m thinking of the ferry to the east.”
    Erlander rubbed the back of his neck.
    “He has almost a twenty-four-hour head start now. He could be clean out of the country. How was Kaspersson found?”
    “She turned up at a house on the outskirts of Seglora.”
    “She what?”
    “She knocked—”
    “You mean she’s alive?”
    “I’m sorry; I’m not expressing myself clearly. The Kaspersson woman kicked on the door of a house at 3:10 this morning, scaring the hell out of a couple and their kids, who were all asleep. She was barefoot and suffering from severe hypothermia. Her hands were tied behind her back. She’s at the hospital in Borås, reunited with her husband.”
    “Amazing. I think we all assumed she was dead.”
    “Sometimes you can be surprised. But here’s the bad news: Assistant County Police Chief Spångberg has been here since 5:00 this morning. She’s made it plain that she wants you to rush over to Borås to interview the woman.”
    It was Saturday morning and Blomkvist assumed that the
Millennium
offices would be empty. He called Malm as the train was coming into Stockholm and asked him what had prompted the tone of his text message.
    “Have you had breakfast?” Malm said.
    “On the train.”
    “OK. Come over to my place and I’ll make you something more substantial.”
    “What’s this about?”
    “I’ll tell you when you get here.”
    Blomkvist took the tunnelbana to Medborgarplatsen and walked to Allhelgonagatan. Malm’s boyfriend, Arnold Magnusson, opened the door to him. No matter how hard Blomkvist tried, he could never rid himself of the feeling that he was looking at an advertisement for something. Magnusson was often onstage at the Dramaten, and was one of Sweden’s most popular actors. It was always a shock to meet him in person. Blomkvist was not ordinarily impressed by celebrity, but Magnusson had such a distinctive appearance and was so familiar from his roles, in particular for playing the irascible but honest Inspector Frisk in a wildly popular TV series. Blomkvist always expected him to behave just like Gunnar Frisk.
    “Hello, Micke,” Magnusson said.
    “Hello,” Blomkvist said.
    “In the kitchen.”
    Malm was serving up freshly made waffles with cloudberry jam and coffee. Blomkvist’s appetite was revived even before he sat down. Malm wanted to know what had happened in Gosseberga. Blomkvist gave him a succinct account. He was into his third waffle before he remembered to ask what was going on.
    “We had a little problem at
Millennium
while you were away Blomkvisting in Göteborg.”
    Blomkvist looked at Malm intently.
    “What was that?”
    “Oh, nothing serious. Erika has taken the job of editor in chief at
Svenska Morgon-Posten
. She finished at
Millennium
yesterday.”
    It was several seconds before Blomkvist could absorb the whole impact of the news. He sat there stunned, but did not doubt the truth of it.
    “Why didn’t she tell anyone before?” he said at last.
    “Because she wanted to tell you first, and you’ve been running around being unreachable, and because she probably thought you had your hands full with the Salander story. Then she found herself with an unbearably guilty conscience and was feeling terrible. And not one of us had noticed a thing.”
    Blomkvist shut his eyes. “Goddamnit,” he said.
    “I know. Now it turns out that you’re the last one in the office to find out. I wanted to have the chance to tell you myself so that you’d understandwhat happened and not think anyone was doing anything behind your back.”
    “No, I don’t think that. But, Jesus. It’s wonderful that she got the job, if she wants to work at
SMP
, but what the hell are we going to do?”
    “Malin’s going to be acting editor in chief starting with the next issue.”
    “Eriksson?”
    “Unless you want to be editor in chief . . .”
    “Good