Free The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye: Continuing Stieg Larsson's Millennium Series by David Lagercrantz Page A

no. It’s what we talked about on the telephone.”
    “The hacker attack?”
    “And other things.”
    “And Leo?”
    “Him too.”
    “Then tell me, for God’s sake. Why the hell are you so interested in him?”
    “I’m not sure I
am
. I’m just trying to piece together some things.”
    “That’s clear as mud, Kalle Blomkvist.”
    “Oh?”
    “So there’s something you’re not telling me. Maybe you’re trying to protect your source?” she said.
    “Maybe.”
    “Bastard!”
    “Sorry.”
    Her face softened and she brushed back a lock of her hair.
    “I did actually think about Leo for a long time after we spoke,” she said.
    She drew the duvet closer around her. She was irresistible.
    “Did you come up with anything?” he asked her.
    “I remembered him promising to tell me what had made him so happy. But then when he was no longer happy it seemed heartless to press him.”
    “What made you think of that?”
    She hesitated and looked out of the window.
    “Probably because I was glad of his happiness, but I worried about it too. It was excessive.”
    “Perhaps he was in love.”
    “I asked him exactly that and he flatly denied it. We were in the bar at Riche, and that in itself was unusual. Leo hated crowds. But he had agreed to come and we were supposed to be discussing who would be taking over from me. Leo was impossible. As soon as I mentioned some names he changed the subject, he wanted to talk about love and life and he went into a monologue about his music. It was incomprehensible and pretty dull, frankly, something about being born to like certain harmonies and scales. I wasn’t really listening. He was on such a high that I was offended, and like a fool I went at him. ‘What’s going on? You’ve got to tell me.’ But he refused to say anything else. He couldn’t tell me, not yet. All he would say was that he had finally discovered where he belonged.”
    “He’d seen the light?”
    “Leo hated religion.”
    “So what was it?”
    “No idea. All I know is that it ended as quickly as it started, a few days later. He totally fell apart.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “It was just before Christmas a year and a half ago, my last day at Alfred Ögren. I’d had a farewell party at home and Leo hadn’t turned up, and that upset me. After all, we had been close.” She shot Blomkvist a look. “No need to be jealous.”
    “It takes more than that to make me jealous.”
    “I know. And I hate you for it. You could at least humour me by pretending. Anyway we had a harmless flirtation, Leo and I, around the time I met you. My life was a disaster, what with the divorce and everything, and that’s probably why I was so struck by the immense happiness he had suddenly found. Plus it was so at odds with his character. I had called him in the middle of the night and he was still in the office, which only upset me more. But he apologized so profusely that I forgave him, and when he asked me to come up for a nightcap I ran over there right away. I had no idea what to expect. Leo wasn’t exactly a workaholic, and there was no reason for him to be there that late. That room used to be his father’s office. There’s a Dardel hanging on the wall. A Haupt chest of drawers standing in the corner. Mind-boggling. Sometimes Leo would say he was embarrassed by it, by the obscene luxury. But that evening when I went up there … I can hardly describe it. His eyes glowed, and there was something new, something broken in his voice. He was trying his best to smile and look happy, but his eyes looked lost and sad. There was an empty bottle of burgundy and two used glasses on the chest of drawers. He had obviously had a visitor. We embraced and exchanged pleasantries, drank half a bottle of champagne and promised to stay in touch. But it was obvious his mind was elsewhere. In the end I said: ‘You don’t seem happy anymore.’ ‘I am happy,’ he said. ‘I’ve just …’ He didn’t finish the sentence. He was