“Did he say how?”
“I had a hard job understanding that too. He was screaming and shouting about all the amazing things he’d done and all the fancy people he knew. All the same, I got a feeling that he’d spent time in the nut house and had refused to take his medicines. ‘They tried to poison me,’ he yelled. ‘But I ran, I climbed down a mountain to the lake.’ At least that’s what I think he said. That he’d run away from some doctors.”
“From a mountain, down to a lake?”
“I think so.”
“Did you have the impression that he’d been in hospital in Sweden or abroad?” Bublanski said.
“In Sweden, I think. He pointed behind him, as if it was somewhere around here. But then again, he was always pointing all over the place, as if the heavens and the gods he’d been doing battle with were also here, somewhere around the corner.”
“I see,” Bublanski said, keen to get away as soon as possible.
* * *
—
At the desk in her hotel room Lisbeth noted that the men from Svavelsjö, among others their president Sandström, were leaving the Strandvägen address. She would have to think about her next steps.
She closed down her computer and saw that Blomkvist had got dressed and was sitting on the bed, reading on his mobile. She really didn’t want to talk about her own life, or hear how she was actually quite nice deep down, or whatever Mikael had been trying to tell her.
“What are you up to?”
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m working on the Sherpa story,” he said.
“Are you getting anywhere?”
“I’m checking out this Engelman.”
“Nice guy, isn’t he?”
“Absolutely. Just your type.”
“And then there’s Mats Sabin,” she said.
“Yes, him too.”
“And what do you think about him?”
“I haven’t really got that far.”
“I think you can forget him,” she said.
He was curious and looked up.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m guessing it’s one of those things you pick up and get all excited about because there are so many different connections. But I don’t think there’s anything to it.”
“Why not?”
Salander was thinking about Camilla and Svavelsjö as she walked over to the window and looked down at Luntmakargatan through a gap in the curtains. Maybe she ought to apply some pressure after all.
“Why not?” he repeated.
“You found his name rather quickly, didn’t you? Before you were even sure what exactly was said.”
“True.”
“You’d be better off going back in history, to colonial times.”
“Why’s that?”
“Isn’t the whole Everest thing one big hangover from those days, with white climbers and people with a different skin colour carrying their gear?”
“Well, perhaps so.”
“I think you should focus on that, and try to find out how Nima Rita would have expressed himself.”
“Would you mind saying exactly what you mean, for once?”
* * *
—
Blomkvist sat on the bed, waiting for her to answer, but noticed how she seemed to be drifting off again, just as she had that morning when she’d been sitting in the armchair. He decided he might as well check it out himself and he began to pack. He would get going and meet up with her again later, so he put his laptop in the bag and stood up to hug her, and to tell her to take care. But she did not react even when he came close to her.
“Earth to Lisbeth,” he said, feeling a little silly, and only then did her eyes begin to focus, and she looked at his bag.
It seemed to be telling her something.
“You can’t go home,” she said.
“In that case, I’ll go somewhere else.”
“I mean it,” she said. “You can’t go home, or to anybody else you’re close to. They’re watching you.”
“I can look after myself.”
“You can’t. Give me your mobile.”
“Just stop it. Not again.”
“Give it to me.”
He thought that she had already messed around enough with his mobile, and was about to put it in his pocket. But she snatched it from him, ignoring his protests, and was immediately hard at work with programme codes. So he let her get on with it. She had always done as she pleased with his computers. But after a few minutes he said rather testily:
“What are you doing?”
She looked up, with the shadow of a smile on her face.
“I like that,” she said.
“What do you like?”
“Those words.”
“Which words?”
“ ‘What are you doing?’ Can you repeat them, in the same tone of voice?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just say it.”
She held out the mobile.
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” he said.
“Great, perfect.”
She fiddled some more with his mobile and then handed it back.
“What have you done?”
“I’m going to be able to see where you are, and hear what’s going on around you.”
“What?! So I won’t have any private life at all?”
“You can have whatever private life you like, and I’m not going to listen in unnecessarily, at least not unless you say those words.”
“So I can go on talking crap about you?”
“What?”
“That was a joke, Lisbeth.”
“OK.”
He smiled.
Maybe she smiled too. He put his mobile away, looked at her again and said, “Thank you.”
“Keep a low profile now,” she said.