He read Lisbeth’s message again, and then documents she had attached about the presumed relative in Colorado, Robert Carson. Although his opinion may have been influenced by the research, Carson struck him as a cheerful and energetic man, not unlike Forsell himself, and without really giving it much thought he dialled the number Salander had supplied.
“Bob speaking,” a voice answered.
Blomkvist introduced himself, and was then unsure how to explain what the call was about. He began with flattery.
“I read online that you have a supergene.”
Carson laughed. “Impressive, don’t you think?”
“Very. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all, I’m reading a boring paper, so I’d much rather talk about my DNA. Is it a science publication you work for?”
“Not exactly. I’m investigating a suspicious death.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s a homeless man, between fifty-four and fifty-six years old, with several fingers and toes amputated. He was found dead in Stockholm just over a week ago. He had the same variant in his EPAS1 gene as you do. In all likelihood, you and he are third or fourth cousins.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but incredible that you’ve made the connection. What’s his name?”
“That’s just the thing. We don’t know. All we’ve been able to establish is that you and he are related.”
“So how can I help?”
“I don’t honestly know. But my colleague thinks the man may have been a skilled porter on high-altitude expeditions, and that he was involved in some major incident. That would explain how he got his injuries. Are there any Sherpas in your family who fit that description?”
“My God, I should think there are any number of them if we look at the extended family. I think it’s fair to say that we’re pretty extreme.”
“Do you have anything more specific?”
“Give me some time to think about it, then I’ll probably find something. I’ve written up a whole family tree that includes biographical data. Do you have any more details you could send me?”
Blomkvist thought for a moment. Then he said:
“If you promise to treat them confidentially, I can send over the autopsy report and the DNA analysis.”
“I give you my word.”
“I’ll get them to you right away. I’d be very grateful if you could take an urgent look at them.”
Carson was silent for a while.
“Do you know,” he said, “it would be an honour. It feels good to have had a relative in Sweden, although I’m sorry that he had such a hard time.”
“That does seem to have been the case. A friend of mine met him.”
“What happened?”
“He was very agitated and gabbled something about Johannes Forsell, our current Minister of Defence. He was on an Everest expedition in May 2008.”
“May 2008, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Wasn’t that when Klara Engelman died?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s funny.”
“In what way?”
“I did actually have a relative who was on that expedition, a bit of a legend in fact. But he died three, maybe four years ago.”
“Then he could hardly have turned up in Stockholm.”
“No.”
“I can send over lists of the Sherpas I know were on the mountain then—that might give you some clues.”
“That would be helpful.”
“Not that I actually think this has anything to do with Everest,” Blomkvist said, more to himself than to Carson. “There’s quite some distance separating this man from the Minister of Defence.”
“You want me to tackle this with an open mind?”
“I guess so. I was fascinated to read your life story.”
“Thanks,” Carson said. “Send the stuff over and I’ll be in touch.”
Blomkvist hung up and thought for a while, and then wrote a thank-you to Salander, telling her about Forsell and Everest, and Mats Sabin, and everything else. She might as well have the whole picture.
* * *
—
Lisbeth saw the e-mail at ten in the evening, but she did not read it. She had other things on her mind. Besides, she was in the middle of a row.
“Can’t you stop staring at your bloody laptop?” Paulina snapped.
Salander stopped staring at her bloody laptop and looked up at Paulina instead. She was standing right by the desk with her long, curly hair loose, and her slanting, expressive eyes full of tears and anger.
“Thomas is going to kill me.”
“But you said you could go to your parents in Munich.”
“He’ll follow me there and soon have them wrapped around his little finger. They love him, don’t ask me why. Or at least they think they do.”
Salander nodded and tried to think clearly. Would it after all be better to wait? No, she decided, no. She could not hold back any longer, and she definitely couldn’t take Paulina with her to Stockholm. She had to go there at once—and by herself. She could not afford to remain passive, stuck in the past. She now had to follow the chase at closer quarters. If not, others would suffer, especially with people like Galinov on the scene.
“Shall I have a word with them?” she said.
“With my parents?”
“Yes.”
“Not on your life.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a social freak, Lisbeth, don’t you see that?” Paulina barked at her. Then she grabbed her handbag and marched out, slamming the door behind her.
Salander weighed up whether or not to run after her, but she remained frozen to the spot by her computer. She decided to try hacking the surveillance cameras around the apartment on Strandvägen, where Camilla apparently still was. But it was slow work. And she was distracted by so much else. Not just Paulina’s outburst, but all sorts of things. Including Blomkvist’s e-mail, although in the circumstances that seemed to be the lowest of her priorities.
It said:
<Don’t know how you do it. Whoop whoop! Hats off. Should perhaps say that the beggar was going on about Defence Minister Johannes Forsell. “I took him. I left Mamsabin,” he said. Or something like that. (Maybe “Mats Sabin”?) Not clear. But Forsell did climb Everest in May 2008, and for a while looked like he was close to copping it too. I’m sending over a list of the Sherpas who were on the south side of the mountain at the time. Perhaps you’ll be able to spot something in there too. I’ve spoken to Robert Carson, who’s going to try to help me.