For the first time since he began his monologue1, the old man had managed to take Blomkvist by surprise. He had to ask him to repeat it to be sure he had heard correctly. Nothing in the cuttings had hinted at a murder.
“It was September 24, 1966. Harriet was sixteen and had just begun her second year at prep school. It was a Saturday, and it turned into the worst day of my life. I’ve gone over the events so many times that I think I can account for what happened in every minute of that day—except the most important thing.”
He made a sweeping2 gesture. “Here in this house a great number of my family had gathered. It was the loathsome3 annual dinner. It was a tradition which my father’s father introduced and which generally turned into pretty detestable affairs. The tradition came to an end in the eighties, when Martin simply decreed that all discussions about the business would take place at regular board meetings and by voting. That’s the best decision he ever made.”
“You said that Harriet was murdered…”
“Wait. Let me tell you what happened. It was a Saturday, as I said. It was also the day of the party, with the Children’s Day parade that was arranged by the sports club in Hedestad. Harriet had gone into the town during the day and watched the parade with some of her schoolfriends. She came back here to Hedeby Island just after 2:00 in the afternoon. Dinner was supposed to begin at 5:00, and she was expected to take part along with the other young people in the family.”
Vanger got up and went over to the window. He motioned Blomkvist to join him, and pointed4.
“At 2:15, a few minutes after Harriet came home, a dramatic accident occurred out there on the bridge. A man called Gustav Aronsson, brother of a farmer at ?sterg?rden—a smallholding on Hedeby Island—turned on to the bridge and crashed head-on with an oil truck. Evidently both were going too fast and what should have been a minor6 collision proved a catastrophe7. The driver of the truck, presumably instinctively8, turned his wheel away from the car, hit the railing of the bridge and the tanker9 flipped10 over; it ended up across the bridge with its trailer hanging over the edge. One of the railings had been driven into the oil tank and flammable heating oil began spurting11 out. In the meantime Aronsson sat pinned inside his car, screaming in pain. The tanker driver was also injured but managed to scramble12 out of his cabin.”
The old man went back to his chair.
“The accident actually had nothing to do with Harriet. But it was significant in a crucial way. A shambles13 ensued: people on both sides of the bridge hurried to try to help; the risk of fire was significant and a major alarm was sounded. Police officers, an ambulance, the rescue squad14, the fire brigade, reporters and sightseers arrived in rapid succession. Naturally all of them assembled on the mainland side; here on the island side we did what we could to get Aronsson out of the wreck15, which proved to be damnably difficult. He was pinned in and seriously injured.
“We tried to prise him loose with our bare hands, and that didn’t work. He would have to be cut or sawed out, but we couldn’t do anything that risked striking a spark; we were standing16 in the middle of a sea of oil next to a tanker truck lying on its side. If it had exploded we would have all been killed. It took a long time before we could get help from the mainland side; the truck was wedged right across the bridge, and climbing over it would have been the same as climbing over a bomb.”
Blomkvist could not resist the feeling that the old man was telling a meticulously17 rehearsed story, deliberately18 to capture his interest. The man was an excellent storyteller, no question. On the other hand, where was the story heading?
“What matters about the accident is that the bridge was blocked for twenty-four hours. Not until Sunday evening was the last of the oil pumped out, and then the truck could be lifted up by crane and the bridge opened for traffic. During these twenty-four hours Hedeby Island was to all intents and purposes cut off from the rest of the world. The only way to get across to the mainland was on a fireboat that was brought in to transport people from the small-boat harbour on this side to the old harbour below the church. For several hours the boat was used only by rescue crews—it wasn’t until quite late on Saturday night that stranded19 islanders began to be ferried across. Do you understand the significance of this?”
“I assume that something happened to Harriet here on the island,” Blomkvist said, “and that the list of suspects consists of the finite number of people trapped here. A sort of locked-room mystery in island format20?”
Vanger smiled ironically. “Mikael, you don’t know how right you are. Even I have read my Dorothy Sayers. These are the facts: Harriet arrived here on the island about 2:10. If we also include children and unmarried guests, all in all about forty family members arrived in the course of the day. Along with servants and residents, there were sixty-four people either here or near the farm. Some of them—the ones who were going to spend the night—were busy getting settled in neighbouring farms or in guest rooms.
“Harriet had previously22 lived in a house across the road, but given that neither Gottfried nor Isabella was consistently stable, and one could clearly see how that upset the girl, undermined her studies and so on, in 1964, when she was fourteen, I arranged for her to move into my house. Isabella probably thought that it was just fine to be spared the responsibility for her daughter. Harriet had been living here for the past two years. So this is where she came that day. We know that she met and exchanged some words with Harald in the courtyard—he’s one of my older brothers. Then she came up the stairs, to this room, and said hello to me. She said that she wanted to talk to me about something. Right then I had some other family members with me and I couldn’t spare the time for her. But she seemed anxious and I promised I’d come to her room when I was free. She left through that door, and that was the last time I saw her. A minute or so later there was the crash on the bridge and the bedlam23 that followed upset all our plans for the day.”
“How did she die?”
“It’s more complicated than that, and I have to tell the story in chronological24 order. When the accident occurred, people dropped whatever they were doing and ran to the scene. I was…I suppose I took charge and was feverishly25 occupied for the next few hours. Harriet came down to the bridge right away—several people saw her—but the danger of an explosion made me instruct anyone who wasn’t involved in getting Aronsson out of his car to stay well back. Five of us remained. There were myself and my brother Harald. There was a man named Magnus Nilsson, one of my workers. There was a sawmill worker named Sixten Nordlander who had a house down by the fishing harbour. And there was a fellow named Jerker Aronsson. He was only sixteen, and I should really have sent him away, but he was the nephew of Gustav in the car.
“At about 2:40 Harriet was in the kitchen here in the house. She drank a glass of milk and talked briefly26 to Astrid, our cook. They looked out of the window at the commotion27 down at the bridge.
“At 2:55 Harriet crossed the courtyard. She was seen by Isabella. About a minute later she ran into Otto Falk, the pastor28 in Hedeby. At that time the parsonage was where Martin Vanger has his villa29 today, and the pastor lived on this side of the bridge. He had been in bed, nursing a cold, when the accident took place; he had missed the drama, but someone had telephoned and he was on his way to the bridge. Harriet stopped him on the road and apparently30 wanted to say something to him, but he waved her off and hurried past. Falk was the last person to see her alive.”
“How did she die?” Blomkvist said again.
“I don’t know,” Vanger said with a troubled expression. “We didn’t get Aronsson out of his car until around 5:00—he survived, by the way, although he was not in good shape—and sometime after 6:00 the threat of fire was considered past. The island was still cut off, but things began to calm down. It wasn’t until we sat down at the table to have our longdelayed dinner around 8:00 that we discovered Harriet was missing. I sent one of the cousins to get Harriet from her room, but she came back to say that she couldn’t find her. I didn’t think much about it; I probably assumed she had gone for a walk or she hadn’t been told that dinner was served. And during the evening I had to deal with various discussions and arguments with the family. So it wasn’t until the next morning, when Isabella went to find her, that we realised that nobody knew where Harriet was and that no-one had seen her since the day before.” He spread his arms out wide. “And from that day, she has been missing without a trace.”
“Missing?” Blomkvist echoed.
“For all these years we haven’t been able to find one microscopic31 scrap32 of her.”
“But if she vanished, as you say, you can’t be sure that she was murdered.”
“I understand the objection. I’ve had thoughts along the same lines. When a person vanishes without a trace, one of four things could have happened. She could have gone off of her own free will and be hiding somewhere. She could have had an accident and died. She could have committed suicide. And finally, she could have been the victim of a crime. I’ve weighed all these possibilities.”
“But you believe that someone took Harriet’s life. Why?”
“Because it’s the only reasonable conclusion.” Vanger held up one finger. “From the outset I hoped that she had run away. But as the days passed, we all realised that this wasn’t the case. I mean, how would a sixteen-year-old from such a protected world, even a very able girl, be able to manage on her own? How could she stay hidden without being discovered? Where would she get money? And even if she got a job somewhere, she would need a social security card and an address.”
He held up two fingers.
“My next thought was that she had had some kind of accident. Can you do me a favour? Go to the desk and open the top drawer. There’s a map there.”
Blomkvist did as he was asked and unfolded the map on the coffee table. Hedeby Island was an irregularly shaped land mass about two miles long with a maximum width of about one mile. A large part of the island was covered by forest. There was a built-up area by the bridge and around the little summer-house harbour. On the other side of the island was the smallholding, ?sterg?rden, from which the unfortunate Aronsson had started out in his car.
“Remember that she couldn’t have left the island,” Vanger said. “Here on Hedeby Island you could die in an accident just like anywhere else. You could be struck by lightning—but there was no thunderstorm that day. You could be trampled33 to death by a horse, fall down a well, or tumble into a rock crevice34. There are no doubt hundreds of ways to fall victim to an accident here. I’ve thought of most of them.”
He held up three fingers.
“There’s just one catch, and this also applies to the third possibility—that the girl, contrary to every indication, took her own life. Her body must be somewhere in this limited area.”
Vanger slammed his fist down on the map.
“In the days after she disappeared, we searched everywhere, crisscrossing the island. The men waded35 through every ditch, scoured36 every patch of field, cliff, and uprooted37 tree. We went through every building, chimney, well, barn, and hidden garret.”
The old man looked away from Blomkvist and stared into the darkness outside the window. His voice grew lower and more intimate.
“The whole autumn I looked for her, even after the search parties stopped and people had given up. When I wasn’t tending to my work I began going for walks back and forth38 across the island. Winter came on and we still hadn’t found a trace of her. In the spring I kept on looking until I realised how preposterous39 my search was. When summer came I hired three experienced woodsmen who did the entire search over again with dogs. They combed every square foot of the island. By that time I had begun to think that someone must have killed her. So they also searched for a grave. They worked at it for three months. We found not the slightest vestige40 of the girl. It was as if she had dissolved into thin air.”
“I can think of a number of possibilities,” Blomkvist ventured.
“Let’s hear them.”
“She could have drowned, accidentally or on purpose. This is an island, and water can hide most things.”
“True, but the probability isn’t great. Consider the following: if Harriet met with an accident and drowned, logically it must have occurred somewhere in the immediate41 vicinity of the village. Remember that the excitement on the bridge was the most sensational42 thing that had happened here on Hedeby Island in several decades. It was not a time when a sixteen-year-old girl with a normal sense of curiosity would decide to go for a walk to the other side of the island.
“But more important,” he said, “there’s not much of a current here, and the winds at that time of year were out of the north or northeast. If anything falls into the water, it comes up somewhere along the beach on the mainland, and over there it’s built up almost everywhere. Don’t think that we didn’t consider this. We dragged almost all the spots where she could conceivably have gone down to the water. I also hired young men from a scuba-diving club here in Hedestad. They spent the rest of the season combing the bottom of the sound and along the beaches…I’m convinced she’s not in the water; if she had been we would have found her.”
“But could she not have met with an accident somewhere else? The bridge was blocked, of course, but it’s a short distance over to the mainland. She could have swum or rowed across.”
“It was late September and the water was so cold that Harriet would hardly have set off to go swimming in the midst of all the commotion. But if she suddenly got the idea to swim to the mainland, she would have been seen and drawn43 a lot of attention. There were dozens of eyes on the bridge, and on the mainland side there were two or three hundred people along the water watching the scene.”
“A rowing boat?”
“No. That day there were precisely44 thirteen boats on Hedeby Island. Most of the pleasure boats were already in storage on land. Down in the small-boat harbour by the summer cabins there were two Pettersson boats in the water. There were seven eka rowing boats, of which five were pulled up on shore. Below the parsonage one rowing boat was on shore and one in the water. By ?sterg?rden there was a rowing boat and a motorboat. All these boats were checked and were exactly where they were supposed to be. If she had rowed across and run away, she would have had to leave the boat on the other side.”
Vanger held up four fingers.
“So there’s only one reasonable possibility left, namely that Harriet disappeared against her will. Someone killed her and got rid of the body.”
Lisbeth Salander spent Christmas morning reading Mikael Blomkvist’s controversial book about financial journalism45, The Knights46 Templar: A Cautionary Tale for Financial Reporters. The cover had a trendy design by Christer Malm featuring a photograph of the Stockholm Stock Exchange. Malm had worked in PhotoShop, and it took a moment to notice that the building was floating in air. It was a dramatic cover with which to set the tone for what was to come.
Salander could see that Blomkvist was a fine writer. The book was set out in a straightforward47 and engaging way, and even people with no insight into the labyrinth48 of financial journalism could learn something from reading it. The tone was sharp and sarcastic49, but above all it was persuasive50.
The first chapter was a sort of declaration of war in which Blomkvist did not mince51 words. In the last twenty years, Swedish financial journalists had developed into a group of incompetent52 lackeys53 who were puffed54 up with self-importance and who had no record of thinking critically. He drew this conclusion because time after time, without the least objection, so many financial reporters seemed content to regurgitate the statements issued by CEOs and stock-market speculators—even when this information was plainly misleading or wrong. These reporters were thus either so naive55 and gullible56 that they ought to be packed off to other assignments, or they were people who quite consciously betrayed their journalistic function. Blomkvist claimed that he had often been ashamed to be called a financial reporter, since then he would risk being lumped together with people whom he did not rate as reporters at all.
He compared the efforts of financial journalists with the way crime reporters or foreign correspondents worked. He painted a picture of the outcry that would result if a legal correspondent began uncritically reproducing the prosecutor’s case as gospel in a murder trial, without consulting the defence arguments or interviewing the victim’s family before forming an opinion of what was likely or unlikely. According to Blomkvist the same rules had to apply to financial journalists.
The rest of the book consisted of a chain of evidence to support his case. One long chapter examined the reporting of a famous dot-com in six daily papers, as well as in the Financial Journal, Dagens Industri, and “A-ekonomi,” the business report on Swedish TV. He first quoted and summarised what the reporters had said and written. Then he made a comparison with the actual situation. In describing the development of the company he listed time after time the simple questions that a serious reporter would have asked but which the whole corps57 of financial reporters had neglected to ask. It was a neat move.
Another chapter dealt with the IPO of Telia stock—it was the book’s most jocular and ironic21 section, in which some financial writers were castigated58 by name, including one William Borg, to whom Blomkvist seemed to be particularly hostile. A chapter near the end of the book compared the level of competence59 of Swedish and foreign financial reporters. He described how serious reporters at London’s Financial Times, the Economist60, and some German financial newspapers had reported similar subjects in their own countries. The comparison was not favourable61 to the Swedish journalists. The final chapter contained a sketch62 with suggestions as to how this deplorable situation could be remedied. The conclusion of the book echoed the introduction:
If a parliamentary reporter handled his assignment by uncritically taking up a lance in support of every decision that was pushed through, no matter how preposterous, or if a political reporter were to show a similar lack of judgement—that reporter would be fired or at the least reassigned to a department where he or she could not do so much damage. In the world of financial reporting, however, the normal journalistic mandate63 to undertake critical investigations64 and objectively report findings to the readers appears not to apply. Instead the most successful rogue65 is applauded. In this way the future of Sweden is also being created, and all remaining trust in journalists as a corps of professionals is being compromised.
Salander had no difficulty understanding the agitated66 debate that had followed in the trade publication The Journalist, certain financial newspapers, and on the front pages and in the business sections of the daily papers. Even though only a few reporters were mentioned by name in the book, Salander guessed that the field was small enough that everyone would know exactly which individuals were being referred to when various newspapers were quoted. Blomkvist had made himself some bitter enemies, which was also reflected in the malicious67 comments to the court in the Wennerstr?m affair.
She closed the book and looked at the photograph on the back. Blomkvist’s dark blond shock of hair fell a bit carelessly across his forehead, as if caught in a gust5 of wind. Or (and this was more plausible) as if Christer Malm had posed him. He was looking into the camera with an ironic smile and an expression perhaps aiming to be charming and boyish. A very good-looking man. On his way to do three months in the slammer.
“Hello, Kalle Blomkvist,” she said to herself. “You’re pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”
At lunchtime Salander booted up her iBook and opened Eudora to write an email. She typed: “Have you got time?” She signed it Wasp68 and sent it to the address <[email protected]> To be on the safe side, she ran the message through her PGP encryption programme.
Then she put on black jeans, heavy winter boots, a warm polo shirt, a dark pea jacket and matching knitted gloves, cap, and scarf. She took the rings out of her eyebrows69 and nostril70, put on a pale pink lipstick71, and examined herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked like any other woman out for a weekend stroll, and she regarded her outfit72 as appropriate camouflage73 for an expedition behind enemy lines. She took the tunnelbana from Zinkensdamm to ?stermalmstorg and walked down towards Strandv?gen. She sauntered along the central reserve reading the numbers on the buildings. She had almost got to Djurg?rds Bridge when she stopped and looked at the door she had been searching for. She crossed the street and waited a few feet from the street door.
She noticed that most people who were out walking in the cold weather on the day after Christmas were walking along the quay74; only a few were on the pavement side.
She had to wait for almost half an hour before an old woman with a cane75 approached from the direction of Djurg?rden. The woman stopped and studied Salander with suspicion. Salander gave her a friendly smile in return. The lady with the cane returned her greeting and looked as though she were trying to remember when she had last seen the young woman. Salander turned her back and took a few steps away from the door, as though she were impatiently waiting for someone, pacing back and forth. When she turned, the lady had reached the door and was slowly putting in a number on the code lock. Salander had no difficulty seeing that the combination was 1260.
She waited five minutes more before she went to the door. She punched in the code and the lock clicked. She peered into the stairwell. There was a security camera which she glanced at and ignored; it was a model that Milton Security carried and was activated76 only if an alarm for a break-in or an attack was sounded on the property. Farther in, to the left of an antique lift cage, there was a door with another code lock; she tried 1260 and it worked for the entrance to the cellar level and rubbish room. Sloppy77, very sloppy. She spent three minutes investigating the cellar level, where she located an unlocked laundry room and a recycling room. Then she used a set of picklocks that she had “borrowed” from Milton’s locksmith to open a locked door to what seemed to be a meeting room for the condominium association. At the back of the cellar was a hobby room. Finally she found what she was looking for: the building’s small electrical room. She examined the meters, fuse boxes, and junction78 boxes and then took out a Canon digital camera the size of a cigarette packet. She took three pictures.
On the way out she cast her eye down the list of residents by the lift and read the name for the apartment on the top floor. Wennerstr?m.
Then she left the building and walked rapidly to the National Museum, where she went into the cafeteria to have some coffee and warm up. After about half an hour she made her way back to S?der and went up to her apartment.
There was an answer from <[email protected]> When she decoded79 it in PGP it read: 20.
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1
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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tanker
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| n.油轮 | |
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flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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spurting
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的现在分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺； 溅射 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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meticulously
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| adv.过细地，异常细致地；无微不至；精心 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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format
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| n.设计，版式；[计算机]格式，DOS命令:格式化(磁盘)，用于空盘或使用过的磁盘建立新空盘来存储数据；v.使格式化，设计，安排 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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previously
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bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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chronological
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| adj.按年月顺序排列的，年代学的 | |
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feverishly
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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microscopic
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| adj.微小的，细微的，极小的，显微的 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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uprooted
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| v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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lackeys
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| n.听差( lackey的名词复数 )；男仆（通常穿制服）；卑躬屈膝的人；被待为奴仆的人 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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gullible
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| adj.易受骗的；轻信的 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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castigated
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| v.严厉责骂、批评或惩罚（某人）( castigate的过去式 ) | |
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competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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economist
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| n.经济学家，经济专家，节俭的人 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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mandate
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| n.托管地；命令，指示 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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wasp
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| n.黄蜂，蚂蜂 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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nostril
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| n.鼻孔 | |
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lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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activated
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| adj. 激活的 动词activate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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decoded
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| v.译（码），解（码）( decode的过去式和过去分词 )；分析及译解电子信号 | |
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