“You’re not a member of the family; you have no business here.”
“You’re right. I’m not a member of the family. But I’m working for Henrik Vanger, and I take orders only from him.”
This might have led to a heated exchange if Frode had not at that moment come out of Vanger’s room.
“Oh, there you are. Henrik has been asking after you.”
Frode held open the door and Blomkvist walked past Birger into the room.
Vanger looked to have aged ten years. He was lying with his eyes half closed, an oxygen tube in his nose, and his hair more dishevelled than ever. A nurse stopped Blomkvist, putting a hand firmly on his arm.
“Two minutes. No more. And don’t upset him.” Blomkvist sat on a visitor’s chair so that he could see Vanger’s face. He felt a tenderness that astonished him, and he stretched out his hand to gently squeeze the old man’s hand.
“Any news?” The voice was weak.
Blomkvist nodded.
“I’ll give you a report as soon as you’re better. I haven’t solved the mystery yet, but I’ve found more new stuff and I’m following up a number of leads. In a week, perhaps two, I’ll be able to tell the results.”
The most Vanger could manage was to blink, indicating that he understood.
“I have to be away for a few days.”
Henrik raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not jumping ship. I have some research to do. I’ve reached an agreement with Dirch that I should report to him. Is that OK with you?”
“Dirch is…my man…in all matters.”
Blomkvist squeezed Vanger’s hand again.
“Mikael…if I don’t…I want you to…finish the job.”
“I will finish the job.”
“Dirch has…full…”
“Henrik, I want you to get better. I’d be furious with you if you went and died after I’ve made such progress.”
“Two minutes,” the nurse said.
“Next time we’ll have a long talk.”
?
Birger Vanger was waiting for him when he came out. He stopped him by laying a hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t want you bothering Henrik any more. He’s very ill, and he’s not supposed to be upset or disturbed.”
“I understand your concern, and I sympathise. And I’m not going to upset him.”
“Everyone knows that Henrik hired you to poke around in his little hobby…Harriet. Dirch said that Henrik became very upset after a conversation you had with him before he had the heart attack. He even said that you thought you had caused the attack.”
“I don’t think so any more. Henrik had severe blockages in his arteries. He could have had a heart attack just by having a pee. I’m sure you know that by now.”
“I want full disclosure into this lunacy. This is my family you’re mucking around in.”
“I told you, I work for Henrik, not for the family.”
Birger Vanger was apparently not used to having anyone stand up to him. For a moment he stared at Blomkvist with an expression that was presumably meant to instil respect, but which made him look more like an inflated moose. Birger turned and went into Vanger’s room.
Blomkvist restrained the urge to laugh. This was no place for laughter, in the corridor outside Vanger’s sickbed, which might also turn out to be his deathbed. But he thought of a verse from Lennart Hyland’s rhyming alphabet. It was the letter M. And all alone the moose he stood, laughing in a shot-up wood.
In the hospital lobby he ran into Cecilia Vanger. He had tried calling her mobile a dozen times since she came back from her interrupted holiday, but she had never answered or returned his calls. And she was never home at her place on Hedeby Island whenever he walked past and knocked on the door.
“Hi, Cecilia,” he said. “I’m so sorry about all this with Henrik.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m sorry that I’ve shut you out like this. I can understand that you must be cross, but I’m not having an easy time of it these days.”
Mikael put his hand on her arm and smiled at her.
“Wait, you’ve got it wrong, Cecilia. I’m not cross at all. I am still hoping that we can be friends. Can we have a cup of coffee?” He nodded in the direction of the hospital cafeteria.
Cecilia Vanger hesitated. “Not today. I need to go and see Henrik.”
“OK, but I still need to talk to you. It’s purely professional.”
“What does that mean?” She was suddenly alert.
“Do you remember the first time we met, when you came to the cottage in January? I said that we were talking off the record, and that if I needed to ask you any real questions, I would tell you. It has to do with Harriet.”
Cecilia Vanger’s face was suddenly flushed with anger.
“You really are the fucking pits.”
“Cecilia, I’ve found some things that I really do have to talk to you about.”
She took a step away from him.
“Don’t you realise that this bloody hunt for that cursed Harriet is just occupational therapy for Henrik? Don’t you see that he might be up there dying, and that the very last thing he needs is to get upset again and be filled with false hopes and…”
“It may be a hobby for Henrik, but there is now more material to go on than anyone has had to work with in a very long time. There are questions that do now need to be answered.”
“If Henrik dies, that investigation is going to be over awfully damned fast. Then you’ll be out on your grubby, snivelling investigative backside,” Cecilia said, and she walked away.
