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  She found more substantial information in the article “The Lovisa Case Shook the Whole Countryside,” which was published in the magazine Värmlandskultur. All of the magazine’s texts had been loaded on to the Net. Written with obvious glee and in a chatty and titillating tone, the article described how Lovisa Sjöberg’s husband, the lumberjack Holger Sjöberg, had found his wife dead when he came home from work around 5:00. She had been subjected to gross sexual assault, stabbed, and finally murdered with the prongs of a pitchfork. The murder occurred in the family barn, but what aroused the most attention was the fact that the perpetrator, after committing the murder, had tied her up in a kneeling position inside a horse stall.

  It was later discovered that one of the animals on the farm, a cow, had suffered a stab wound on the side of its neck.

  Initially the husband was suspected of the murder, but he had been in the company of his work colleagues from 6:00 in the morning at a clearing twenty-five miles from his home. It could be verified that Lovisa Sjöberg had been alive as late as 10:00 in the morning, when she had a visit from a woman friend. No-one had seen or heard anything; the farm was five hundred yards from its nearest neighbour.

  After dropping the husband as a suspect, the police investigation focused on the victim’s twenty-three-year-old nephew. He had repeatedly fallen foul of the law, was extremely short of cash, and many times had borrowed small sums from his aunt. The nephew’s alibi was significantly weaker, and he was taken into custody for a while, but released for lack of evidence. Even so, many people in the village thought it highly probable that he was guilty.

  The police followed another lead. A part of the investigation concerned the search for a pedlar who was seen in the area; there was also a rumour that a group of “thieving gypsies” had carried out a series of raids. Why they should have committed a savage, sexually related murder without stealing anything was never explained.

  For a time suspicion was directed at a neighbour in the village, a bachelor who in his youth was suspected of an allegedly homosexual crime—this was back when homosexuality was still a punishable offence—and according to several statements, he had a reputation for being “odd.” Why someone who was supposedly homosexual would commit a sex crime against a woman was not explained either. None of these leads, or any others, led to a charge.

  Salander thought there was a clear link to the list in Harriet Vanger’s date book. Leviticus 20:16 said: “If a woman approaches any beast and lies with it, you shall kill the woman and the beast; they shall be put to death, their blood is upon them.” It couldn’t be a coincidence that a farmer’s wife by the name of Magda had been found murdered in a barn, with her body so arranged and tied up in a horse stall.

  The question was why had Harriet Vanger written down the name Magda instead of Lovisa, which was apparently the name the victim went under. If her full name had not been printed in the TV listing, Salander would have missed it.

  And, of course, the more important question was: was there a link between Rebecka’s murder in 1949, the murder of Magda Lovisa in 1960, and Harriet Vanger’s disappearance in 1966?

  On Saturday morning Burman took Blomkvist on an extensive tour of Norsjö. In the morning they called on five former employees who lived within walking distance of Burman’s house. Everyone offered them coffee. All of them studied the photographs and shook their heads.

  After a simple lunch at the Burman home, they got in the car for a drive. They visited four villages near Norsjö, where former employees of the carpentry shop lived. At each stop Burman was greeted with warmth, but no-one was able to help them. Blomkvist was beginning to despair.

  At 4:00 in the afternoon, Burman parked his car outside a typical red Västerbotten farm near Norsjövallen, just north of Norsjö, and introduced Mikael to Henning Forsman, a retired master carpenter.

  “Yes, that’s Assar Brännlund’s lad,” Forsman said as soon as Blomkvist showed him the photographs. Bingo.

  “Oh, so that’s Assar’s boy,” Burman said. “Assar was a buyer.”

  “How can I find him?”

  “The lad? Well, you’ll have to dig. His name was Gunnar, and he worked at the Boliden mine. He died in a blasting accident in the mid-seventies.”

  Blomkvist’s heart sank.

  “But his wife is still alive. The one in the picture here. Her name is Mildred, and she lives in Bjursele.”

  “Bjursele?”

  “It’s about six miles down the road to Bastuträsk. She lives in the long red house on the right-hand side as you’re coming into the village. It’s the third house. I know the family well.”

  “Hi, my name is Lisbeth Salander, and I’m writing my thesis on the criminology of violence against women in the twentieth century. I’d like to visit the police district in Landskrona and read through the documents of a case from 1957. It has to do with the murder of a woman by the name of Rakel Lunde. Do you have any idea where those documents are today?”

  Bjursele was like a poster for the Västerbotten country village. It consisted of about twenty houses set relatively close together in a semicircle at one end of a lake. In the centre of the village was a crossroads with an arrow pointing towards Hemmingen, 10½ miles, and another pointing towards Bastuträsk, 7 miles. Near the crossroads was a small bridge with a creek that Blomkvist assumed was the water, the sel. At the height of summer, it was as pretty as a postcard.

  He parked in the courtyard in front of a Konsum that was no longer open, almost opposite the third house on the right-hand side. When he knocked on the door, no-one answered.

  He took an hour-long walk along the road towards Hemmingen. He passed a spot where the stream became rushing rapids. He met two cats and saw a deer, but not a single person, before he turned around. Mildred Brännlund’s door was still shut.

  On a post near the bridge he found a peeling flyer announcing the BTCC, something that could be deciphered as the Bjursele Tukting Car Championship 2002. “Tukting” a car was apparently a winter sport that involved smashing up a vehicle on the ice-covered lake.

  He waited until 10:00 p.m. before he gave up and drove back to Norsjö, where he had a late dinner and then went to bed to read the denouement of Val McDermid’s novel.

  It was grisly.

  At 10:00 Salander added one more name to Harriet Vanger’s list. She did so with some hesitation.

  She had discovered a shortcut. At quite regular intervals articles were published about unsolved murders, and in a Sunday supplement to the evening newspaper she had found an article from 1999 with the headline “Many Murderers of Women Go Free.” It was a short article, but it included the names and photographs of several noteworthy murder victims. There was the Solveig case in Norrtälje, the Anita murder in Norrköping, Margareta in Helsingborg, and a number of others.

  The oldest case to be recounted was from the sixties, and none of the murders matched the list that Salander had been given by Blomkvist. But one case did attract her attention.

  In June 1962 a prostitute by the name of Lea Persson from Göteborg had gone to Uddevalla to visit her mother and her nine-year-old son, whom her mother was taking care of. On a Sunday evening, after a visit of several days, Lea had hugged her mother, said goodbye, and caught the train back to Göteborg. She was found two days later behind a container on an industrial site no longer in use. She had been raped, and her body had been subjected to extraordinary violence.

  The Lea murder aroused a great deal of attention as a summer serial story in the newspaper, but no killer had ever been identified. There was no Lea on Harriet Vanger’s list. Nor did the manner of her death fit with any of Harriet’s Bible quotes.

  On the other hand, there was such a bizarre coincidence that Salander’s antennae instantly buzzed. About ten yards from where Lea’s body was found lay a flowerpot with a pigeon inside. Someone had tied a string round the pigeon’s neck and pulled it through the hole in the bottom of the pot. Then the pot was put on a little fire that had been laid between tw
o bricks. There was no certainty that this cruelty had any connection with the Lea murder. It could have been a child playing a horrible game, but the press dubbed the murder the Pigeon Murder.

  Salander was no Bible reader—she did not even own one—but that evening she went over to Högalid Church and with some difficulty she managed to borrow a Bible. She sat on a park bench outside the church and read Leviticus. When she reached Chapter 12, verse 8, her eyebrows went up. Chapter 12 dealt with the purification of women after childbirth.

  And if she cannot afford a lamb, then she shall take two turtledoves or two young pigeons, one for a burnt offering and the other for a sin offering; and the priest shall make atonement for her, and she shall be clean.

  Lea could very well have been included in Harriet’s date book as: Lea—31208.

  Salander thought that no research she had ever done before had contained even a fraction of the scope of this assignment.

  Mildred Brännlund, remarried and now Mildred Berggren, opened the door when Blomkvist knocked around 10:00 on Sunday morning. The woman was much older, of course, and had by now filled out a good deal, but he recognised her at once.

  “Hi, my name is Mikael Blomkvist. You must be Mildred Berggren.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m sorry for knocking on your door like this, but I’ve been trying to find you, and it’s rather complicated to explain.” He smiled at her. “I wonder if I could come in and take up a small amount of your time.”

  Mildred’s husband and a son who was about thirty-five were home, and without much hesitation she invited Blomkvist to come and sit in their kitchen. He shook hands with each of them. He had drunk more coffee during the past twenty-four hours than at any time in his life, but by now he had learned that in Norrland it was rude to say no. When the coffee cups were on the table, Mildred sat down and asked with some curiosity how she could help him. It was obvious that he did not easily understand her Norsjö dialect, so she switched to standard Swedish.

  Blomkvist took a deep breath. “This is a long and peculiar story,” he said. “In September 1966 you were in Hedestad with your then husband, Gunnar Brännlund.”

  She looked surprised. He waited for her to nod before he laid the photograph from Järnvägsgatan on the table in front of her.

  “When was this picture taken? Do you remember the occasion?”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Mildred Berggren said. “That was a lifetime ago.”

  Her present husband and son came to stand next to her to look at the picture.

  “We were on our honeymoon. We had driven down to Stockholm and Sigtuna and were on our way home and happened to stop somewhere. Was it in Hedestad, you said?”

  “Yes, Hedestad. This photograph was taken at about 1:00 in the afternoon. I’ve been trying to find you for some time now, and it hasn’t been a simple task.”

  “You see an old photograph of me and then actually track me down. I can’t imagine how you did it.”

  Blomkvist put the photograph from the car park on the table.

  “I was able to find you thanks to this picture, which was taken a little later in the day.” He explained how, via the Norsjö Carpentry Shop, he had found Burman, who in turn had led him to Henning Forsman in Norsjövallen.

  “You must have a good reason for this long search.”

  “I do. This girl standing close to you in this photograph is called Harriet. That day she disappeared, and she was never seen or heard of again. The general assumption is that she fell prey to a murderer. Can I show you some more photographs?”

  He took out his iBook and explained the circumstances while the computer booted up. Then he played her the series of images showing how Harriet’s facial expression changed.

  “It was when I went through these old images that I found you, standing with a camera right behind Harriet, and you seem to be taking a picture in the direction of whatever it is she’s looking at, whatever caused her to react in that way. I know that this is a really long shot, but the reason I’ve been looking for you is to ask you if by any miracle you still have the pictures from that day.”

  He was prepared for Mildred Berggren to dismiss the idea and tell him that the photographs had long since vanished. Instead she looked at him with her clear blue eyes and said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, that of course she still had her old honeymoon pictures.

  She went to another room and came back after several minutes with a box in which she had stored a quantity of pictures in various albums. It took a while to find the honeymoon ones. She had taken three photographs in Hedestad. One was blurry and showed the main street. Another showed her husband at the time. The third showed the clowns in the parade.

  Blomkvist eagerly leaned forward. He could see a figure on the other side of the street behind a clown. But the photograph told him absolutely nothing.

  CHAPTER 20

  Tuesday, July 1–Wednesday, July 2

  The first thing Blomkvist did the morning he returned to Hedestad was to go to Frode’s house to ask about Vanger’s condition. He learned to his delight that the old man had improved quite a bit during the past week. He was weak still, and fragile, but now he could sit up in bed. His condition was no longer regarded as critical.

  “Thank God,” he said. “I realised that I actually like him.”

  Frode said: “I know that. And Henrik likes you too. How was Norrland?”

  “Successful yet unsatisfying. I’ll explain a little later. Right now I have a question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What realistically will happen to your interest in Millennium if Henrik dies?”

  “Nothing at all. Martin will take his place on the board.”

  “Is there any risk, hypothetically speaking, that Martin might create problems for Millennium if I don’t put a stop to the investigation of Harriet’s disappearance?”

  Frode gave him a sharp look.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Nothing, actually.” Mikael told him about the conversation he had had with Martin Vanger on Midsummer Eve. “When I was in Norsjö Erika told me that Martin had called her and said that he thought I was very much needed back at the office.”

  “I understand. My guess is that Cecilia was after him. But I don’t think that Martin would put pressure on you like that on his own. He’s much too savvy. And remember, I’m also on the board of the little subsidiary we formed when we bought into Millennium.”

  “But what if a ticklish situation came up—how would you act then?”

  “Contracts exist to be honoured. I work for Henrik. Henrik and I have been friends for forty-five years, and we are in complete agreement in such matters. If Henrik should die it is in point of fact I—not Martin—who would inherit Henrik’s share in the subsidiary. We have a contract in which we have undertaken to back Millennium for three years. Should Martin wish to start any mischief—which I don’t believe he will—then theoretically he could put the brakes on a small number of new advertisers.”

  “The lifeblood of Millennium’s existence.”

  “Yes, but look at it this way—worrying about such trivia is a waste of time. Martin is presently fighting for his industrial survival and working fourteen hours a day. He doesn’t have time for anything else.”

  “May I ask—I know it’s none of my business—what is the general condition of the corporation?”

  Frode looked grave.

  “We have problems.”

  “Yes, even a common financial reporter like myself can see that. I mean, how serious is it?”

  “Off the record?”

  “Between us.”

  “We’ve lost two large orders in the electronics industry in the past few weeks and are about to be ejected from the Russian market. In September we’re going to have to lay off 1,600 employees in Örebro and Trollhättan. Not much of a reward to give to people who’ve worked for the company for many years. Each time we shut down a factory, confidence in the company
is further undermined.”

  “Martin is under pressure.”

  “He’s pulling the load of an ox and walking on eggshells.”

  Blomkvist went back to his cottage and called Berger. She was not at the office, so he spoke to Malm.

  “Here’s the deal: Erika called when I was in Norsjö. Martin Vanger has been after her and has, how shall I put it, encouraged her to propose that I start to take on editorial responsibility.”

  “I think you should too,” Malm said.

  “I know that. But the thing is, I have a contract with Henrik Vanger that I can’t break, and Martin is acting on behalf of someone up here who wants me to stop what I am doing and leave town. So his proposal amounts to an attempt to get rid of me.”

  “I see.”

  “Say hi to Erika and tell her I’ll come back to Stockholm when I’m finished here. Not before.”

  “I understand. You’re stark raving mad, of course, but I’ll give her the message.”

  “Christer. Something is going on up here, and I have no intention of backing out.”

  Blomkvist knocked on Martin Vanger’s door. Eva Hassel opened it and greeted him warmly.

  “Hi. Is Martin home?”

  As if in reply to the question, Martin Vanger came walking out with a briefcase in his hand. He kissed Eva on the cheek and said hello to Mikael.