The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest Read Free Page B

again.
    “It won’t help to insult the police.”
    “That certainly seems to be true in your case. But I’m going to report you for dereliction of duty and you won’t even know what hit you. Before I’m through with you, you’re going to be celebrated as the dumbest policeman in Sweden on every newspaper billboard in the country.”
    The notion of being the object of public ridicule appeared at last to have an effect on Inspector Paulsson. His face was lined with anxiety.
    “What do you propose?”
    “I don’t propose, I
demand
that you call Inspector Bublanski in Stockholm. This minute. His number’s in my mobile in my breast pocket.”
    Inspector Modig woke with a start when her mobile rang at the other end of the bedroom. She saw to her dismay that it was just after 4:00 in the morning. Then she looked at her husband, who was snoring peacefully. He would probably sleep through an artillery barrage. She staggered out of bed, unplugged her mobile from the charger, and fumbled for the Talk button.
    Jan Bublanski
, she thought.
Who else?
    “Everything has gone to hell down in Trollhättan,” her senior officer said without bothering to greet her or apologize. “The X2000 to Göteborg leaves at 5:10. Take a taxi.”
    “What’s happened?”
    “Blomkvist found Salander, Niedermann,
and
Zalachenko. Got himself arrested for insulting a police officer, resisting arrest, and possession of an illegal weapon. Salander was taken to Sahlgrenska with a bullet in her head. Zalachenko is there too, with an axe wound to his skull. Niedermann got away. And he killed a policeman tonight.”
    Modig blinked twice, registering how exhausted she felt. Most of all she wanted to crawl back into bed and take a month’s vacation.
    “The X2000 at 5:10. OK. What do you want me to do?”
    “Meet Jerker Holmberg at Central Station. You’re to contact an Inspector Thomas Paulsson at the Trollhättan police. He seems to be responsiblefor much of the mess tonight. Blomkvist described him as an Olympic-class idiot.”
    “You’ve talked to Blomkvist?”
    “Apparently he’s been arrested and cuffed. I managed to persuade Paulsson to let me talk to him for a moment. I’m on my way to Kungsholmen right now, and I’ll try to work out what’s going on. We’ll keep in touch by mobile.”
    Modig looked at the time again. Then she called a taxi and jumped into the shower for a minute. She brushed her teeth, pulled a comb through her hair, and dressed in long black pants, a black T-shirt, and a grey jacket. She put her police revolver in her shoulder bag and picked out a dark-red leather coat. Then she shook enough life into her husband to explain where she was off to, and that he had to deal with the kids in the morning. She walked out the front door just as the taxi pulled up.
    She did not have to search for her colleague, Criminal Inspector Holmberg. She assumed he would be in the restaurant car, and that is where she found him. He had already bought coffee and sandwiches for her. They sat in silence for five minutes as they ate their breakfast. Finally Holmberg pushed his coffee cup aside.
    “Maybe I should get some training in some other field,” he said.
    Some time after 4:00 in the morning, Criminal Inspector Marcus Erlander from the violent crimes division of the Göteborg police arrived in Gosseberga and took over the investigation from the overburdened Paulsson. Erlander was a short, round man in his fifties with grey hair. One of the first things he did was to have Blomkvist released from his handcuffs, and then he produced rolls and coffee from a thermos. They sat in the living room for a private conversation.
    “I’ve spoken with Bublanski,” Erlander said. “Bubble and I have known each other for many years. We are both sorry that you were subjected to Paulsson’s rather primitive way of operating.”
    “He succeeded in getting a policeman killed tonight,” Blomkvist said.
    Erlander said: “I knew the man personally.