ad called the police himself and, full of remorse, fessed to having killed his wife or brother or some other relative. two others were solved within a few days. ahe assistaional al polid took two years.
the ninth case was solved to the police’s satisfa, which is to say that they khe murderer was, but because the evidence was so insubstantial the public prosecutor deot to proceed with the case. to the detective superi’s dismay, the statute of limitatioually put ahe matter. but all in all he could look bapressive career.
he was anything but pleased.
for the detective, the “case of the pressed flowers” had been nagging at him for years—his last, unsolved, and frustratiuation was doubly absurd because after spehousands of h, on duty and off, he ot say beyond doubt that a crime had ied.
the two me whoever had mouhe flowers would have wloves, that there would be s on the frame lass. the frame could have been bought in camera shops or statiohe world over. there was, quite simply, o follow. most often the parcel osted in sto, but three times from london, twi paris, twi , onadrid, on bonn, and on pensacola, florida. the detective superi had had to look it up in an atlas.
after putting dowhe eighty-two-year-old birthday b time lookiy but meaningless flower whose yet know. thehe wall above his desk. there hung forty-three pressed flowers in their frames. four rows of tehe bottom with four. iop row one was missing from the ninth slot. desert snow would be y-four.
with he began to weep. he surprised himself with this sudden burst of emotio forty years.
part 1
iive
december 20–january 3
eighteehe wome oened by a man.
chapter 1
friday, december 20
the trial was irretrievably that could be said had been said, but he had ed that he would lose. the writte was ha 10:00 on friday m, and all that remained was a summing up from the rep in the corridor outside the district court.
“carl” mikael blomkvist saw them through the doorway aep. he had no wish to discuss the verdict, but questions were unavoidable, and he—of all people—khey had to be asked ahis is how it is to be a al, he thought. oher side of the mie. he straightened up ao smile. the repave him friendly, almreetings.
“let’s see…afto, expressen, tt wire service, tv4, and…where are you from?…ah yes, dage be a celebrity,” blomkvist said.
“give us a sound bite, kalle blomkvist.” it orter from ohe evening papers.
blomkvist, hearing the niself as always not to roll his eyes. on he was twenty-three and had just started his first summer job as a journalist, blomkvist had a gang ulled off five bank robberies over the past two years. there was no doubt that it was the same gaarademark was to hold up two banks at a time with military pre. they wore masks from disney world, so iably police logic dubbed them the donald dug. the neers rehe bear gang, whiore sinister, more appropriate to the fa two os they had recklessly fired warning shots aened curious passersby.
their sixth outing was at a bala of the holiday seasoer from the local radio statioo be i the time. as soon as the roo a publie aory for live broadcast.
blomkvist ending several days with a girlfries’ summer ear katrily why he made the he ot explaihe police, but as he was listening to the he remembered a group of four men in a summer a few huhe road. he had seen them playing badminton out in the yard: four bloypes in shorts with their shirts off. they were obviously bodybuilders, and there had beehing about them that had made him look twice—maybe it was because the game layed in blazing suh what he reised as intensely foergy.
there had been o suspect them of being the ba heless he had goo a hill overlook
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