The third task was to focus on a person who went by the name of Zala. The team would enlist the assistance of the National Criminal Investigation Department, since they apparently had come across the name. He assigned that task to Faste.

Finally, Andersson was to coordinate the continued search for Salander.

Bublanski’s report took six minutes, but it touched off an hour-long dispute. Faste was vociferous in his resistance to Bublanski’s proposals, and he made no attempt to conceal this. His opinion was that the investigation, regardless of the new-peripheral, he called it-information, had to stay focused on Salander. The chain of evidence was so strong that it was unreasonable to divide the effort into different channels.

“This is all bullshit. We have a violence-prone nutcase who has grown worse and worse over the years. Do you actually believe that all the psychiatric reports and results from forensics are a joke? She’s tied to the crime scene. We know she’s a hooker, and there’s a large sum of money unaccounted for in her bank account.”

“I’m aware of all that.”

“She’s also a member of some sort of lesbian sex cult. And I’ll be damned if that dyke Cilla Norén doesn’t know more than she’s letting on.”

Bublanski raised his voice. “Faste. Stop it. You’re totally obsessed with this gay angle. It’s way past professional.”

He at once regretted speaking out in front of the whole group. A private talk with Faste would have been more productive. Finally Ekström interrupted the raised voices to approve Bublanski’s plan of action.

Bublanski glanced at Bohman and Hedström.

“As I understand it, we only have you for three more days, so let’s make the best of the situation. Bohman, can you help Andersson track down Salander? Hedström, you’ll stay with Modig.”

Ekström raised his hand as they were about to break up.

“One last thing. We’re keeping the part about Paolo Roberto under our hats. The media will go ballistic if one more celebrity springs to light in this investigation. So not a word about it outside this room.”

After the meeting Modig took Bublanski aside.

“It was unprofessional of me to lose patience with Faste,” Bublanski said.

“I know how it feels,” she said with a smile. “I started on Svensson’s computer last Monday.”

“I know. How far did you get?”

“He had a dozen versions of the manuscript and a huge amount of research material, and I don’t know yet what’s important and what’s safe to ignore. Just cataloguing it with meaningful names and looking through all the documents will take several days.”

“What about Hedström?”

Modig hesitated. Then she turned and closed Bublanski’s door.

“To tell you the truth… I don’t want to trash him, but he isn’t much help.”

Bublanski frowned. “Out with it.”

“I don’t know, he’s obviously not a real policeman like Bohman. He talks a lot of drivel. He has about the same attitude towards Miriam Wu as Faste does, and he’s totally uninterested in the assignment. And-although I can’t put my finger on it-he has some kind of problem with Salander.”

“How so?”

“I’ve got a feeling there’s some bad blood between them.”

Bublanski nodded slowly. “That’s a shame. Bohman’s OK, but I don’t really like having outsiders involved in this investigation.”

“So what shall we do?”

“You’ll have to put up with him for the rest of the week. Armansky said they’ll break it off if they don’t get results. Keep digging and count on having to do the whole job yourself.”

Modig was interrupted after only forty-five minutes. She was called to Ekström’s office. Bublanski was with him. Both men were red in the face. Tony Scala, the freelance journalist, had just released a scoop with the news that Paolo Roberto had rescued the S &M dyke Miriam Wu from an unknown kidnapper. The article contained several details that could only be known to someone inside the investigation. It was written in such a way as to suggest that the police were considering filing charges against Paolo Roberto for assault.

Ekström had already received several phone calls from other papers that wanted news about the boxer’s role. He was livid. He accused Modig of having leaked the story. Modig vigorously objected to the accusation, but in vain. Ekström wanted her off the investigation.

“Sonja says she didn’t leak anything,” Bublanski said. “That’s good enough for me. It’s insane to remove an experienced detective who’s familiar with every detail of the case.”

Ekström refused to budge.

“Modig, I can’t prove that you leaked the information, but I have no confidence in you with regard to this investigation. You are relieved from the team, effective immediately. Take the rest of the week off. You’ll be given other assignments on Monday.”

Modig nodded and headed for the door. Bublanski stopped her.

“Sonja. For the record: I don’t believe one word of this, and you have my full confidence. But I’m not the one who decides. See me in my office before you go home, please.”

Bublanski’s face had taken on a dangerous hue. Ekström looked furious.

Modig went back to her office, where she and Hedström had been working on Svensson’s computer. She was angry and close to tears. Hedström could tell that something was wrong, but he said nothing and she ignored him. She sat at her desk and stared into space. There was an oppressive silence in the room.

After a while Hedström excused himself and said he had to get a cup of coffee. He asked if he could bring her one. She shook her head.

When he had left she got up and put on her jacket. She took her shoulder bag and went to Bublanski’s office. He pointed to the visitor’s chair.

“Sonja, I don’t intend to yield in this matter unless Ekström removes me from the investigation too. I won’t accept it and I’m thinking of filing a complaint. Until you hear otherwise from me, you’ll remain on the team. At my direction. Understand?”

She nodded.

“You will not take the rest of the week off as Ekström said. I want you to go to Millennium’s offices and have another talk with Blomkvist. Ask him for help in guiding you through Dag Svensson’s hard drive. They have a copy there. We can save a lot of time if we have somebody who’s already familiar with the material picking out the things that might be important.”

Modig breathed more easily.

“I didn’t say anything to Hedström.”

“I’ll take care of him. He can help Andersson. Have you seen Faste?”

“No. He left right after the meeting.”

Bublanski sighed.

Blomkvist had arrived home from the hospital at 8:00 a.m. He had had too little sleep and he had to be at his best for an afternoon meeting with Björck in Smådalarö. He undressed, set the alarm for 10:30, and got two more hours of much-needed sleep. He shaved, showered, and put on a clean shirt. As he was driving past Gullmarsplan, Modig called his mobile. Blomkvist explained that he would not be able to meet her. She told him what she needed, and he referred her to Berger.

When she arrived at Millennium’s offices, Modig found that she liked the self-confident and slightly domineering woman with the dimples and shock of short blond hair. She vaguely wondered whether Berger was a dyke too, since all the women in this investigation, according to Faste, seemed to have that inclination. But then she remembered that she had read somewhere that Berger was married to the artist Greger Beckman.

“There’s a problem here,” Berger said, after listening to her request.

“What’s that?”

“It’s not that we don’t want to solve the murders or help the police. Besides, you already have all the material in the computer you took from here. The dilemma is an ethical one. The media and the police don’t work very well together.”

“Believe me, I found that out this morning,” Modig said with a smile.