aslocked.Hethoughtforamoment,thentoldSalandertositdownandwaitforhim.HewalkedovertoseeAnnaNygrenandknocked.Heexplainedthathewantedtohaveacloserlookatthefamilycrypt,andhewonderedwhereHenrikmightkeepthekey.Annalookeddoubtful,butshecollectedthekeyfromhisdesk.
Assoonastheyopenedthedoor,theyknewthattheyhadbeenright.Thestenchofburnedcadaverandcharredremainshungheavyintheair.Butthecattorturerhadnotmadeafire.Inonecornerstoodablowtorch,thekindusedbyskierstomeltthewaxontheirskis.Salandergotthecameraoutofthepocketofherjeansskirtandtooksomepictures.Then,gingerly,shepickeduptheblowtorch.
“Thiscouldbeevidence.Hemighthaveleftfingerprints,”shesaid.
“Ohsure,wecanasktheVangerfamilytolineupandgiveustheirfingerprints.”Blomkvistsmiled.“IwouldlovetowatchyougetIsabella’s.”
“Thereareways,”Salandersaid.
Therewasagreatdealofbloodonthefloor,notallofitdry,aswellasaboltcutter,whichtheyreckonedhadbeenusedtocutoffthecat’shead.
Blomkvistlookedaround.AraisedsarcophagusbelongedtoAlexandreVangeersad,andfourgravesinthefloorhousedtheremainsoftheearliestfamilymembers.MorerecentlytheVangershadapparentlysettledforcremation.Aboutthirtynichesonthewallhadthenamesoftheclanancestors.Blomkvisttracedthefamilychronicleforwardintime,wonderingwheretheyburiedfamilymemberswhowerenotgivenspaceinsidethecrypt—thosenotdeemedimportantenough.
“Nowweknow,”Blomkvistsaidastheywerere-crossingthebridge.“We’rehuntingforthepletelunatic.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Blomkvistpausedinthemiddleofthebridgeandleanedontherail.
“Ifthiswassomerun-of-the-millcrackpotwhowastryingtofrightenus,hewouldhavetakenthecatdowntothegarageorevenoutintothewoods.Buthewenttothecrypt.There’ssomethingpulsiveaboutthat.Justthinkoftherisk.It’ssummerandpeopleareoutandaboutatnight,goingforwalks.TheroadthroughthecemeteryisamainroadbetweenthenorthandsouthofHedeby.Evenifheshutthedoorbehindhim,thecatmusthaveraisedCain,andtheremusthavebeenaburningsmell.”
“He?”
“Idon’tthinkthatCeciliaVa