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Zusatztext "Wildly suspenseful...an intelligent, ingeniously plotted, utterly engrossing thriller." — The Washington Post "Combine the chilly Swedish backdrop and moody psychodrama of a Bergman movie with the grisly pyrotechnics of a serial-killer thriller, then add an angry punk heroine and a down-on-his-luck investigative journalist, and you have the ingredients of Stieg Larsson's first novel." — The New York Times "Unique and fascinating.... It's like a blast of cold, fresh air to read The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo ." — Chicago Tribune "A whip-smart heroine and a hunky guy who needs her help? This sexy, addictive thriller is everything you never knew you could get from a crime novel." — Glamour Informationen zum Autor Stieg Larsson, who lived in Sweden, was the editor in chief of the magazine Expo and a leading expert on antidemocratic right-wing extremist and Nazi organizations. He died in 2004, shortly after delivering the manuscripts for The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo , The Girl Who Played with Fire , and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest . Klappentext CHI edition of Man som hatar kvinnor (The girl with the dragon tattoo). #1 on NYTimes Books 9/08. First of a trilogy by late Swedish journalist Steig Larsson. A young scion of one of the wealthiest families in Sweden disappeared and her uncle is determined to find out what happened. He hired a man with an assistant - a 24-year-old girl, a hacker, a genius, with a tattoo. Maureen Corrigan labels it "super-smart noir with a feminist jolt." In CHI. Distributed by Tsai Fong Books, Inc. Leseprobe A Friday in November It happened every year, was almost a ritual. And this was his eighty-second birthday. When, as usual, the flower was delivered, he took off the wrapping paper and then picked up the telephone to call Detective Superintendent Morell who, when he retired, had moved to Lake Siljan in Dalarna. They were not only the same age, they had been born on the same day–which was something of an irony under the circumstances. The old policeman was sitting with his coffee, waiting, expecting the call. “It arrived.” “What is it this year?” “I don’t know what kind it is. I’ll have to get someone to tell me what it is. It’s white.” “No letter, I suppose.” “Just the flower. The frame is the same kind as last year. One of those do-it-yourself ones.” “Postmark?” “Stockholm.” “Handwriting?” “Same as always, all in capitals. Upright, neat lettering.” With that, the subject was exhausted, and not another word was exchanged for almost a minute. The retired policeman leaned back in his kitchen chair and drew on his pipe. He knew he was no longer expected to come up with a pithy comment or any sharp question which would shed a new light on the case. Those days had long since passed, and the exchange between the two men seemed like a ritual attaching to a mystery which no-one else in the whole world had the least interest in unravelling. The Latin name was Leptospermum (Myrtaceae) rubinette . It was a plant about ten centimetres high with small, heather-like foliage and a white flower with five petals about two centimetres across. The plant was native to the Australian bush and uplands, where it was to be found among tussocks of grass. There it was called Desert Snow. Someone at the botanical gardens in Uppsala would later confirm that it was a plant seldom cultivated in Sweden. The botanist wrote in her report that it was related to the tea tree and that it was sometimes confused with its more common cousin Leptospermum scoparium, which grew in abundance in New Zealand. What distinguished them, she pointed out, was that rubinette had a small number of microscopic pink dots at the tips ...
