The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo Trilogy Bundle (170 page)
Read The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo Trilogy Bundle Online
Authors: Stieg Larsson
You're going to be charged with aggravated assault against and the attempted murder of Zalachenko, and aggravated assault against Carl-Magnus Lundin at Stallarholmenâi.e., because you shot him in the foot and broke his jaw when you kicked him. But a source in the police whom I trust tells me that the evidence in each case is vague. The following is important:
(1) Before Zalachenko was shot he denied everything and claimed that it could only have been Niedermann who shot and buried you. He laid a charge against you for attempting to murder him. The prosecutor is going to go on about this being the second time you have tried to kill him.
(2) Neither Lundin nor Sonny Nieminen has said a word about what happened at Stallarholmen. Lundin has been arrested for kidnapping Miriam. Nieminen has been released.
ââââââ
Salander had already discussed all of this with Giannini. She
had
told Giannini everything that had happened in Gosseberga, but she had refrained from telling her anything about Bjurman.
What I think you haven't understood are the rules of the game.
It's like this. Säpo got saddled with Zalachenko in the middle of the Cold War. For fifteen years he was protected, no matter what he did. Careers were built on Zalachenko. On any number of occasions they cleaned up after his rampages. This is all criminal activity: Swedish authorities helping to cover up crimes against individual citizens.
If this gets out, there'll be a scandal that will affect both the conservative and social democratic parties. Above all, people in high places within Säpo will be exposed as accomplices in criminal and immoral activities. Even though by now the statute of limitations has run out on the specific instances of crime, there'll still be a scandal. It involves big shots who are either retired now or close to retirement.
They will do everything they can to reduce the damage to themselves and their group, and that means you'll once again be a pawn in their game. But this time it's not a matter of them sacrificing a pawnâit'll be a matter of them actively needing to limit the damage to themselves personally. So you'll have to be locked up again.
This is how it will work. They know that they can't keep the lid on the Zalachenko secret for long. I have got the story, and they know that sooner or later I'm going to publish it. It doesn't matter so much, of course, now that he's dead. What matters to them is their own survival. The following points are therefore high on their agenda:
(1) They have to convince the district court (the public, in effect) that the decision to lock you up in St. Stefan's in 1991 was a legitimate one, that you really were mentally ill.
(2) They have to separate the “Salander affair” from the “Zalachenko affair.” They'll try to create a situation where they can say, “Certainly Zalachenko was a fiend, but that had nothing to do with the decision to lock up his daughter. She was
locked up because she was derangedâany claims to the contrary are the sick fantasies of bitter journalists. No, we did not assist Zalachenko in any crimeâthat's the delusion of a mentally ill teenage girl.”
(3) The problem is that if you're acquitted, it would mean that the district court finds that you're not a nutcase. And that would have to mean that locking you up in 1991 was illegal. So they have to condemn you, at all costs, to the locked psychiatric ward. If the court determines that you are mentally ill, the media's interest in continuing to dig around in the “Salander affair” will die away. That is how the media work.
Are you with me?
ââââââ
All of this she had already worked out for herself. The problem was that she didn't know what she should do.
Lisbethâseriouslyâthis battle is going to be decided in the mass media, and not in the courtroom. Unfortunately, the trial is going to be held behind closed doors “to protect your privacy.”
The day that Zalachenko was shot there was a robbery at my apartment. There were no signs on my door of a break-in, and nothing was touched or movedâexcept for one thing. The folder from Bjurman's summer cabin with Björck's report was taken. At the same time, my sister was mugged and her copy of the report was also stolen. That folder is your most important evidence.
I have let it be known that our Zalachenko documents are gone, disappeared. In fact I had a third copy that I was going to give to Armansky. I made several copies of that one and have tucked them away in safe places.
Our opponentsâwho include several high-powered figures and certain psychiatristsâare of course also
preparing for the trial, together with Prosecutor Ekström. I have a source who provides me with some info on what's going on, but I suspect that you might have a better chance of finding out the relevant information. This is urgent.
The prosecutor is going to try to get you locked up in the psychiatric ward. Assisting him is your old friend Peter Teleborian.
Annika won't be able to go out and do a media campaign in the same way that the prosecution can (and does), leaking information as they see fit. Her hands are tied.
But I'm not encumbered by that sort of restriction. I can write whatever I wantâand I also have an entire magazine at my disposal.
Two important details are still needed:
(1) First of all, I want to have something that shows that Prosecutor Ekström is working with Teleborian in some inappropriate manner, and that the objective once more is to confine you to a nuthouse. I want to be able to go on any talk show on TV and present documentation that annihilates the prosecution's game.
(2) To wage a media war I must be able to appear in public to discuss things that you may consider your private business. Privacy in this situation is wildly overrated in view of all that has been written about you since Easter. I have to be able to construct a completely new media image of you, even if that, in your opinion, means invading your privacyâpreferably with your approval. Do you understand what I mean?
ââââââ
She opened the archive in [Idiotic_Table]. It contained twenty-six documents.
Wednesday, May 18
Figuerola got up at 5:00 on Wednesday morning and went for an unusually short run before she showered and dressed in black jeans, a white top, and a lightweight grey linen jacket. She made coffee, poured it into a thermos, and then made sandwiches. She also strapped on a shoulder holster and took her Sig Sauer from the gun cabinet. Just after 6:00 she drove her white Saab 9â5 to Vittangigatan in Vällingby.
MÃ¥rtensson's apartment was on the top floor of a three-storey building in the suburbs. The day before, she had assembled everything that could be found out about him in the public archives. He was unmarried, but that did not mean that he wasn't living with someone. He had no black marks in police records, and no great fortune, and he did not seem to lead a fast life. He very seldom called in sick.
The one conspicuous thing about him was that he had licences for no fewer than sixteen weapons. Three of them were hunting rifles; the others were handguns of various types. As long as he had a licence, of course, there was no crime, but Figuerola harboured a deep scepticism about anyone who collected weapons on such a scale.
The Volvo with the registration beginning KAB was in the parking lot about thirty yards from where Figuerola herself parked. She poured black coffee into a paper cup and ate a lettuce and cheese baguette. Then she peeled an orange and sucked each segment to extinction.
At morning rounds, Salander was out of sorts and had a bad headache. She asked for a Tylenol, which she was immediately given.
After an hour the headache had grown worse. She rang for the nurse and asked for another Tylenol. That didn't help either. By lunchtime she
had such a headache that the nurse called Dr. Endrin, who examined her patient briskly and prescribed a powerful painkiller.
Salander held the tablets under her tongue and spat them out as soon as she was alone.
At 2:00 in the afternoon she threw up. This recurred at around 3:00.
At 4:00 Jonasson came up to the ward just as Dr. Endrin was about to go home. They conferred briefly.
“She feels sick and she has a strong headache. I gave her Dexofen. I don't understand what's going on with her. She's been doing so well lately. It might be some sort of flu ⦔
“Does she have a fever?” asked Jonasson.
“No. She had 98.6 an hour ago.”
“I'm going to keep an eye on her overnight.”
“I'll be going on vacation for three weeks,” Endrin said. “Either you or Svantesson will have to take over her case. But Svantesson hasn't had much to do with her. ⦔
“I'll arrange to be her primary care doctor while you're on vacation.”
“Good. If there's a crisis and you need help, do call.”
They paid a short visit to Salander's sickbed. She was lying with the sheet pulled up to the tip of her nose, and she looked miserable. Jonasson put his hand on her forehead and felt that it was damp.
“I think we'll have to do a quick examination.”
He thanked Dr. Endrin, and she left.
At 5:00 Jonasson discovered that Salander had developed a temperature of 100, which was noted on her chart. He visited her three times that evening and noted that her temperature had remained at 100âtoo high, certainly, but not so high as to present a real problem. At 8:00 he ordered a cranial X-ray.
When the X-rays came through he studied them intently. He could not see anything remarkable, but he did observe that there was a barely visible darker area immediately adjacent to the bullet hole. He wrote a carefully worded and noncommittal comment on her chart:
Radiological examination gives a basis for definitive conclusions
,
but the condition of the patient has deteriorated steadily during the day. It cannot be ruled out that there is a minor bleed that is not visible on the images. The patient should be confined to bedrest and kept under strict observation until further notice
.
Berger had received twenty-three emails by the time she arrived at
SMP
at 6:30 on Wednesday morning.
One of them had the address
WHORE
She raised her index finger to delete the message. At the last moment she changed her mind. She went back to her in-box and opened the message that had arrived two days before. The sender was
whore
and a phoney sender from the world of mass media. She created a new folder called [Mediafool] and saved both messages. Then she got busy on the morning memo.
Mårtensson left home at 7:40 that morning. He got into his Volvo and drove towards the city but turned off to go across Stora Essingen and Gröndal into Södermalm. He drove down Hornsgatan and across to Bellmansgatan via Brännkyrkagatan. He turned left onto Tavastgatan at the Bishop's Arms pub and parked at the corner.
Just as Figuerola reached the Bishop's Arms, a van pulled out and left a parking space on Bellmansgatan at the corner with Tavastgatan. From her ideal location at the top of the hill she had an unobstructed view. She could just see the back window of Mårtensson's Volvo. Straight ahead of her, on the steep slope down towards Pryssgränd, was Bellmansgatan 1. She was looking at the building from the side, so she could not see the front door itself, but as soon as anyone came out onto the street, she would see them. She had no doubt that this particular address was the reason for Mårtensson's being there. It was Blomkvist's building.
Figuerola could see that the area surrounding Bellmansgatan 1 would be a nightmare to keep under surveillance. The only spot from which the door to the building could be observed directly was from the promenade and footbridge on upper Bellmansgatan near the Maria lift and the Laurinska building. There was nowhere there to park a car, and the person doing the surveillance would stand exposed on the footbridge like a swallow perched on an old telephone wire in the country. The intersection of Bellmansgatan and Tavastgatan, where Figuerola had parked, was basically the only place where she could sit in her car and have a view of the whole. She had been incredibly lucky. Yet it was not a particularly good place because any alert observer would see her in her car. But she did not want to leave the car and start walking around the area. She was too easily noticeable. In her role as undercover officer her looks worked against her.
Blomkvist emerged at 9:10. Figuerola noted the time. She saw him look up at the footbridge on upper Bellmansgatan. He started up the hill straight towards her.
She opened her handbag and unfolded a map of Stockholm, which she placed on the passenger seat. Then she opened a notebook and took a pen from her jacket pocket. She pulled out her mobile and pretended to be talking, keeping her head bent so that the hand holding her phone hid part of her face.
She saw Blomkvist glance down Tavastgatan. He knew he was being watched and he must have seen MÃ¥rtensson's Volvo, but he kept walking without showing any interest in the car.
Acts calm and cool. Somebody should have opened the car door and scared the shit out of him
.
The next moment he passed Figuerola's car. She was obviously trying to find an address on the map while she talked on the phone, but she could sense Blomkvist looking at her as he passed.
Suspicious of everything around him
. She saw him in the side-view mirror on the passenger side as he went on down towards Hornsgatan. She had seen him on TV a couple of times, but this was the first time she had seen him in person. He was wearing blue jeans, a T-shirt, and a grey jacket. He carried a shoulder bag and he walked with a long, loose stride. A nice-looking man.
MÃ¥rtensson appeared at the corner by the Bishop's Arms and watched Blomkvist go. He had a large sports bag over his shoulder and was just finishing a call on his mobile. Figuerola expected him to follow his quarry, but to her surprise he crossed the street right in front of her car and turned down the hill towards Blomkvist's building. A second later a man in blue overalls passed her car and caught up with MÃ¥rtensson.
Hello
,
where did you come from
?
