The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets’ Nest

irritate Giannini.

“Yes, but your client has had several months to explain herself. She hasn’t said a word in all her interviews with Faste.”

“As far as I know there is no law that forces my client to talk simply when it suits Inspector Faste.”

“No, but I mean… Salander’s trial will begin in four days’ time, and at the eleventh hour she comes up with this. To tell the truth, I feel a responsibility here which is beyond my duties as prosecutor.”

“You do?”

“I do not in the very least wish to sound offensive. That is not my intention. But we have a procedure for trials in this country. You, Fru Giannini, are a lawyer specialising in women’s rights, and you have never before represented a client in a criminal case. I did not charge Lisbeth Salander because she is a woman, but on a charge of grievous bodily harm. Even you, I believe, must have realized that she suffers from a serious mental illness and needs the protection and assistance of the state.”

“You’re afraid that I won’t be able to provide Lisbeth Salander with an adequate defence,” Giannini said in a friendly tone.

“I do not wish to be judgemental,” Ekstrom said, “and I don’t question your competence. I’m simply making the point that you lack experience.”

“I do understand, and I completely agree with you. I am woefully inexperienced when it comes to criminal cases.”

“And yet you have all along refused the help that has been offered by lawyers with considerably more experience –”

“At the express wish of my client. Lisbeth Salander wants me to be her lawyer, and accordingly I will be representing her in court.” She gave him a polite smile.

“Very well, but I do wonder whether in all seriousness you intend to offer the content of this statement to the court.”

“Of course. It’s her story.”

Ekstrom and Faste glanced at one another. Faste raised his eyebrows. He could not see what Ekstrom was fussing about. If Giannini did not understand that she was on her way to sinking her client, then that certainly was not the prosecutor’s fault. All they needed to do was to say thank you, accept the document, and put the issue aside.

As far as he was concerned, Salander was off her rocker. He had employed all his skills to persuade her to tell them, at the very least, where she lived. But in interview after interview that damn girl had just sat there, silent as a stone, staring at the wall behind him. She had refused the cigarettes he offered, and had never so much as accepted a coffee or a cold drink. Nor had she registered the least reaction when he pleaded with her, or when he raised his voice in moments of extreme annoyance. Faste had never conducted a more frustrating set of interviews.

“Fru Giannini,” Ekstrom said at last, “I believe that your client ought to be spared this trial. She is not well. I have a psychiatric report from a highly qualified doctor to fall back on. She should be given the psychiatric care that for so many years she has badly needed.”

“I take it that you will be presenting this recommendation to the district court.”

“That’s exactly what I’ll be doing. It’s not my business to tell you how to conduct her defence. But if this is the line you seriously intend to take, then the situation is, quite frankly, absurd. This statement contains wild and unsubstantiated accusations against a number of people… in particular against her guardian, Advokat Bjurman, and Dr Peter Teleborian. I hope you do not in all seriousness believe that the court will accept an account that casts suspicion on Dr Teleborian without offering a single shred of evidence. This document is going to be the final nail in your client’s coffin, if you’ll pardon the metaphor.”

“I hear what you’re saying.”

“In the course of the trial you may claim that she is not ill and request a supplementary psychiatric assessment, and then the matter can be submitted to the medical board. But to be honest her statement leaves me in very little doubt that every other forensic psychiatrist will come to the same conclusion as Dr Teleborian. Its very existence confirms all documentary evidence that she is a paranoid schizophrenic.”

Giannini smiled politely. “There is an alternative view,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“That her account is in every detail true and that the court will elect to believe it.”

Ekstrom looked bewildered by the notion. Then he smiled and stroked his goatee.

Clinton was sitting at the little side table by the window in his office. He listened attentively to Nystrom and Sandberg. His face was furrowed, but his peppercorn eyes were focused and alert.

“We’ve been monitoring the telephone and email traffic of Millennium’s key employees since April,” Clinton said. “We’ve confirmed that Blomkvist and Eriksson and this Cortez fellow are pretty downcast on the whole. We’ve read the outline version of the next issue. It seems that even Blomkvist has reversed his position and is now of the view that Salander is mentally unstable after all. There is a socially linked defence for her – he’s claiming that society let her down, and that as a result it’s somehow not her fault that she tried to murder her father. But that’s hardly an argument. There isn’t one word about the break-in at his apartment or the fact that his sister was attacked in Goteborg, and there’s no mention of the missing reports. He knows he can’t prove anything.”

“That is precisely the problem,” Sandberg said. “Blomkvist must know that someone has their eye on him. But he seems to be completely ignoring his suspicions. Forgive me, but that isn’t Millennium’s style. Besides, Erika Berger is back in editorial and yet this whole issue is so bland and devoid of substance that it seems like a joke.”

“What are you saying? That it’s a decoy?”

Sandberg nodded. “The summer issue should have come out in the last week of June. According to one of Malin Eriksson’s emails, it’s being printed by a company in Sodertalje, but when I rang them this morning, they told me they hadn’t even got the C.R.C. All they’d had was a request for a quote about a month ago.”

“Where have they printed before?” Clinton said.

“At a place called Hallvigs in Morgongava. I called to ask how far they had got with the printing – I said I was calling from Millennium. The manager wouldn’t tell me a thing. I thought I’d drive up there this evening and take a look.”

“Makes sense. Georg?”

“I’ve reviewed all the telephone traffic from the past week,” Nystrom said. “It’s bizarre, but the Millennium staff never discuss anything to do with the trial or Zalachenko.”

“Nothing at all?”

“No. They mention it only when they’re talking with someone outside Millennium. Listen to this, for instance. Blomkvist gets a call from a reporter at Aftonbladet asking whether he has any comment to make on the upcoming trial.”

He put a tape recorder on the table.

“Sorry, but I have no comment.”

“You’ve been involved with the story from the start. You were the one who found Salander down in Gosseberga. And you haven’t published a single word since. When do you intend to publish?”

“When the time is right. Provided I have anything to say.”

“Do you?”

“Well, you can buy a copy of Millennium and see for yourself.”

He turned off the recorder.

“We didn’t think about this before, but I went back and listened to bits at random. It’s been like this the entire time. He hardly discusses the Zalachenko business except in the most general terms. He doesn’t even discuss it with his sister, and she’s Salander’s lawyer.”

“Maybe he really doesn’t have anything to say.”

“He consistently refuses to speculate about anything. He seems to live at the offices round the clock; he’s