“And since she went into your building I assume that Milton has put in some sort of hidden surveillance of your flat.”
“That’s right. We have an excellent film of how they break in and go through my papers. Martensson carries a portable photocopier with him. Have you identified Martensson’s sidekick?”
“He’s unimportant. A locksmith with a criminal record who’s probably being paid to open your door.”
“Name?”
“Protected source?”
“Naturally.”
“Lars Faulsson. Forty-seven. Alias Falun. Convicted of safe-cracking in the ’80s and some other minor stuff. Has a shop at Norrtull.”
“Thanks.”
“But let’s save the secrets till we meet again tomorrow.”
The meeting had ended with an agreement that Blomkvist would come to Constitutional Protection the next day to set in train an exchange of information. Blomkvist was thinking. They were just passing Sergels Torg in the city centre.
“You know what? I’m incredibly hungry. I had a late lunch and was going to make a pasta when I got home, but I was waylaid by you. Have you eaten?”
“A while ago.”
“Take us to a restaurant where we can get some decent food.”
“All food is decent.”
He looked at her. “I thought you were a health-food fanatic.”
“No, I’m a workout fanatic. If you work out you can eat whatever you want. Within reason.”
She braked at the Klaraberg viaduct and considered the options. Instead of turning down towards Sodermalm she kept going straight to Kungsholmen.
“I don’t know what the restaurants are like in Soder, but I know an excellent Bosnian place at Fridhemsplan. Their
“Sounds good,” Blomkvist said.
Salander tapped her way, letter by letter, through her report. She had worked an average of five hours each day. She was careful to express herself precisely. She left out all the details that could be used against her.
That she was locked up had turned out to be a blessing. She always had plenty of warning to put away her Palm when she heard the rattling of a key ring or a key being put in the lock.
I was about to lock up Bjurman’s cabin outside Stallarholmen when Carl-Magnus Lundin and Sonny Nieminen arrived on motorbikes. Since they had been searching for me in vain for a while on behalf of Zalachenko and Niedermann, they were surprised to see me there. Magge Lundin got off his motorbike and declared, quote,
There was no reason to volunteer the information that Lundin had called her a whore or that she had bent down and picked up Nieminen’s P-83 Wanad and punished Lundin by shooting him in the foot. The police could probably work that out for themselves, but it was up to them to prove it. She did not mean to make their job any easier by confessing to something that would lead to a prison sentence.
The text had grown to thirty-three pages and she was nearing the end. In some sections she was particularly reticent about details and went to a lot of trouble not to supply any evidence that could back up in any way the many claims she was making. She went so far as to obscure some obvious evidence and instead moved on to the next link in the chain of events.
She scrolled back and read through the text of a section where she told how Advokat Bjurman had violently and sadistically raped her. That was the part she had spent the most time on, and one of the few she had rewritten several times before she was satisfied. The section took up nineteen lines in her account. She reported in a matter-of-fact manner how he had hit her, thrown her on to her stomach on the bed, taped her mouth and handcuffed her. She then related how he had repeatedly committed acts of sexual violence against her, including anal penetration. She went on to report how at one point during the rape he had wound a piece of clothing – her own T-shirt – around her neck and strangled her for such a long time that she temporarily lost consciousness. Then there were several lines of text where she identified the implements he had used during the rape, which included a short whip, an anal plug, a rough dildo, and clamps which he attached to her nipples.
She frowned and studied the text. At last she raised the stylus and tapped out a few more lines of text.
On one occasion when I still had my mouth taped shut, Bjurman commented on the fact that I had several tattoos and piercings, including a ring in my left nipple. He asked if I liked being pierced and then left the room. He came back with a needle which he pushed through my right nipple.
The matter-of-fact tone gave the text such a surreal touch that it sounded like an absurd fantasy.
The story simply did not sound credible.
That was her intention.
At that moment she heard the rattle of the guard’s key ring. She turned off the Palm at once and put it in the recess in the back of the bedside table. It was Giannini. She frowned. It was 9.00 in the evening and Giannini did not usually appear this late.
“Hello, Lisbeth.”
“Hello.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m not finished yet.”
Giannini sighed. “Lisbeth, they’ve set the trial date for July 13.”
“That’s O.K.”
“No, it’s not O.K. Time is running out, and you’re not telling me anything. I’m beginning to think that I made a colossal mistake taking on the job. If we’re going to have the slightest chance, you have to trust me. We have to work together.”
Salander studied her for a long moment. Finally she leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling.
“I know what we’re supposed to be doing. I understand Mikael’s plan. And he’s right.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“But I am.”
“The police want to interrogate you again. A detective named Hans Faste from Stockholm.”
“Let him interrogate me. I won’t say a word.”
“You have to hand in a statement.”
Salander gave Giannini a sharp look. “I repeat: we won’t say a word to the police. When we get to that courtroom the prosecutor won’t have a single syllable from any interrogation to fall back on. All they’ll have is the statement that I’m composing now, and large parts of it will seem preposterous. And they’re going to get it a few days before the trial.”
“So when are you actually going to sit down with a pen and paper and write this statement?”
“You’ll have it in a few days. But it can’t go to the prosecutor until just before the trial.”
Giannini looked sceptical. Salander suddenly gave her a cautious smile. “You talk about trust. Can I trust you?”
“Of course you can.”
“O.K., could you smuggle me in a hand-held computer so that I can keep in touch with people online?”
“No, of course not. If it were discovered I’d be charged with a crime and lose my licence to practise.”
