“There was not. But we took a break so the dog could rest his nose for a while. The handler says it’s necessary since the smells at an arson site are really strong.”
“Get to the point, Jerker. I’m a bit pressed here.”
“Well, he took a walk and let the dog loose away from the site of the fire. The dog signalled a spot about seventy-five yards into the woods behind the warehouse. We started digging. Ten minutes ago we found a human leg with a shoe. It seems to be a man’s shoe. It was buried fairly shallow.”
“Oh shit. Jerker, you’ve got to –”
“I’ve already taken command of the site and put a stop to the digging. I want to get forensics out here and proper techs before we proceed.”
“Very well done.”
“But that’s not all. Five minutes ago the dog marked another spot some eighty yards from the first.”
Salander had made coffee on Bjurman’s stove and eaten another apple. She spent two hours reading through Bjurman’s notes on her, page by page. She was actually impressed. He had put quite a lot of effort into the task and systematized the information. He had found material about her that she didn’t even know existed.
She read Palmgren’s journal with mixed feelings. It took up two black notebooks. He had started keeping a diary about her when she was fifteen. She had just run away from her third set of foster parents, an elderly couple in Sigtuna; he was a sociologist and she was an author of children’s books. Salander had stayed with them for twelve days and could tell that they were tremendously proud of making a social contribution by taking her in, and that they expected her constantly to express gratitude. She had finally had enough when her foster mother, boasting to a neighbour, started expounding about how important it was that someone took care of young people who had obvious problems.
He had been an OK guy. He provided her with food and a place to live. She did not have to do much in return. He wanted to look at her when she was naked. He never touched her. She knew he would be considered a pedophile, but she had never felt the least threat from him. She thought him an introverted and socially handicapped person. She even came to experience a feeling of kinship when she thought about him. They were both outsiders.
Someone had finally spotted her and called the police. A social worker did her best to persuade her to report the man for sexual assault. She had obstinately refused to say that anything untoward had occurred, and in any case she was fifteen and legal. Fuck you. Then Palmgren had intervened and signed for her. He started a diary in what appeared to be a frustrated attempt to allay and resolve his own doubts. The first entries were written in December 1993:
L. increasingly appears to be the most unmanageable young person I’ve ever had to deal with. The question is whether I’m doing the right thing when I oppose her return to St.Stefan’s. She has now run away from three foster families in three months and obviously risks coming to some harm during her excursions. I have to decide soon whether I should give up the assignment and request that she be put under the care of real experts. I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong. Today I had a serious talk with her.
Salander remembered every word of that serious talk. It was the day before Christmas Eve. Palmgren had taken her to his place and installed her in his spare room. He made spaghetti with meat sauce for supper and then put her on the living-room sofa and sat in an armchair across from her. She remembered wondering if Palmgren too wanted to see her naked. Instead he spoke to her as if she were a grown-up.
In fact it had been a two-hour monologue. She had hardly uttered a word. He had spelled out the realities, which were in effect that now she had to decide between going back to St.Stefan’s and living with a foster family. He would do what he could to find a family acceptable to her, and he insisted that she go with his choice. He had decided that she should spend the Christmas holidays with him so she would have time to think about her future. It was up to her, but on the day after Christmas he wanted a clear answer and a promise from her that if she had problems she would turn to him instead of running away. Then he had sent her to bed and apparently sat down to write the first lines in his diary.
The threat of being transported back to St.Stefan’s frightened her more than Holger Palmgren could know. She spent an unhappy Christmas suspiciously watching every move he made. The next day he still had not attempted to paw her, nor did he show any sign of wanting to sneak a look at her in the bath. On the contrary, he got really angry when she tried to provoke him by marching naked from his spare room to the bathroom. He had slammed the bathroom door hard. Later she had made him the promises he demanded. She had kept her word. Well, more or less.
In his journal Palmgren commented methodically on every meeting he had with her. Sometimes it was three lines, sometimes he filled several pages with his thoughts. Every so often she was surprised. Palmgren had been more insightful than she had imagined, and occasionally commented on incidents when she had tried to fool him but he had seen through her.
Then she opened the police report from 1991.
And the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. She felt as if the ground had started to shake.
She read the medical report written by a Dr. Jesper H. Loderman, in which Dr. Peter Teleborian figured prominently. Loderman had been the prosecutor’s trump card when he tried to get her institutionalized at the hearing when she was eighteen.
Then she found an envelope containing correspondence between Teleborian and some policeman called Gunnar Bjorck. The letters were all dated 1991, just after “All The Evil” happened.
Nothing was said straight out in the correspondence, but suddenly a trapdoor opened beneath Salander. It took her several minutes to grasp the implications. Bjorck referred to some conversation they must have had. His wording was irreproachable, but between the lines he was saying that it would be all right with him if Salander were locked up in an asylum for the rest of her life.
It is important for the child to get some distance from the context. I cannot evaluate her psychological condition or what sort of care she needs, but the longer she can be kept institutionalized, the less risk there is that she would unintentionally create problems regarding the current matter.
Teleborian was responsible for her care at St.Stefan’s. It had been no accident. The tone of the correspondence led her to understand that these letters were never intended to see the light of day.
Teleborian had known Bjorck.
Salander bit her lower lip as she pondered. She had never done any research on Teleborian, but he had started out in forensic medicine, and even the Security Police occasionally needed to consult a forensic medical expert or psychiatrist for their investigations. If she started digging, she would surely find a connection. At some point during his career, Teleborian and Bjorck’s paths had crossed. When Bjorck needed someone who could bury Salander, he had turned to Teleborian.
That was how it had happened. What previously looked like chance now took on a whole new dimension.
She sat still for a long time staring into space. Nobody was innocent. There were only varying degrees of responsibility. And somebody was responsible for Salander. She would definitely have to pay a visit to Smadalaro. She assumed that no-one in the shipwreck that was the state justice system would have any desire to discuss the subject with her, and in the absence of anyone else, a talk with Gunnar Bjorck would have to do.
She looked forward to that talk.
She did not need to take all the folders with her. As she read them they became forever imprinted on her photographic memory. She took along Palmgren’s notebooks, Bjorck’s police report from 1991, the medical report
