Saturday, 9.iv – Sunday, 10.iv By 1.00 on Saturday afternoon, Prosecutor2 Fransson in S?dert?lje had finished her deliberations. The burial ground in the woods in Nykvarn was a wretched mess, and the Violent Crimes Division had racked up a vast amount of overtime3 since Wednesday, when Paolo Roberto had fought his boxing match with Niedermann in the warehouse4 there. They were dealing5 with at least three murders with the bodies found buried on the property, along with the kidnapping and assault of Salander’s friend Miriam Wu, and on top of it all, arson6. The incident in Stallarholmen was connected with the discoveries at Nykvarn, and was actually located within the Str?ngn?s police district in S?dermanland county. Carl-Magnus Lundin of the Svavelsj? Motorcycle Club was a key player in the whole thing, but he was in hospital in S?dert?lje with one foot in a cast and his jaw7 wired shut. Accordingly, all of these crimes came under county police jurisdiction8, which meant that Stockholm would have the last word. On Friday the court hearing was held. Lundin was formally charged in connection with Nykvarn. It had eventually been established that the warehouse was owned by the Medimport Company, which in turn was owned by one Anneli Karlsson, a 52-year-old cousin of Lundin who lived in Puerto Banús, Spain. She had no criminal record. Fransson closed the folder9 that held all the preliminary investigation10 papers. These were still in the early stages and there would need to be another hundred pages of detailed11 work before they were ready to go to trial. But right now she had to make decisions on several matters. She looked up at her police colleagues. “We have enough evidence to charge Lundin with participating in the kidnapping of Miriam Wu. Paolo Roberto has identified him as the man who drove the van. I’m also going to charge him with probable involvement in arson. We’ll hold back on charging him with the murders of the three individuals we dug up on the property, at least until each of them has been identified.” The officers nodded. That was what they had been expecting. “What’ll we do about Sonny Nieminen?” Fransson leafed through to the section on Nieminen in the papers on her desk. “This is a man with an impressive criminal history. Robbery, possession of illegal weapons, assault, G.B.H., manslaughter and drug crime. He was arrested with Lundin at Stallarholmen. I’m convinced that he’s involved, but we don’t have the evidence to persuade a court.” “He says he’s never been to the Nykvarn warehouse and that he just happened to be out with Lundin on a motorcycle ride,” said the detective responsible for Stallarholmen on behalf of the S?dert?lje police. “He claims he had no idea what Lundin was up to in Stallarholmen.” Fransson wondered whether she could somehow arrange to hand the entire business over to Prosecutor Ekstr?m in Stockholm. “Nieminen refuses to say anything about what happened,” the detective went on, “but he vehemently12 denies being involved in any crime.” “You’d think he and Lundin were themselves the victims of a crime in Stallarholmen,” Fransson said, drumming her fingertips in annoyance13. “Lisbeth Salander,” she added, her voice scored with scepticism. “We’re talking about a girl who looks as if she’s barely entered puberty and who’s only one metre fifty tall. She doesn’t look as though she has the tonnage to take on either Nieminen or Lundin, let alone both of them.” “Unless she was armed. A pistol would compensate14 for her physique.” “But that doesn’t quite fit with our reconstruction15 of what happened.” “No. She used Mace17 and kicked Lundin in the balls and face with such aggression18 that she crushed one of his testicles and then broke his jaw. The shot in Lundin’s foot must have happened after she kicked him. But I can’t swallow the scenario19 that says she was the one who was armed.” “The lab has identified the weapon used on Lundin. It’s a Polish P-83 Wanad using Makarova ammo. It was found in Gosseberga outside G?teborg and it has Salander’s prints on it. We can pretty much assume that she took the pistol with her to Gosseberga.” “Sure. But the serial20 number shows that the pistol was stolen four years ago in the robbery of a gun shop in ?rebro. The thieves were eventually caught, but they had ditched the gun. It was a local thug with a drug problem who hung out around Svavelsj? M.C. I’d much rather place the pistol with either Lundin or Nieminen.” “It could be as simple as Lundin carrying the pistol and Salander disarming21 him. Then a shot was fired accidentally that hit him in the foot. I mean, it can’t have been her intention to kill him, since he’s still alive.” “Or else she shot him in the foot out of sheer sadism. Who’s to know? But how did she deal with Nieminen? He has no visible injuries.” “He does have one, or rather two, small burn marks on his chest.” “What sort of burns?” “I’m guessing a taser.” “So Salander was supposedly armed with a taser, a Mace canister and a pistol. How much would all that stuff weigh? No, I’m quite sure that either Lundin or Nieminen was carrying the gun, and she took it from them. We’re not going to be sure how Lundin came to get himself shot until one or other of the parties involved starts talking.” “Alright.” “As things now stand, Lundin has been charged for the reasons I mentioned earlier. But we don’t have a damned thing on Nieminen. I’m thinking of turning him loose this afternoon.” Nieminen was in a vile22 mood when he left the cells at S?dert?lje police station. His mouth was dry so his first stop was a corner shop where he bought a Pepsi. He guzzled23 it down on the spot. He bought a pack of Lucky Strike and a tin of G?teborg’s Rapé snuff. He flipped24 open his mobile and checked the battery, then dialled the number of Hans-?ke Waltari, thirty-three years old and number three in Svavelsj? M.C.’s hierarchy25. It rang four times before Waltari picked up. “Nieminen. I’m out.” “Congrats.” “Where are you?” “Nyk?ping.” “What the fuck are you doing in Nyk?ping?” “We decided26 to lay low when you and Magge were busted27 – until we knew the lay of the land.” “So now you know the lay of the land. Where is everybody?” Waltari told him where the other five members of Svavelsj? M.C. were located. The news neither pleased Nieminen nor made him any calmer. “So who the fuck is minding the store while all of you hide away like a bunch of girls?” “That’s not fair. You and Magge take off on some fucking job we know nothing about, and all of a sudden you’re mixed up in a shootout with that slut the law are after, Magge gets shot and you’re busted. Then they start digging up bodies at our warehouse in Nykvarn.” “So?” “So? So we were starting to wonder if maybe you and Magge were hiding something from the rest of us.” “And what the fuck would that be? We’re the ones who took the job for the sake of the club.” “Well, no-one ever told me that the warehouse was doubling up as a woodland cemetery28. Who were those dead bodies?” Nieminen had a vicious retort on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself. Waltari may be an idiot, but this was no time to start an argument. The important thing right now was to consolidate29 their forces. After stonewalling his way through five police interrogations, it was not a good idea to start boasting that he actually knew something on a mobile less than two hundred metres from a police station. “Forget the bodies,” he said. “I don’t know anything about that. But Magge is in deep shit. He’s going to be in the slammer for a while, and while he’s gone, I’m running the club.” “O.K. What happens now?” Waltari said. “Who’s keeping an eye on the property?” “Benny stayed at the clubhouse to hold the fort. They searched the place the day you were arrested. They didn’t find anything.” “Benny Karlsson?” Nieminen yelled. “Benny K.’s hardly dry behind the ears.” “Take it easy. He’s with that blond fucker you and Magge always hang out with.” Sonny froze. He glanced around and walked away from the door of the corner shop. “What did you say?” he asked in a low voice. “That blond monster you and Magge hang out with, he showed up and needed a place to hide.” “Goddamnit, Waltari! They’re looking for him all over the country!” “Yeah … that’s why he needed somewhere to hide. What were we supposed to do? He’s your and Magge’s pal30.” Nieminen shut his eyes for ten full seconds. Niedermann had brought Svavelsj? M.C. a lot of jobs and good money for several years. But he was absolutely not a friend. He was a dangerous bastard31 and a psychopath – a psychopath that the police were looking for with a vengeance32. Nieminen did not trust Niedermann for one second. The best thing would be if he was found with a bullet in his head. Then the manhunt would at least ease up a bit. “So what did you do with him?” “Benny’s taking care of him. He took him out to Viktor’s.” Viktor G?ransson was the club’s treasurer33 and financial expert, who lived just outside J?rna. He was trained in accounting34 and had begun his career as financial adviser35 to a Yugoslav who owned a string of bars, until the whole gang ended up in the slammer for fraud. He had met Lundin at Kumla prison in the early nineties. He was the only member of Svavelsj? M.C. who normally wore a jacket and tie. “Waltari, get in your car and meet me in S?dert?lje. I’ll be outside the train station in forty-five minutes.” “Alright. But what’s the rush?” “I have to get a handle on the situation. Do you want me to take the bus?” Waltari sneaked36 a look at Nieminen sitting quiet as a mouse as they drove out to Svavelsj?. Unlike Lundin, Nieminen was never very easy to deal with. He had the face of a model and looked weak, but he had a short fuse and was a dangerous man, especially when he had been drinking. Just then he was sober, but Waltari felt uneasy about having Nieminen as their leader in the future. Lundin had somehow always managed to keep Nieminen in line. He wondered how things would unfold now with Lundin out of the way. At the clubhouse, Benny was nowhere to be seen. Nieminen called him twice on his mobile, but got no answer. They drove to Nieminen’s place, about half a mile further down the road. The police had carried out a search, but they had evidently found nothing of value to the Nykvarn investigation. Which was why Nieminen had been released. He took a shower and changed his clothes while Waltari waited patiently in the kitchen. Then they walked about a hundred and fifty metres into the woods behind Nieminen’s property and scraped away the thin layer of soil that concealed37 a chest containing six handguns, including an AK5, a stack of ammunition38, and around two kilos of explosives. This was Nieminen’s arms cache. Two of the guns were Polish P-83 Wanads. They came from the same batch39 as the weapon that Salander had taken from him at Stallarholmen. Nieminen drove away all thought of Salander. It was an unpleasant subject. In the cell at S?dert?lje police station he had played the scene over and over in his head: how he and Lundin had arrived at Advokat Bjurman’s summer house and found Salander apparently40 just leaving. Events had been rapid and unpredictable. He had ridden over there with Lundin to burn the damned summer cabin down. On the instructions of that goddamned blond monster. And then they had stumbled upon that bitch Salander – all alone, 1.5 metres tall, thin as a stick. Nieminen wondered how much she actually weighed. And then everything had gone to hell; had exploded in a brief orgy of violence neither of them was prepared for. Objectively, he could describe the chain of events. Salander had a canister of Mace, which she sprayed in Lundin’s face. Lundin should have been ready, but he wasn’t. She kicked him twice, and you don’t need a lot of muscle to fracture a jaw. She took him by surprise. That could be explained. But then she took him too, Sonny Nieminen, a man who well-trained men would avoid getting into a fight with. She moved so fast. He hadn’t been able to pull his gun. She had taken him out easily, as if brushing off a mosquito. It was humiliating. She had a taser. She had… He could not remember a thing when he came to. Lundin had been shot in the foot and then the police showed up. After some palaver41 over jurisdiction between Str?ngn?s and S?dert?lje, he fetched up in the cells in S?dert?lje. Plus she had stolen Magge’s Harley. She had cut the badge out of his leather jacket – the very symbol that made people step aside in the queue at the bar, that gave him a status that was beyond most people’s wildest dreams. She had humiliated42 him. Nieminen was boiling over. He had kept his mouth shut through the entire series of police interrogations. He would never be able to tell anyone what had happened in Stallarholmen. Until that moment Salander had meant nothing to him. She was a little side project that Lundin was messing around with … again commissioned by that bloody43 Niedermann. Now he hated her with a fury that astonished him. Usually he was cool and analytical44, but he knew that some time in the future he would have to pay her back and erase45 the shame. But first he had to get a grip on the chaos46 that Svavelsj? M.C. had landed in because of Salander and Niedermann. Nieminen took the two remaining Polish guns, loaded them, and handed one to Waltari. “Have we got a plan?” “We’re going to drive over and have a talk with Niedermann. He isn’t one of us, and he doesn’t have a criminal record. I don’t know how he’s going to react if they catch him, but if he talks he could send us all to the slammer. We’d be sent down so fast it’d make your head spin.” “You mean we should …” Nieminen had already decided that Niedermann had to be got rid of, but he knew that it would be a bad idea to frighten off Waltari before they were in place. “I don’t know. We’ll see what he has in mind. If he’s planning to get out of the country as fast as hell then we could help him on his way. But as long as he risks being busted, he’s a threat to us.” The lights were out at G?ransson’s place when Nieminen and Waltari drove up in the twilight47. That was not a good sign. They sat in the car and waited. “Maybe they’re out,” Waltari said. “Right. They went to the bar with Niedermann,” Nieminen said, opening the car door. The front door was unlocked. Nieminen switched on an overhead light. They went from room to room. The house was well kept and neat, which was probably because of her, whatever-her-name-was, the woman G?ransson lived with. They found G?ransson and his girlfriend in the basement, stuffed into a laundry room. Nieminen bent48 down and looked at the bodies. He reached out a finger to touch the woman whose name he could not remember. She was ice-cold and stiff. That meant they had been dead maybe twenty-four hours. Nieminen did not need the help of a pathologist to work out how they had died. Her neck had been broken when her head was turned 180 degrees. She was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans and had no other injuries that Nieminen could see. G?ransson, on the other hand, wore only his underpants. He had been beaten, had blood and bruises49 all over his body. His arms were bent in impossible directions, like twisted tree limbs. The battering50 he had been subjected to could only be defined as torture. He had been killed, as far as Nieminen could judge, by a single blow to the neck. His larynx was rammed51 deep into his throat. Nieminen went up the stairs and out of the front door. Waltari followed him. Nieminen walked the fifty metres to the barn. He flipped the hasp and opened the door. He found a dark-blue 1991 Renault. “What kind of car does G?ransson have?” Nieminen said. “He drove a Saab.” Nieminen nodded. He fished some keys out of his jacket pocket and opened a door at the far end of the barn. One quick look around told him that they were there too late. The heavy weapons cabinet stood wide open. Nieminen grimaced52. “About 800,000 kronor,” he said. “What?” “Svavelsj? M.C. had about 800,000 kronor stashed53 in this cabinet. It was our treasury54.” Only three people knew where Svavelsj? M.C. kept the cash that was waiting to be invested and laundered55. G?ransson, Lundin, and Nieminen. Niedermann was on the run. He needed cash. He knew that G?ransson was the one who handled the money. Nieminen shut the door and walked slowly away from the barn. His mind was spinning as he tried to digest the catastrophe56. Part of Svavelsj? M.C.’s assets were in the form of bonds that he could access, and some of their investments could be reconstructed with Lundin’s help. But a large part of them had been listed only in G?ransson’s head, unless he had given clear instructions to Lundin. Which Nieminen doubted – Lundin had never been clever with money. Nieminen estimated that Svavelsj? M.C. had lost upwards57 of 60 per cent of its assets with G?ransson’s death. It was a devastating58 blow. Above all they needed the cash to take care of day-to-day expenses. “What do we do now?” Waltari said. “We’ll go and tip off the police about what happened here.” “Tip off the police?” “Yes, damn it. My prints are all over the house. I want G?ransson and his bitch to be found as soon as possible, so that forensics can work out that they died while I was still locked up.” “I get it.” “Good. Go and find Benny. I want to talk to him. If he’s still alive, that is. And then we’ll track down Niedermann. We’ll need every contact we have in the clubs all over Scandinavia to keep their eyes peeled. I want that bastard’s head on a platter. He’s probably riding around in G?ransson’s Saab. Find out the registration60 number.” When Salander woke up it was 2.00 on Saturday afternoon and a doctor was poking61 at her. “Good morning,” he said. “My name is Benny Svantesson. I’m a doctor. Are you in pain?” “Yes,” Salander said. “I’ll make sure you get some painkillers62 in a minute. But first I’d like to examine you.” He squeezed and poked63 and fingered her lacerated body. Salander was extremely aggravated64 by the time he had finished, but she held back; she was exhausted65 and decided it would be better to keep quiet than tarnish66 her stay at Sahlgrenska with a fight. “How am I doing?” she said. “You’ll pull through,” the doctor said and made some notes before he stood up. This was not very informative67. After he left, a nurse came in and helped Salander with a bedpan. Then she was allowed to go back to sleep. Zalachenko, alias68 Karl Axel Bodin, was given a liquid lunch. Even small movements of his facial muscles caused sharp pains in his jaw and cheekbone, and chewing was out of the question. During surgery the night before, two titanium screws had been fixed70 into his jawbone. But the pain was manageable. Zalachenko was used to pain. Nothing could compare with the pain he had undergone for several weeks, months even, fifteen years before when he had burned like a torch in his car. The follow-up care had been a marathon of agony. The doctors had decided that his life was no longer at risk but that he was severely71 injured. In view of his age, he would stay in the intensive care unit for a few more days yet. On Saturday he had four visitors. At 10.00 a.m. Inspector72 Erlander returned. This time he had left that bloody Modig woman behind and instead was accompanied by Inspector Holmberg, who was much more agreeable. They asked pretty much the same questions about Niedermann as they had the night before. He had his story straight and did not slip up. When they started plying73 him with questions about his possible involvement in trafficking and other criminal activities, he again denied all knowledge of any such thing. He was living on a disability pension, and he had no idea what they were talking about. He blamed Niedermann for everything and offered to help them in any way he could to find the fugitive74. Unfortunately there was not much he could help with, practically speaking. He had no knowledge of the circles Niedermann moved in, or who he might go to for protection. At around 11.00 he had a brief visit from a representative of the prosecutor’s office, who formally advised him that he was a suspect in the grievous bodily harm or attempted murder of Lisbeth Salander. Zalachenko patiently explained that, on the contrary, he was the victim of a crime, that in point of fact it was Salander who had attempted to murder him. The prosecutor’s office offered him legal assistance in the form of a public defence lawyer. Zalachenko said that he would mull over the matter. Which he had no intention of doing. He already had a lawyer, and the first thing he needed to do that morning was call him and tell him to get down there as swiftly as he could. Martin Thomasson was therefore the third guest of the day at Zalachenko’s sickbed. He wandered in with a carefree expression, ran a hand through his thick blond hair, adjusted his glasses, and shook hands with his client. He was a chubby75 and very charming man. True, he was suspected of running errands for the Yugoslav mafia, a matter which was still under investigation, but he was also known for winning his cases. Zalachenko had been referred to Thomasson through a business associate five years earlier, when he needed to restructure certain funds connected to a small financial firm that he owned in Liechtenstein. They were not dramatic sums, but Thomasson’s skill had been exceptional, and Zalachenko had avoided paying taxes on them. He then engaged Thomasson on a couple of other matters. Thomasson knew that the money came from criminal activity, which seemed not to trouble him. Ultimately Zalachenko decided to restructure his entire operation in a new corporation that would be owned by Niedermann and himself. He approached Thomasson and proposed that the lawyer come in as a third, silent partner to handle the financial side of the business. Thomasson accepted at once. “So, Herr Bodin, none of this looks like much fun.” “I have been the victim of grievous bodily harm and attempted murder,” Zalachenko said. “I can see as much. A certain Lisbeth Salander, if I understood correctly.” Zalachenko lowered his voice: “Our partner Niedermann, as you know, has really fouled76 his nest this time.” “Indeed.” “The police suspect that I am involved.” “Which of course you are not. You’re a victim, and it’s important that we see to it at once that this is the image presented to the press. Ms Salander has already received a good deal of negative publicity77 … Let me deal with the situation.” “Thank you.” “But I have to remind you right from the start that I’m not a criminal lawyer. You’re going to need a specialist. I’ll arrange to hire one that you can trust.” The fourth visitor of the day arrived at 11.00 on Saturday night, and managed to get past the nurses by showing an I.D. card and stating that he had urgent business. He was shown to Zalachenko’s room. The patient was still awake, and grumbling78. “My name is Jonas Sandberg,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand that Zalachenko ignored. He was in his thirties. He had reddish-brown hair and was casually79 dressed in jeans, a checked shirt and a leather jacket. Zalachenko scrutinized80 him for fifteen seconds. “I was wondering when one of you was going to show up.” “I work for S.I.S., Swedish Internal Security,” Sandberg said, and showed Zalachenko his I.D. “I doubt that,” said Zalachenko. “I beg your pardon?” “You may be employed by S.I.S., but I doubt that’s who you’re working for.” Sandberg looked around the room, then he pulled up the visitor’s chair. “I came here late so as not to attract attention. We’ve discussed how we can help you, and now we have to reach some sort of agreement about what’s going to happen. I’m just here to have your version of the story and find out what your intentions are … so that we can work out a common strategy.” “What sort of strategy had you in mind?” “Herr Zalachenko … I’m afraid that a process has been set in motion in which the deleterious effects are hard to foresee,” Sandberg said. “We’ve talked it through. It’s going to be difficult to explain away the grave in Gosseberga, and the fact that the girl was shot three times. But let’s not lose hope altogether. The conflict between you and your daughter can explain your fear of her and why you took such drastic measures … but I’m afraid we’re talking about your doing some time in prison.” Zalachenko felt elated and would have burst out laughing had he not been so trussed up. He managed a slight curl of his lips. Anything more would be just too painful. “So that’s our strategy?” “Herr Zalachenko, you are aware of the concept of damage control. We have to arrive at a common strategy. We’ll do everything in our power to assist you with a lawyer and so on … but we need your cooperation, as well as certain guarantees.” “You’ll get only one guarantee from me. First, you will see to it that all this disappears.” He waved his hand. “Niedermann is the scapegoat81 and I guarantee that no-one will ever find him.” “There’s forensic59 evidence that—” “Fuck the forensic evidence. It’s a matter of how the investigation is carried out and how the facts are presented. My guarantee is this … if you don’t wave your magic wand and make all this disappear, I’m inviting82 the media to a press conference. I know names, dates, events. I don’t think I need to remind you who I am.” “You don’t understand—” “I understand perfectly83. You’re an errand boy. So go to your superior and tell him what I’ve said. He’ll understand. Tell him that I have copies of … everything. I can take you all down.” “We have to come to an agreement.” “This conversation is over. Get out of here. And tell them that next time they should send a grown man for me to discuss things with.” Zalachenko turned his head away from his visitor. Sandberg looked at Zalachenko for a moment. Then he shrugged84 and got up. He was almost at the door when he heard Zalachenko’s voice again. “One more thing.” Sandberg turned. “Salander.” “What about her?” “She has to disappear.” “How do you mean?” Sandberg looked so nervous for a second that Zalachenko had to smile, although the pain drilled into his jaw. “I see that you milksops are too sensitive to kill her, and that you don’t even have the resources to have it done. Who would do it … you? But she has to disappear. Her testimony85 has to be declared invalid86. She has to be committed to a mental institution for life.” Salander heard footsteps in the corridor. She had never heard those footsteps before. Her door had been open all evening and the nurses had been in to check on her every ten minutes. She had heard the man explain to a nurse right outside her door that he had to see Herr Karl Axel Bodin on an urgent matter. She had heard him offering his I.D., but no words were exchanged that gave her any clue as to who he was or what sort of I.D. he had. The nurse had asked him to wait while she went to see whether Herr Bodin was awake. Salander concluded that his I.D., whatever it said, must have been persuasive87. She heard the nurse go down the corridor to the left. It took her 17 steps to reach the room, and the male visitor took 14 steps to cover the same distance. That gave an average of 15.5 steps. She estimated the length of a step at 60 centimetres, which multiplied by 15.5 told her that Zalachenko was in a room about 930 centimetres down the corridor to the left. O.K., approximately ten metres. She estimated that the width of her room was about five metres, which should mean that Zalachenko’s room was two doors down from hers. According to the green numerals on the digital clock on her bedside cabinet, the visit lasted precisely88 nine minutes. * Zalachenko lay awake for a long time after the man who called himself Jonas Sandberg had left. He assumed that it was not his real name; in his experience Swedish amateur spies had a real obsession89 with using false names even when it was not in the least bit necessary. In which case Sandberg, or whatever the hell his name was, was the first indication that Zalachenko’s predicament had come to the attention of the Section. Considering the media attention, this would have been hard to avoid. But the visit did confirm that his predicament was a matter of anxiety to them. As well it might be. He weighed the pros1 and cons16, lined up the possibilities, and rejected various options. He was fully90 aware that everything had gone about as badly as it could have. In a well-ordered world he would be at home in Gosseberga now, Niedermann would be safely out of the country, and Salander would be buried in a hole in the ground. Despite the fact that he had a reasonable grasp of what had happened, for the life of him he could not comprehend how she had managed to dig herself out of Niedermann’s trench91, make her way to his farm, and damn near destroy him with two blows of an axe69. She was extraordinarily92 resourceful. On the other hand he understood quite well what had happened to Niedermann, and why he had run for his life instead of staying to finish Salander off. He knew that something was not quite right in Niedermann’s head, that he saw visions – ghosts even. More than once Zalachenko had had to intervene when Niedermann began acting93 irrationally94 or lay curled up in terror. This worried Zalachenko. He was convinced that, since Niedermann had not yet been captured, he must have been acting rationally during the twenty-four hours since his flight from Gosseberga. Probably he would go to Tallinn, where he would seek protection among contacts in Zalachenko’s criminal empire. What worried him in the short term was that he could never predict when Niedermann might be struck by his mental paralysis95. If it happened while he was trying to escape, he would make mistakes, and if he made mistakes he would end up in prison. He would never surrender voluntarily, which meant that policemen would die and Niedermann probably would as well. This thought upset Zalachenko. He did not want Niedermann to die. Niedermann was his son. But regrettable as it was, Niedermann must not be captured alive. He had never been arrested, and Zalachenko could not predict how he would react under interrogation. He doubted that Niedermann would be able to keep quiet, as he should. So it would be a good thing if he were killed by the police. He would grieve for his son, but the alternative was worse. If Niedermann talked, Zalachenko himself would have to spend the rest of his life in prison. But it was now forty-eight hours since Niedermann had fled, and he had not yet been caught. That was good. It was an indication that Niedermann was functioning, and a functioning Niedermann was invincible96. In the long term there was another worry. He wondered how Niedermann would get along on his own, without his father there to guide him. Over the years he had noticed that if he stopped giving instructions or gave Niedermann too much latitude97 to make his own decisions, he would slip into an indolent state of indecision. Zalachenko acknowledged for the umpteenth98 time that it was a shame and a crime that his son did not possess certain qualities. Ronald Niedermann was without doubt a very talented person who had physical attributes to make him a formidable and feared individual. He was also an excellent and cold-blooded organizer. His problem was that he utterly99 lacked the instinct to lead. He always needed somebody to tell him what he was supposed to be organizing. But for the time being all this lay outside Zalachenko’s control. Right now he had to focus on himself. His situation was precarious100, perhaps more precarious than ever before. He did not think that Advokat Thomasson’s visit earlier in the day had been particularly reassuring101. Thomasson was and remained a corporate102 lawyer, and no matter how effective he was in that respect, he would not be a great support in this other business. And then there had been the visit of Jonas Sandberg, or whatever his name was. Sandberg offered a considerably103 stronger lifeline. But that lifeline could also be a trap. He had to play his cards right, and he would have to take control of the situation. Control was everything. In the end he had his own resources to fall back on. For the moment he needed medical attention, but in a couple of days, maybe a week, he would have regained104 his strength. If things came to a head, he might have only himself to rely on. That meant that he would have to disappear, from right under the noses of the policemen circling around him. He would need a hideout, a passport, and some cash. Thomasson could provide him with all that. But first he would have to get strong enough to make his escape. At 1.00 a.m. the night nurse looked in. He pretended to be asleep. When she closed the door he arduously105 sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat still for while, testing his sense of balance. Then he cautiously put his left foot down on the floor. Luckily the axe blow had struck his already crippled right leg. He reached for his prosthesis stored in the cabinet next to his bed and attached it to the stump106 of his leg. Then he stood up, keeping his weight on his uninjured leg before trying to stand on the other. As he shifted his weight a sharp pain shot through his right leg. He gritted107 his teeth and took a step. He would need crutches108, and he was sure that the hospital would offer him some soon. He braced109 himself against the wall and limped over to the door. It took him several minutes, and he had to stop after each step to deal with the pain. He rested on one leg as he pushed open the door a crack and peered out into the corridor. He did not see anyone, so he stuck his head out a little further. He heard faint voices to the left and turned to look. The night nurses were at their station about twenty metres down on the other side of the corridor. He turned his head to the right and saw the exit at the other end. Earlier in the day he had enquired110 about Lisbeth Salander’s condition. He was, after all, her father. The nurses obviously had been instructed not to discuss other patients. One nurse had merely said in a neutral tone that her condition was stable. But she had unconsciously glanced to her left. In one of the rooms between his own and the exit was Lisbeth Salander. He carefully closed the door, limped back to the bed, and detached his prosthesis. He was drenched111 in sweat when he finally slipped under the covers. Inspector Holmberg returned to Stockholm at lunchtime on Sunday. He was hungry and exhausted. He took the tunnelbana to City Hall, walked to police headquarters on Bergsgatan, and went up to Inspector Bublanski’s office. Modig and Andersson had already arrived. Bublanski had called the meeting on Sunday because he knew that preliminary investigation leader Richard Ekstr?m was busy elsewhere. “Thanks for coming in,” said Bublanski. “I think it’s time we had a discussion in peace and quiet to try to make sense of this mess. Jerker, have you got anything new?” “Nothing I haven’t already told you on the phone. Zalachenko isn’t budging112 one millimetre. He’s innocent of everything and has nothing to say. Just that—” “Yes?” “Sonja, you were right. He’s one of the nastiest people I’ve ever met. It might sound stupid to say that. Policemen aren’t supposed to think in those terms, but there’s something really scary beneath his calculating facade113.” “O.K.” Bublanski cleared his throat. “What have we got? Sonja?” She smiled weakly. “The private investigators114 won this round. I can’t find Zalachenko in any public register, but a Karl Axel Bodin seems to have been born in 1942 in Uddevalla. His parents were Marianne and Georg Bodin. They died in an accident in 1946. Karl Axel Bodin was brought up by an uncle living in Norway. So there is no record of him until the ’70s, when he moved back to Sweden. Mikael Blomkvist’s story that he’s a G.R.U. agent who defected from the Soviet115 Union seems impossible to verify, but I’m inclined to think he’s right.” “Alright. And what does that mean?” “The obvious explanation is that he was given a false identity. It must have been done with the consent of the authorities.” “You mean the Security Police, S?po?” “That’s what Blomkvist claims. But exactly how it was done I don’t know. It presupposes that his birth certificate and a number of other documents were falsified and then slipped into our public records. I don’t dare to comment on the legal ramifications116 of such an action. It probably depends on who made the decision. But for it to be legal, the decision would have to have been made at senior government level.” Silence descended117 in Bublanski’s office as the four criminal inspectors118 considered these implications. “O.K.,” said Bublanski. “The four of us are just dumb police officers. If people in government are mixed up in this, I don’t intend to interrogate119 them.” “Hmm,” said Andersson, “this could lead to a constitutional crisis. In the United States you can cross-examine members of the government in a normal court of law. In Sweden you have to do it through a constitutional committee.” “But we could ask the boss,” said Holmberg. “Ask the boss?” said Bublanski. “Thorbj?rn F?lldin. He was Prime Minister at the time.” “O.K., we’ll just cruise up to wherever he lives and ask the former Prime Minister if he faked identity documents for a defecting Russian spy. I don’t think so.” “F?lldin lives in ?s, in H?rn?sand. I grew up a few miles from there. My father’s a member of the Centre Party and knows F?lldin well. I’ve met him several times, both as a kid and as an adult. He’s a very approachable person.” Three inspectors gave Holmberg an astonished look. “You know F?lldin?” Bublanski said dubiously120. Holmberg nodded. Bublanski pursed his lips. “To tell the truth,” said Holmberg, “it would solve a number of issues if we could get the former Prime Minister to give us a statement – at least we’d know where we stand in all this. I could go up there and talk to him. If he won’t say anything, so be it. But if he does, we might save ourselves a lot of time.” Bublanski weighed the suggestion. Then he shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that both Modig and Andersson were nodding thoughtfully. “Holmberg … it’s nice of you to offer, but I think we’ll put that idea on the back burner for now. So, back to the case. Sonja.” “According to Blomkvist, Zalachenko came here in 1976. As far as I can work out, there’s only one person he could have got that information from.” “Gunnar Bj?rck,” said Andersson. “What has Bj?rck told us?” Holmberg asked. “Not much. He says it’s all classified and that he can’t discuss anything without permission from his superiors.” “And who are his superiors?” “He won’t say.” “So what’s going to happen to him?” “I arrested him for violation121 of the prostitution laws. We have excellent documentation in Dag Svensson’s notes. Ekstr?m was most upset, but since I had already filed a report, he could get himself into trouble if he closes the preliminary investigation,” Andersson said. “I see. Violation of the prostitution laws. That might result in a fine of ten times his daily income.” “Probably. But we have him in the system and can call him in again for questioning.” “But now we’re getting a little too close to poaching on S?po’s preserves. That might cause a bit of turbulence122.” “The problem is that none of this could have happened if S?po weren’t involved somehow. It’s possible that Zalachenko really was a Russian spy who defected and was granted political asylum123. It’s also possible that he worked for S?po as an expert or source or whatever title you want to give him, and that there was good reason to offer him a false identity and anonymity124. But there are three problems. First, the investigation carried out in 1991 that led to Lisbeth Salander being locked away was illegal. Second, Zalachenko’s activities since then have nothing whatsoever125 to do with national security. Zalachenko is an ordinary gangster126 who’s probably mixed up in several murders and other criminal activities. And third, there is no doubt that Lisbeth Salander was shot and buried alive on his property in Gosseberga.” “Speaking of which, I’d really like to read the infamous127 report,” said Holmberg. Bublanski’s face clouded over. “Jerker … this is how it is: Ekstr?m laid claim to it on Friday, and when I asked for it back he said he’d make me a copy, which he never did. Instead he called me and said that he had spoken with the Prosecutor General and there was a problem. According to the P.G., the Top Secret classification means that the report may not be disseminated128 or copied. The P.G. has called in all copies until the matter is investigated. Which meant that Sonja had to relinquish129 the copy she had too.” “So we no longer have the report?” “No.” “Damn,” said Holmberg. “The whole thing stinks130.” “I know,” said Bublanski. “Worst of all, it means that someone is acting against us, and acting very quickly and efficiently131. The report was what finally put us on the right track.” “So we have to work out who’s acting against us,” said Holmberg. “Just a moment,” said Modig. “We also have Peter Teleborian. He contributed to our investigation by profiling Lisbeth Salander.” “Exactly,” said Bublanski in a darker tone of voice. “And what did he say?” “He was very concerned about her safety and wished her well. But when the discussion was over, he said that she was lethally132 dangerous and might well resist arrest. We based a lot of our thinking on what he told us.” “And he got Hans Faste all worked up,” said Holmberg. “Have we heard anything from Faste, by the way?” “He took some time off,” Bublanski replied curtly133. “The question now is how we should proceed.” They spent the next two hours discussing their options. The only practical decision they made was that Modig should return to G?teborg the next day to see whether Salander had anything to say. When they finally broke up, Modig and Andersson walked together down to the garage. “I was just thinking …” Andersson stopped. “Yes?” “It’s just that when we talked to Teleborian, you were the only one in the group who offered any opposition134 when he answered our questions.” “Yes?” “Well … er … good instincts,” he said. Andersson was not known for handing out praise, and it was definitely the first time he had ever said anything positive or encouraging to Modig. He left her standing135 by her car in astonishment136.
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pros
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| abbr.prosecuting 起诉；prosecutor 起诉人；professionals 自由职业者；proscenium （舞台）前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 )；赞成的理由；抵偿物；交换物 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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overtime
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| adj.超时的，加班的；adv.加班地 | |
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warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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arson
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| n.纵火，放火 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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cons
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| n.欺骗，骗局( con的名词复数 )v.诈骗，哄骗( con的第三人称单数 ) | |
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mace
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| n.狼牙棒，豆蔻干皮 | |
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aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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scenario
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| n.剧本，脚本；概要 | |
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serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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disarming
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| adj.消除敌意的，使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 )；使息怒 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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guzzled
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| v.狂吃暴饮，大吃大喝( guzzle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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hierarchy
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| n.等级制度；统治集团，领导层 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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consolidate
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| v.使加固，使加强；(把...)联为一体，合并 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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palaver
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| adj.壮丽堂皇的；n.废话，空话 | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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analytical
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| adj.分析的；用分析法的 | |
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erase
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| v.擦掉；消除某事物的痕迹 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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50
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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51
rammed
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| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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52
grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
stashed
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| v.贮藏( stash的过去式和过去分词 )；隐藏；藏匿；藏起 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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55
laundered
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| v.洗（衣服等），洗烫（衣服等）( launder的过去式和过去分词 )；洗（黑钱）（把非法收入改头换面，变为貌似合法的收入） | |
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56
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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58
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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60
registration
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| n.登记，注册，挂号 | |
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61
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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painkillers
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| n.止痛药( painkiller的名词复数 ) | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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64
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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tarnish
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| n.晦暗，污点；vt.使失去光泽；玷污 | |
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informative
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| adj.提供资料的，增进知识的 | |
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alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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73
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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76
fouled
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| v.使污秽( foul的过去式和过去分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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77
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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78
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
scapegoat
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| n.替罪的羔羊，替人顶罪者；v.使…成为替罪羊 | |
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82
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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83
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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84
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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85
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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86
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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87
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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88
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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89
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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90
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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91
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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92
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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93
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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94
irrationally
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| ad.不理性地 | |
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95
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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96
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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97
latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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umpteenth
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| adj.第无数次（个）的 | |
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99
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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100
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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101
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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102
corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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103
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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104
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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105
arduously
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| adv.费力地，严酷地 | |
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106
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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107
gritted
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| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的过去式和过去分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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108
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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109
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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110
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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111
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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112
budging
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| v.（使）稍微移动( budge的现在分词 )；（使）改变主意，（使）让步 | |
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113
facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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114
investigators
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| n.调查者，审查者( investigator的名词复数 ) | |
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115
Soviet
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| adj.苏联的，苏维埃的；n.苏维埃 | |
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116
ramifications
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| n.结果，后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
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117
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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118
inspectors
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| n.检查员( inspector的名词复数 )；（英国公共汽车或火车上的）查票员；（警察）巡官；检阅官 | |
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119
interrogate
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| vt.讯问，审问，盘问 | |
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120
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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121
violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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122
turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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123
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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124
anonymity
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| n.the condition of being anonymous | |
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125
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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126
gangster
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| n.匪徒，歹徒，暴徒 | |
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127
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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128
disseminated
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| 散布，传播( disseminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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130
stinks
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的第三人称单数 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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131
efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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132
lethally
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| adv.致命地；危害地；极具威胁地 | |
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133
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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134
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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135
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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136
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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