Wednesday, 4.v Three days after Berger started as acting1 editor-in-chief of S.M.P., Editor-in-Chief Morander died at lunchtime. He had been in the glass cage all morning, while Berger and assistant editor Peter Fredriksson met the sports editors so that she could get to know her colleagues and find out how they worked. Fredriksson was forty-five years old and also relatively2 new to the paper. He was taciturn but pleasant, with a broad experience. Berger had already decided3 that she would be able to depend on Fredriksson’s insights when she took command of the ship. She was spending a good part of her time evaluating the people she might be able to count on and could then make part of her new regime. Fredriksson was definitely a candidate. When they got back to the news desk they saw Morander get up and come over to the door of the glass cage. He looked startled. Then he leaned forward, grabbed the back of a chair and held on to it for a few seconds before he collapsed4 to the floor. He was dead before the ambulance arrived. There was a confused atmosphere in the newsroom throughout the afternoon. Chairman of the Board Borgsj? arrived at 2.00 and gathered the employees for a brief memorial to Morander. He spoke6 of how Morander had dedicated7 the past fifteen years of his life to the newspaper, and the price that the work of a newspaperman can sometimes exact. Finally he called for a minute’s silence. Berger realized that several of her new colleagues were looking at her. The unknown quantity. She cleared her throat and without being invited to, without knowing what she would say, took half a step forward and spoke in a firm voice: “I knew H?kan Morander for all of three days. That’s too short a time, but from even the little I managed to know of him, I can honestly say that I would have wanted very much to know him better.” She paused when she saw out of the corner of her eye that Borgsj? was staring at her. He seemed surprised that she was saying anything at all. She took another pace forward. “Your editor-in-chief’s untimely departure will create problems in the newsroom. I was supposed to take over from him in two months, and I was counting on having the time to learn from his experience.” She saw that Borgsj? had opened his mouth as if to say something himself. “That won’t happen now, and we’re going to go through a period of adjustment. But Morander was editor-in-chief of a daily newspaper, and this paper will come out tomorrow too. There are now nine hours left before we go to press and four before the front page has to be resolved. May I ask … who among you was Morander’s closest confidant?” A brief silence followed as the staff looked at each other. Finally Berger heard a voice from the left side of the room. “That would probably be me.” It was Gunnar Magnusson, assistant editor of the front page who had worked on the paper for thirty-five years. “Somebody has to write an obit. I can’t do it … that would be presumptuous8 of me. Could you possibly write it?” Magnusson hesitated a moment but then said, “I’ll do it.” “We’ll use the whole front page and move everything else back.” Magnusson nodded. “We need images.” She glanced to her right and met the eye of the pictures editor, Lennart Torkelsson. He nodded. “We have to get busy on this. Things might be a bit rocky at first. When I need help making a decision, I’ll ask your advice and I’ll depend on your skill and experience. You know how the paper is made and I have a while to go on the school bench.” She turned to Fredriksson. “Peter, Morander put a great deal of trust in you. You will have to be something of a mentor9 to me for the time being, and carry a heavier load than usual. I’m asking you to be my adviser10.” He nodded. What else could he do? She returned to the subject of the front page. “One more thing. Morander was writing his editorial this morning. Gunnar, could you get into his computer and see whether he finished it? Even if it’s not quite rounded out, we’ll publish it. It was his last editorial and it would be a crying shame not to print it. The paper we’re making today is still H?kan Morander’s paper.” Silence. “If any of you need a little personal time, or want to take a break to think for a while, do it, please. You all know our deadlines.” Silence. She noticed that some people were nodding their approval. “Go to work, boys and girls,” she said in English in a low voice. Holmberg threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. Bublanski and Modig looked dubious11. Andersson’s expression was neutral. They were scrutinizing12 the results of the preliminary investigation13 that Holmberg had completed that morning. “Nothing?” Modig said. She sounded surprised. “Nothing,” Holmberg said, shaking his head. “The pathologist’s final report arrived this morning. Nothing to indicate anything but suicide by hanging.” They looked once more at the photographs taken in the living room of the summer cabin in Sm?dalar?. Everything pointed15 to the conclusion that Gunnar Bj?rck, assistant chief of the Immigration Division of the Security Police, had climbed on to a stool, tied a rope to the lamp hook, placed it around his neck, and then with great resolve kicked the stool across the room. The pathologist was unable to supply the exact time of death, but he had established that it occurred on the afternoon of April 12. The body had been discovered on April 19 by none other than Inspector16 Andersson. This happened because Bublanski had repeatedly tried to get hold of Bj?rck. Annoyed, he finally sent Andersson to bring him in. Sometime during that week, the lamp hook in the ceiling came away and Bj?rck’s body fell to the floor. Andersson had seen the body through a window and called in the alarm. Bublanski and the others who arrived at the summer house had treated it as a crime scene from the word go, taking it for granted that Bj?rck had been garrotted by someone. Later that day the forensic17 team found the lamp hook. Holmberg had been tasked to work out how Bj?rck had died. “There’s nothing whatsoever18 to suggest a crime, or that Bj?rck was not alone at the time,” Holmberg said. “The lamp?” “The ceiling lamp has fingerprints19 from the owner of the cabin – who put it up two years ago – and Bj?rck himself. Which says that he took the lamp down.” “Where did the rope come from?” “From the flagpole in the garden. Someone cut off about two metres of rope. There was a Mora sheath knife on the windowsill outside the back door. According to the owner of the house, it’s his knife. He normally keeps in a tool drawer underneath20 the draining board. Bj?rck’s prints were on the handle and the blade, as well as the tool drawer.” “Hmm,” Modig said. “What sort of knots?” Andersson said. “Granny knots. Even the noose21 was just a loop. It’s probably the only thing that’s a bit odd. Bj?rck was a sailor, he would have known how to tie proper knots. But who knows how much attention a person contemplating22 suicide would pay to the knots on his own noose?” “What about drugs?” “According to the toxicology report, Bj?rck had traces of a strong painkiller23 in his blood. That medication had been prescribed for him. He also had traces of alcohol, but the percentage was negligible. In other words, he was more or less sober.” “The pathologist wrote that there were graze wounds.” “A graze over three centimetres long on the outside of his left knee. A scratch, really. I’ve thought about it, but it could have come about in a dozen different ways … for instance, if he walked into the corner of a table or a bench, whatever.” Modig held up a photograph of Bj?rck’s distorted face. The noose had cut so deeply into his flesh that the rope itself was hidden in the skin of his neck. The face was grotesquely24 swollen25. “He hung there for something like twenty-four hours before the hook gave way. All the blood was either in his head – the noose having prevented it from running into his body – or in the lower extremities26. When the hook came out and his body fell, his chest hit the coffee table, causing deep bruising27 there. But this injury happened long after the time of death.” “Hell of a way to die,” said Andersson. “I don’t know. The noose was so thin that it pinched deep and stopped the blood flow. He was probably unconscious within a few seconds and dead in one or two minutes.” Bublanski closed the preliminary report with distaste. He did not like this. He absolutely did not like the fact that Zalachenko and Bj?rck had, so far as they could tell, both died on the same day. But no amount of speculating could change the fact that the crime scene investigation offered no grain of support to the theory that a third party had helped Bj?rck on his way. “He was under a lot of pressure,” Bublanski said. “He knew that the whole Zalachenko affair was in danger of being exposed and that he risked a prison sentence for sex-trade crimes, plus being hung out to dry in the media. I wonder which scared him more. He was sick, had been suffering chronic28 pain for a long time … I don’t know. I wish he had left a letter.” “Many suicides don’t.” “I know. O.K. We’ll put Bj?rck to one side for now. We have no choice.” Berger could not bring herself to sit at Morander’s desk right away, or to move his belongings29 aside. She arranged for Magnusson to talk to Morander’s family so that the widow could come herself when it was convenient, or send someone to sort out his things. Instead she had an area cleared off the central desk in the heart of the newsroom, and there she set up her laptop and took command. It was chaotic30. But three hours after she had taken the helm of S.M.P. in such appalling31 circumstances, the front page went to press. Magnusson had put together a four-column article about Morander’s life and career. The page was designed around a black-bordered portrait, almost all of it above the fold, with his unfinished editorial to the left and a frieze32 of photographs along the bottom edge. The layout was not perfect, but it had a strong moral and emotional impact. Just before 6.00, as Berger was going through the headlines on page two and discussing the texts with the head of revisions, Borgsj? approached and touched her shoulder. She looked up. “Could I have a word?” They went together to the coffee machine in the canteen. “I just wanted to say that I’m really very pleased with the way you took control today. I think you surprised us all.” “I didn’t have much choice. But I may stumble a bit before I really get going.” “We understand that.” “We?” “I mean the staff and the board. The board especially. But after what happened today I’m more than ever persuaded that you were the ideal choice. You came here in the nick of time, and you took charge in a very difficult situation.” Berger almost blushed. But she had not done that since she was fourteen. “Could I give you a piece of advice?” “Of course.” “I heard that you had a disagreement about a headline with Anders Holm.” “We didn’t agree on the angle in the article about the government’s tax proposal. He inserted an opinion into the headline in the news section, which is supposed to be neutral. Opinions should be reserved for the editorial page. And while I’m on this topic … I’ll be writing editorials from time to time, but as I told you I’m not active in any political party, so we have to solve the problem of who’s going to be in charge of the editorial section.” “Magnusson can take over for the time being,” said Borgsj?. Erika shrugged33. “It makes no difference to me who you appoint. But it should be somebody who clearly stands for the newspaper’s views. That’s where they should be aired … not in the news section.” “Quite right. What I wanted to say was that you’ll probably have to give Holm some concessions34. He’s worked at S.M.P. a long time and he’s been news chief for fifteen years. He knows what he’s doing. He can be surly sometimes, but he’s irreplaceable.” “I know. Morander told me. But when it comes to policy he’s going to have to toe the line. I’m the one you hired to run the paper.” Borgsj? thought for a moment and said: “We’re going to have to solve these problems as they come up.” Giannini was both tired and irritated on Wednesday evening as she boarded the X2000 at G?teborg Central Station. She felt as if she had been living on the X2000 for a month. She bought a coffee in the restaurant car, went to her seat, and opened the folder35 of notes from her last conversation with Salander. Who was also the reason why she was feeling tired and irritated. She’s hiding something. That little fool is not telling me the truth. And Micke is hiding something too. God knows what they’re playing at. She also decided that since her brother and her client had not so far communicated with each other, the conspiracy36 – if it was one – had to be a tacit agreement that had developed naturally. She did not understand what it was about, but it had to be something that her brother considered important enough to conceal37. She was afraid that it was a moral issue, and that was one of his weaknesses. He was Salander’s friend. She knew her brother. She knew that he was loyal to the point of foolhardiness once he had made someone a friend, even if the friend was impossible and obviously flawed. She also knew that he could accept any number of idiocies38 from his friends, but that there was a boundary and it could not be infringed39. Where exactly this boundary was seemed to vary from one person to another, but she knew he had broken completely with people who had previously40 been close friends because they had done something that he regarded as beyond the pale. And he was inflexible41. The break was for ever. Giannini understood what went on in her brother’s head. But she had no idea what Salander was up to. Sometimes she thought that there was nothing going on in there at all. She had gathered that Salander could be moody42 and withdrawn43. Until she met her in person, Giannini had supposed it must be some phase, and that it was a question of gaining her trust. But after a month of conversations – ignoring the fact that the first two weeks had been wasted time because Salander was hardly able to speak – their communication was still distinctly one-sided. Salander seemed at times to be in a deep depression and had not the slightest interest in dealing44 with her situation or her future. She simply did not grasp or did not care that the only way Giannini could provide her with an effective defence would be if she had access to all the facts. There was no way in the world she was going to be able to work in the dark. Salander was sulky and often just silent. When she did say something, she took a long time to think and she chose her words carefully. Often she did not reply at all, and sometimes she would answer a question that Giannini had asked several days earlier. During the police interviews, Salander had sat in utter silence, staring straight ahead. With rare exceptions, she had refused to say a single word to the police. The exceptions were on those occasions when Inspector Erlander had asked her what she knew about Niedermann. Then she looked up at him and answered every question in a perfectly45 matter-of-fact way. As soon as he changed the subject, she lost interest. On principle, she knew, Salander never talked to the authorities. In this case, that was an advantage. Despite the fact that she kept urging her client to answer questions from the police, deep inside she was pleased with Salander’s silence. The reason was simple. It was a consistent silence. It contained no lies that could entangle46 her, no contradictory47 reasoning that would look bad in court. But she was astonished at how imperturbable48 Salander was. When they were alone she had asked her why she so provocatively49 refused to talk to the police. “They’ll twist what I say and use it against me.” “But if you don’t explain yourself, you risk being convicted anyway.” “Then that’s how it’ll have to be. I didn’t make all this mess. And if they want to convict me, it’s not my problem.” Salander had in the end described to her lawyer almost everything that had happened at Stallarholmen. All except for one thing. She would not explain how Magge Lundin had ended up with a bullet in his foot. No matter how much she asked and nagged50, Salander would just stare at her and smile her crooked51 smile. She had also told Giannini what happened in Gosseberga. But she had not said anything about why she had run her father to ground. Did she go there expressly to murder him – as the prosecutor52 claimed – or was it to make him listen to reason? When Giannini raised the subject of her former guardian53, Nils Bjurman, Salander said only that she was not the one who shot him. And that particular murder was no longer one of the charges against her. And when Giannini reached the very crux54 of the whole chain of events, the role of Dr Teleborian in the psychiatric clinic in 1991, Salander lapsed5 into such inexhaustible silence that it seemed she might never utter a word again. This is getting us nowhere, Giannini decided. If she won’t trust me, we’re going to lose the case. Salander sat on the edge of her bed, looking out of the window. She could see the building on the other side of the car park. She had sat undisturbed and motionless for an hour, ever since Giannini had stormed out and slammed the door behind her. She had a headache again, but it was mild and it was distant. Yet she felt uncomfortable. She was irritated with Giannini. From a practical point of view she could see why her lawyer kept going on and on about details from her past. Rationally she understood it. Giannini needed to have all the facts. But she did not have the remotest wish to talk about her feelings or her actions. Her life was her own business. It was not her fault that her father had been a pathological sadist and murderer. It was not her fault that her brother was a murderer. And thank God nobody yet knew that he was her brother, which would otherwise no doubt also be held against her in the psychiatric evaluation55 that sooner or later would inevitably56 be conducted. She was not the one who had killed Svensson and Johansson. She was not responsible for appointing a guardian who turned out to be a pig and a rapist. And yet it was her life that was going to be turned inside out. She would be forced to explain herself and to beg for forgiveness because she had defended herself. She just wanted to be left in peace. And when it came down to it, she was the one who would have to live with herself. She did not expect anyone to be her friend. Annika Bloody57 Giannini was most likely on her side, but it was the professional friendship of a professional person who was her lawyer. Kalle Bastard58 Blomkvist was out there somewhere – Giannini was for some reason reluctant to talk about her brother, and Salander never asked. She did not expect that he would be quite so interested now that the Svensson murder was solved and he had got his story. She wondered what Armansky thought of her after all that had happened. She wondered how Holger Palmgren viewed the situation. According to Giannini, both of them had said they would be in her corner, but that was words. They could not do anything to solve her private problems. She wondered what Miriam Wu felt about her. She wondered what she thought of herself, come to that, and came to the realization59 that most of all she felt indifference60 towards her entire life. She was interrupted when the Securitas guard put the key in the door to let in Dr Jonasson. “Good evening, Fr?ken14 Salander. And how are you feeling today?” “O.K.,” she said. He checked her chart and saw that she was free of her fever. She had got used to his visits, which came a couple of times a week. Of all the people who touched her and poked61 at her, he was the only one in whom she felt a measure of trust. She never felt that he was giving her strange looks. He visited her room, chatted a while, and examined her to check on her progress. He did not ask any questions about Niedermann or Zalachenko, or whether she was off her rocker or why the police kept her locked up. He seemed to be interested only in how her muscles were working, how the healing in her brain was progressing, and how she felt in general. Besides, he had – literally62 – rootled around in her brain. Someone who rummaged63 around in your brain had to be treated with respect. To her surprise she found the visits of Dr Jonasson pleasant, despite the fact that he poked at her and fussed over her fever chart. “Do you mind if I check?” He made his usual examination, looking at her pupils, listening to her breathing, taking her pulse, her blood pressure, and checking how she swallowed. “How am I doing?” “You’re on the road to recovery. But you have to work harder on the exercises. And you’re picking at the scab on your head. You need to stop that.” He paused. “May I ask a personal question?” She looked at him. He waited until she nodded. “That dragon tattoo64 … Why did you get it?” “You didn’t see it before?” He smiled all of a sudden. “I mean I’ve glanced at it, but when you were uncovered I was pretty busy stopping the bleeding and extracting bullets and so on.” “Why do you ask?” “Out of curiosity, nothing more.” Salander thought for a while. Then she looked at him. “I got it for reasons that I don’t want to discuss.” “Forget I asked.” “Do you want to see it?” He looked surprised. “Sure. Why not?” She turned her back and pulled the hospital gown off her shoulder. She sat so that the light from the window fell on her back. He looked at her dragon. It was beautiful and well done, a work of art. After a while she turned her head. “Satisfied?” “It’s beautiful. But it must have hurt like hell.” “Yes,” she said. “It hurt.” * Jonasson left Salander’s room somewhat confused. He was satisfied with the progress of her physical rehabilitation65. But he could not work out this strange girl. He did not need a master’s degree in psychology66 to know that she was not doing very well emotionally. The tone she used with him was polite, but riddled67 with suspicion. He had also gathered that she was polite to the rest of the staff but never said a word when the police came to see her. She was locked up inside her shell and kept her distance from those around her. The police had locked her in her hospital room, and a prosecutor intended to charge her with attempted murder and grievous bodily harm. He was amazed that such a small, thin girl had the physical strength for this sort of violent criminality, especially when the violence was directed at full-grown men. He had asked about her dragon tattoo, hoping to find a personal topic he could discuss with her. He was not particularly interested in why she had decorated herself in such a way, but he supposed that since she had chosen such a striking tattoo, it must have a special meaning for her. He thought simply that it might be a way to start a conversation. His visits to her were outside his schedule, since Dr Endrin was assigned to her case. But Jonasson was head of the trauma68 unit, and he was proud of what had been achieved that night when Salander was brought into A. & E. He had made the right decision, electing to remove the bullet. As far as he could see she had no complications in the form of memory lapses69, diminished bodily function, or other handicaps from the injury. If she continued to heal at the same pace, she would leave hospital with a scar on her scalp, but with no other visible damage. Scars on her soul were another matter. Returning to his office he discovered a man in a dark suit leaning against the wall outside his door. He had a thick head of hair and a well-groomed beard. “Dr Jonasson?” “Yes?” “My name is Peter Teleborian. I’m the head physician at St Stefan’s psychiatric clinic in Uppsala.” “Yes, I recognize you.” “Good. I’d like to have a word in private with you if you have a moment.” Jonasson unlocked the door and ushered70 the visitor in. “How can I help you?” “It’s about one of your patients, Lisbeth Salander. I need to visit her.” “You’ll have to get permission from the prosecutor. She’s under arrest and all visitors are prohibited. And any applications for visits must also be referred in advance to Salander’s lawyer.” “Yes, yes, I know. I thought we might be able to cut through all the red tape in this case. I’m a physician, so you could let me have the opportunity to visit her on medical grounds.” “Yes, there might be a case for that, but I can’t see what your objective is.” “For several years I was Lisbeth Salander’s psychiatrist71 when she was institutionalized at St Stefan’s. I followed up with her until she turned eighteen, when the district court released her back into society, albeit72 under guardianship73. I should perhaps mention that I opposed that action. Since then she has been allowed to drift aimlessly, and the consequences are there for all to see today.” “Indeed?” “I feel a great responsibility towards her still, and would value the chance to gauge74 how much deterioration75 has occurred over the past ten years.” “Deterioration?” “Compared with when she was receiving qualified76 care as a teenager. I thought we might be able to come to an understanding here, as one doctor to another.” “While I have it fresh in my mind, perhaps you could help me with a matter I don’t quite understand … as one doctor to another, that is. When she was admitted to Sahlgrenska hospital I performed a comprehensive medical examination on her. A colleague sent for the forensic report on the patient. It was signed by a Dr Jesper H. L?derman.” “That’s correct. I was Dr L?derman’s assistant when he was in practice.” “I see. But I noticed that the report was vague in the extreme.” “Really?” “It contains no diagnosis77. It almost seems to be an academic study of a patient who refuses to speak.” Teleborian laughed. “Yes, she certainly isn’t easy to deal with. As it says in the report, she consistently refused to participate in conversations with Dr L?derman. With the result that he was bound to express himself rather imprecisely. Which was entirely78 correct on his part.” “And yet the recommendation was that she should be institutionalized?” “That was based on her prior history. We had experience with her pathology compiled over many years.” “That’s exactly what I don’t understand. When she was admitted here, we sent for a copy of her file from St Stefan’s. But we still haven’t received it.” “I’m sorry about that. But it’s been classified Top Secret by order of the district court.” “And how are we supposed to give her the proper care here if we can’t have access to her records? The medical responsibility for her right now is ours, no-one else’s.” “I’ve taken care of her since she was twelve, and I don’t think there is any other doctor in Sweden with the same insight into her clinical condition.” “Which is what …?” “Lisbeth Salander suffers from a serious mental disorder79. Psychiatry80, as you know, is not an exact science. I would hesitate to confine myself to an exact diagnosis, but she has obvious delusions81 with distinct paranoid schizophrenic characteristics. Her clinical status also includes periods of manic depression and she lacks empathy.” Jonasson looked intently at Dr Teleborian for ten seconds before he said: “I won’t argue a diagnosis with you, Dr Teleborian, but have you ever considered a significantly simpler diagnosis?” “Such as?” “For example, Asperger’s syndrome82. Of course I haven’t done a psychiatric evaluation of her, but if I had spontaneously to hazard a guess, I would consider some form of autism. That would explain her inability to relate to social conventions.” “I’m sorry, but Asperger’s patients do not generally set fire to their parents. Believe me, I’ve never met so clearly defined a sociopath.” “I consider her to be withdrawn, but not a paranoid sociopath.” “She is extremely manipulative,” Teleborian said. “She acts the way she thinks you would expect her to act.” Jonasson frowned. Teleborian was contradicting his own reading of Salander. If there was one thing Jonasson felt sure about her, it was that she was certainly not manipulative. On the contrary, she was a person who stubbornly kept her distance from those around her and showed no emotion at all. He tried to reconcile the picture that Teleborian was painting with his own image of Salander. “And you have seen her only for a short period when she has been forced to be passive because of her injuries. I have witnessed her violent outbursts and unreasoning hatred83. I have spent years trying to help Lisbeth Salander. That’s why I’m here. I propose a co-operation between Sahlgrenska hospital and St Stefan’s.” “What sort of co-operation are you talking about?” “You’re responsible for her medical condition, and I’m convinced that it’s the best care she could receive. But I’m extremely worried about her mental state, and I would like to be included at an early stage. I’m ready to offer all the help I can.” “I see.” “So I do need to visit her to do a first-hand evaluation of her condition.” “There, unfortunately, I cannot help you.” “I beg your pardon?” “As I said, she’s under arrest. If you want to initiate84 any psychiatric treatment of her, you’ll have to apply to Prosecutor Jervas here in G?teborg. She’s the one who makes the decisions on these things. And it would have to be done, I repeat, in co-operation with her lawyer, Annika Giannini. If it’s a matter of a forensic psychiatric report, then the district court would have to issue you a warrant.” “It was just that sort of bureaucratic85 procedure I wanted to avoid.” “Understood, but I’m responsible for her, and if she’s going to be taken to court in the near future, we need to have clear documentation of all the measures we have taken. So we’re bound to observe the bureaucratic procedures.” “Alright. Then I might as well tell you that I’ve already received a formal commission from Prosecutor Ekstr?m in Stockholm to do a forensic psychiatric report. It will be needed in connection with the trial.” “Then you can also obtain formal access to visit her through the appropriate channels without side-stepping regulations.” “But while we’re going backwards86 and forwards with bureaucracy, there is a risk that her condition may continue to deteriorate87. I’m only interested in her wellbeing.” “And so am I,” Jonasson said. “And between us, I can tell you that I see no sign of mental illness. She has been badly treated and is under a lot of pressure. But I see no evidence whatsoever that she is schizophrenic or suffering from paranoid delusions.” When at long last he realized that it was fruitless trying to persuade Jonasson to change his mind, Teleborian got up abruptly88 and took his leave. Jonasson sat for a while, staring at the chair Teleborian had been sitting in. It was not unusual for other doctors to contact him with advice or opinions on treatment. But that usually happened only with patients whose doctors were already managing their treatment. He had never before seen a psychiatrist land like a flying saucer and more or less demand to be given access to a patient, ignoring all the protocols89, and a patient, at that, whom he obviously had not been treating for several years. After a while Jonasson glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost 7.00. He picked up the telephone and called Martina Karlgren, the psychologist at Sahlgrenska who had been made available to trauma patients. “Hello. I’m assuming you’ve already left for the day. Am I disturbing you?” “No problem. I’m at home, but just pottering.” “I’m curious about something. You’ve spoken to our notorious patient, Lisbeth Salander. Could you give me your impression of her?” “Well, I’ve visited her three times and offered to talk with her. Every time she declined in a friendly but firm way.” “What’s your impression of her?” “What do you mean?” “Martina, I know that you’re not a psychiatrist, but you’re an intelligent and sensible person. What general impression did you get of her nature, her state of mind?” After a while Karlgren said: “I’m not sure how I should answer that question. I saw her twice soon after she was admitted, but she was in such wretched shape that I didn’t make any real contact with her. Then I visited her about a week ago, at the request of Helena Endrin.” “Why did Helena ask you to visit her?” “Salander is starting to recover. She mainly just lies there staring at the ceiling. Dr Endrin wanted me to look in on her.” “And what happened?” “I introduced myself. We chatted for a couple of minutes. I asked how she was feeling and whether she felt the need to have someone to talk to. She said that she didn’t. I asked if I could help her with anything. She asked me to smuggle90 in a pack of cigarettes.” “Was she angry, or hostile?” “No, I wouldn’t say that. She was calm, but she kept her distance. I considered her request for cigarettes more of a joke than a serious need. I asked if she wanted something to read, whether I could bring her books of any sort. At first she said no, but later she asked if I had any scientific journals that dealt with genetics and brain research.” “With what?” “Genetics.” “Genetics?” “Yes. I told her that there were some popular science books on the subject in our library. She wasn’t interested in those. She said she’d read books on the subject before, and she named some standard works that I’d never heard of. She was more interested in pure research in the field.” “Good grief.” “I said that we probably didn’t have any more advanced books in the patient library – we have more Philip Marlowe than scientific literature – but that I’d see what I could dig up.” “And did you?” “I went upstairs and borrowed some copies of Nature magazine and The New England Journal of Medicine. She was pleased and thanked me for taking the trouble.” “But those journals contain mostly scholarly papers and pure research.” “She reads them with obvious interest.” Jonasson sat speechless for a moment. “And how would you rate her mental state?” “Withdrawn. She hasn’t discussed anything of a personal nature with me.” “Do you have the sense that she’s mentally ill? Manic depressive or paranoid?” “No, no, not at all. If I thought that, I’d have sounded the alarm. She’s strange, no doubt about it, and she has big problems and is under stress. But she’s calm and matter-of-fact and seems to be able to cope with her situation. Why do you ask? Has something happened?” “No, nothing’s happened. I’m just trying to take stock of her.”
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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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2
relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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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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4
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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5
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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6
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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8
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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12
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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17
forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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18
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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19
fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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20
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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21
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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22
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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23
painkiller
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| n.止痛药 | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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26
extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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27
bruising
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| adj.殊死的；十分激烈的v.擦伤(bruise的现在分词形式) | |
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28
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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33
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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34
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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35
folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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36
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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37
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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38
idiocies
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| n.极度的愚蠢( idiocy的名词复数 )；愚蠢的行为；白痴状态 | |
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39
infringed
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| v.违反（规章等）( infringe的过去式和过去分词 )；侵犯（某人的权利）；侵害（某人的自由、权益等） | |
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40
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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41
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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42
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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43
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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44
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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45
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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46
entangle
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| vt.缠住，套住；卷入，连累 | |
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47
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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48
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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49
provocatively
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50
nagged
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| adj.经常遭责怪的；被压制的；感到厌烦的；被激怒的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的过去式和过去分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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51
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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52
prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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53
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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54
crux
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| adj.十字形；难事，关键，最重要点 | |
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55
evaluation
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| n.估价，评价；赋值 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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57
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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58
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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59
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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61
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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62
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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64
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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rehabilitation
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| n.康复，悔过自新，修复，复兴，复职，复位 | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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68
trauma
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| n.外伤，精神创伤 | |
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lapses
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| n.失误，过失( lapse的名词复数 )；小毛病；行为失检；偏离正道v.退步( lapse的第三人称单数 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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70
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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psychiatrist
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| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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74
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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deterioration
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| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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80
psychiatry
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| n.精神病学，精神病疗法 | |
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81
delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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82
syndrome
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| n.综合病症；并存特性 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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84
initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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85
bureaucratic
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| adj.官僚的，繁文缛节的 | |
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86
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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deteriorate
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| v.变坏；恶化；退化 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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protocols
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| n.礼仪( protocol的名词复数 )；（外交条约的）草案；（数据传递的）协议；科学实验报告（或计划） | |
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smuggle
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| vt.私运；vi.走私 | |
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