Millennium 03 - The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest Page 55

  “What happens now?”

  “You’ll have to lie low for a few days. Within a week this will all be over, whichever way it ends. How are you feeling?”

  “So-so. A bit shaky still. It’s not every day something like this happens. I just called my husband to explain why I wouldn’t be coming home.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I’m married to—”

  “I know who you’re married to.”

  Silence. Figuerola rubbed her eyes and yawned.

  “I have to go home and get some sleep,” she said.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, stop talking rubbish and go and lie down with Mikael,” Berger said.

  Figuerola looked at her.

  “Is it that obvious?” she said.

  Berger nodded.

  “Did Mikael say anything—”

  “Not a word. He’s generally rather discreet when it comes to his lady friends. But sometimes he’s an open book. And you’re clearly hostile every time you even look at me. The pair of you obviously have something to hide.”

  “It’s my boss,” Figuerola said.

  “Where does he come into it?”

  “He’d fly off the handle if he knew that Mikael and I were—”

  “I can quite see that.”

  Silence.

  “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m not your rival,” Berger said.

  “You’re not?”

  “Mikael and I sleep together now and then. But I’m not married to him.”

  “I heard that you two had a special relationship. He told me about you when we were out at Sandhamn.”

  “So you’ve been to Sandhamn? Then it is serious.”

  “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “Monica, I hope that you and Mikael … I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  Berger shrugged. “His ex-wife flipped out big time when Mikael was unfaithful with me. She threw him out. It was my fault. As long as Mikael is single and available, I would have no compunction. But I promised myself that if he was ever serious about someone, then I’d keep my distance.”

  “I don’t know if I dare count on him.”

  “Mikael is special. Are you in love with him?”

  “I think so.”

  “Alright, then. Just don’t tell him too soon. Now go to bed.”

  Figuerola thought about it for a moment. Then she went upstairs, undressed and crawled into bed next to Blomkvist. He mumbled something and put his arm around her waist.

  Berger sat alone in the kitchen for a long time. She felt deeply unhappy.

  CHAPTER 25

  Wednesday, 13.vii – Thursday, 14.vii

  Blomkvist had always wondered why the loudspeakers in the district court were so faint, discreet almost. He could hardly make out the words of the announcement that the trial vs Lisbeth Salander would begin in courtroom 5 at 10.00. But he had arrived in plenty of time and positioned himself to wait right by the entrance to the courtroom. He was one of the first to be let in. He chose a seat in the public gallery on the left-hand side of the room, where he would have the best view of the defence table. The seats filled up fast. Media interest had steadily increased in the weeks leading up to the trial, and over the past week Prosecutor Ekström had been interviewed daily.

  Lisbeth Salander was charged with assault and grievous bodily harm in the case of Carl-Magnus Lundin; with unlawful threats, attempted murder and grievous bodily harm in the case of Karl Axel Bodin, alias Alexander Zalachenko, now deceased; with two counts of breaking and entering – the first at the summer cabin of the deceased lawyer Nils Erik Bjurman in Stallarholmen, the second at Bjurman’s home on Odenplan; with the theft of a vehicle – a Harley-Davidson owned by one Sonny Nieminen of Svavelsjö M.C.; with three counts of possession of illegal weapons – a canister of Mace, a taser and a Polish P-83 Wanad, all found in Gosseberga; with the theft of or withholding of evidence – the formulation was imprecise but it referred to the documentation she had found in Bjurman’s summer cabin; and with a number of further misdemeanours. In all, sixteen charges had been filed against Lisbeth Salander.

  Ekström had been busy.

  He had also leaked information indicating that Salander’s mental state was cause for alarm. He cited first the forensic psychiatric report by Dr Jesper H. Löderman that had been compiled at the time of her eighteenth birthday, and second, a report which, in accordance with a decision by the district court at a preliminary hearing, had been written by Dr Peter Teleborian. Since the mentally ill girl had, true to form, refused categorically to speak to psychiatrists, the analysis was made on the basis of “observations” carried out while she was detained at Kronoberg prison in Stockholm during the month before her trial. Teleborian, who had many years of experience with the patient, had determined that Salander was suffering from a serious mental disturbance and employed words such as psychopathy, pathological narcissism, paranoid schizophrenia, and similar.

  The press had also reported that seven police interviews had been conducted with Salander. At each of these interviews the defendant had declined even to say good morning to those who were leading the interrogation. The first few interviews had been conducted by the Göteborg police, the remainder had taken place at police headquarters in Stockholm. The tape recordings of the interview protocol revealed that the police had used every means of persuasion and repeated questioning, but had not received the favour of a single reply.

  She had not even bothered to clear her throat.

  Occasionally Advokat Giannini’s voice could be heard on the tapes, at such points as she realized that her client evidently was not going to answer any questions. The charges against Salander were accordingly based exclusively on forensic evidence and on whatever facts the police investigation had been able to determine.

  Salander’s silence had at times placed her defence lawyer in an awkward position, since she was compelled to be almost as silent as her client. What Giannini and Salander discussed in private was confidential.

  Ekström made no secret of the fact that his primary objective was secure psychiatric care for the defendant; of secondary interest to him was a substantial prison sentence. The normal process was the reverse, but he believed that in her case there were such transparent mental disturbances and such an unequivocal forensic psychiatric assessment that he was left with no alternative. It was highly unusual for a court to decide against a forensic psychiatric assessment.

  He also believed that Salander’s declaration of incompetence should be rescinded. In an interview he had explained with a concerned expression that in Sweden there were a number of sociopaths with such grave mental disturbances that they presented a danger to themselves as well as to others, and modern medicine could offer no alternative to keeping these individuals safely locked up. He cited the case of a violent girl, Anette, who in the ’70s had been a frequent focus of attention in the media, and who thirty years on was still in a secure psychiatric institution. Every endeavour to ease the restrictions had resulted in her launching reckless and violent attacks on relatives and carers, or in attempts to injure herself. Ekström was of the view that Salander suffered from a similar form of psychopathic disturbance.

  Media interest had also increased for the simple reason that Salander’s defence lawyer, Advokat Giannini, had made not a single statement to the press. She had refused all requests to be interviewed so that the media were, as they many times put it, “unable to have an opportunity to present the views of the other side of the case”. Journalists were therefore in a difficult situation: the prosecution kept on shovelling out information while the defence, uncharacteristically, gave not the slightest hint of Salander’s reaction to the charges against her, nor of what strategy the defence might employ.

  This state of affairs was commented on by the legal expert engaged to follow the trial in one of the evening newspapers. The expert had stated in his column that Advokat Giannini was a respected wome
n’s rights lawyer, but that she had absolutely no experience in criminal law outside this case. He concluded that she was unsuitable for the purpose of defending Salander. From his sister Blomkvist had also learned that several distinguished lawyers had offered their services. Giannini had, on behalf of her client, courteously turned down every such proposal.

  As he waited for the trial to begin, Blomkvist glanced around at the other spectators. He caught sight of Armansky sitting near the exit and their eyes met for a moment.

  Ekström had a large stack of papers on his table. He greeted several journalists.

  Giannini sat at her table opposite Ekström. She had her head down and was sorting through her papers. Blomkvist thought that his sister looked a bit tense. Stage fright, he supposed.

  Then the judge, assessor and lay assessors entered the courtroom. Judge Jörgen Iversen was a white-haired, 57-year-old man with a gaunt face and a spring in his step. Blomkvist had researched Iversen’s background and found that he was an exacting judge of long experience who had presided over many high-profile cases.

  Finally Salander was brought into the courtroom.

  Even though Blomkvist was used to Salander’s penchant for shocking clothing, he was amazed that his sister had allowed her to turn up to the courtroom in a black leather miniskirt with frayed seams and a black top – with the legend I am annoyed – which barely covered her many tattoos. She had ten piercings in her ears and rings through her lower lip and left eyebrow. Her head was covered in three months’ worth of uneven stubble after her surgery. She wore grey lipstick and heavily darkened eyebrows, and had applied more black mascara than Blomkvist had ever seen her wear. In the days when he and Salander had spent time together, she had shown almost no interest in make-up.

  She looked a bit vulgar, to put it mildly. It was almost a Goth look. She reminded him of a vampire in some pop-art movie from the ’60s. Blomkvist was aware of some of the reporters in the press gallery catching their breath in astonishment or smiling broadly. They were at last getting a look at the scandal-ridden young woman they had written so much about, and she was certainly living up to all their expectations.

  Then he realized that Salander was in costume. Usually her style was sloppy and rather tasteless. Blomkvist had assumed that she was not really interested in fashion, but that she tried instead to accentuate her own individuality. Salander always seemed to mark her private space as hostile territory, and he had thought of the rivets in her leather jacket as a defence mechanism, like the quills of a hedgehog. To everyone around her it was as good a signal as any: Don’t try to touch me – it will hurt.

  But here in the district court she had exaggerated her style to the point of parody.

  It was no accident, it was part of Giannini’s strategy.

  If Salander had come in with her hair smoothed down and wearing a twin-set and pearls and sensible shoes, she would have came across as a con artist trying to sell a story to the court. It was a question of credibility. She had come as herself and no-one else. Way over the top – for clarity. She was not pretending to be someone she was not. Her message to the court was that she had no reason to be ashamed or to put on a show. If the court had a problem with her appearance, it was no concern of hers. The state had accused her of a multitude of things, and the prosecutor had dragged her into court. With her very appearance she had already indicated that she intended to brush aside the prosecutor’s accusations as nonsense.

  She moved with confidence and sat down next to her lawyer. She surveyed the spectators. There was no curiosity in her gaze. She seemed instead defiantly to be observing and registering those who had already convicted her in the press.

  It was the first time Blomkvist had seen her since she lay like a bloody rag doll on the bench in that kitchen in Gosseberga, and a year and a half or more since he had last seen her under normal circumstances. If the term “normal circumstances” could ever be used in connection with Salander. For a matter of seconds their eyes met. Hers lingered on him, but she betrayed no sign of recognition. Yet she did seem to study the bruises that covered Blomkvist’s cheek and temple and the surgical tape over his right eyebrow. Blomkvist thought he discerned the merest hint of a smile in her eyes but could not be sure he had not imagined it. Then Judge Iversen pounded his gavel and called the court to order.

  The spectators were allowed to be present in the courtroom for all of thirty minutes. They listened to Ekström’s introductory presentation of the case.

  Every reporter except Blomkvist was busily taking notes even though by now all of them knew the charges Ekström intended to bring. Blomkvist had already written his story.

  Ekström’s introductory remarks went on for twenty-two minutes. Then it was Giannini’s turn. Her presentation took thirty seconds. Her voice was firm.

  “The defence rejects all the charges brought against her except one. My client admits to possession of an illegal weapon, that is, one spray canister of Mace. To all other counts, my client pleads not guilty of criminal intent. We will show that the prosecutor’s assertions are flawed and that my client has been subjected to grievous encroachment of her civil rights. I will demand that my client be acquitted of all charges, that her declaration of incompetence be revoked, and that she be released.”

  There was a murmuring from the press gallery. Advokat Giannini’s strategy had at last been revealed. It was obviously not what the reporters had been expecting. Most had speculated that Giannini would in some way exploit her client’s mental illness to her advantage. Blomkvist smiled.

  “I see,” Judge Iversen said, making a swift note. He looked at Giannini. “Are you finished?”

  “That is my presentation.”

  “Does the prosecutor have anything to add?” Judge Iversen said.

  It was at this point that Ekström requested a private meeting in the judge’s chambers. There he argued that the case hinged upon one vulnerable individual’s mental state and welfare, and that it also involved matters which, if explored before the public in court, could be detrimental to national security.

  “I assume that you are referring to what may be termed the Zalachenko affair,” Judge Iversen said.

  “That is correct. Alexander Zalachenko came to Sweden as a political refugee and sought asylum from a terrible dictatorship. There are elements in the handling of his situation, personal connections and the like, that are still classified, even though Herr Zalachenko is now deceased. I therefore request that the deliberations be held behind closed doors and that a rule of confidentiality be applied to those sections of the deliberations that are particularly sensitive.”

  “I believe I understand your point,” Judge Iversen said, knitting his brows.

  “In addition, a large part of the deliberations will deal with the defendant’s guardianship. This touches on matters which in all normal cases become classified almost automatically, and it is out of respect for the defendant that I am requesting a closed court.”

  “How does Advokat Giannini respond to the prosecutor’s request?”

  “For our part it makes no difference.”

  Judge Iversen consulted his assessor and then announced, to the annoyance of the reporters present, that he had accepted the prosecutor’s request. So Blomkvist left the courtroom.

  Armansky waited for Blomkvist at the bottom of the stairs in the courthouse. It was sweltering in the July heat and Blomkvist could feel sweat in his armpits. His two bodyguards joined him as he emerged from the courthouse. Both nodded to Armansky and then they busied themselves studying the surroundings.

  “It feels strange to be walking around with bodyguards,” Blomkvist said. “What’s all this going to cost?”

  “It’s on the firm. I have a personal interest in keeping you alive. But, since you ask, we’ve spent roughly 250,000 kronor on pro bono work in the past few months.”

  “Coffee?” Blomkvist said, pointing to the Italian café on Bergsgatan.

  Blomkvist ordered a latte and Armansky a dou
ble espresso with a teaspoon of milk. They sat in the shade on the pavement outside. The bodyguards sat at the next table drinking Cokes.

  “Closed court,” Armansky said.

  “That was expected. And it’s O.K., since it means that we can control the news flow better.”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t matter to us, but my opinion of Prosecutor Ekström is sinking fast,” Armansky said.

  They drank their coffee and contemplated the courthouse in which Salander’s future would be decided.

  “Custer’s last stand,” Blomkvist said.

  “She’s well prepared,” Armansky said. “And I must say I’m impressed with your sister. When she began planning her strategy I thought it made no sense, but the more I think about it, the more effective it seems.”

  “This trial won’t be decided in there,” Blomkvist said. He had been repeating these words like a mantra for several months.

  “You’re going to be called as a witness,” Armansky said.

  “I know. I’m ready. But it won’t happen before the day after tomorrow. At least that’s what we’re counting on.”

  Ekström had left his reading glasses at home and had to push his glasses up on to his forehead and squint to be able to read the last-minute handwritten additions to his text. He stroked his blond goatee before once more he readjusted his glasses and surveyed the room.

  Salander sat with her back ramrod straight and gave the prosecutor an unfathomable look. Her face and eyes were impassive and she did not appear to be wholly present. It was time for the prosecutor to begin questioning her.

  “I would like to remind Fröken Salander that she is speaking under oath,” Ekström said at last.

  Salander did not move a muscle. Prosecutor Ekström seemed to be anticipating some sort of response and waited for a few seconds. He looked at her expectantly.

  “You are speaking under oath,” he said.

  Salander tilted her head very slightly. Giannini was busy reading something in the preliminary investigation protocol and seemed unconcerned by whatever Prosecutor Ekström was saying. Ekström shuffled his papers. After an uncomfortable silence he cleared his throat.