The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets’ Nest m(-3

by Stieg Larsson

  One of the detectives from Göteborg said: “What have we found at the farm in Gosseberga?”

  “We found four revolvers. A Sig Sauer that had been dismantled and was being oiled on the kitchen table. A Polish P-83 Wanad on the floor next to the bench in the kitchen. A Colt 1911 Government – that’s the pistol that Blomkvist tried to hand in to Paulsson. And finally a.22 calibre Browning, which is pretty much a toy gun alongside the others. We rather think that it was the weapon used to shoot Salander, given that she’s still alive with a slug in her brain.”

  “Anything else?”

  “We found and confiscated a bag containing about 200,000 kronor. It was in an upstairs room used by Niedermann.”

  “How do you know it was his room?”

  “Well, he does wear a size XXL. Zalachenko is at most a medium.”

  “Do you have anything on Zalachenko or Bodin in your records?” Holmberg said.

  Erlander shook his head.

  “Of course it depends on how we interpret the confiscated weapons. Apart from the more sophisticated weaponry and an unusually sophisticated T.V. surveillance of the farm, we found nothing to distinguish it from any other farmhouse. The house itself is spartan, no frills.”

  Just before noon there was a knock on the door and a uniformed officer delivered a document to Spångberg.

  “We’ve received a call,” she said, “about a missing person in Alingsås. A dental nurse by the name of Anita Kaspersson left her home by car at 7.30 this morning. She took her child to day care and should have arrived at her place of work by 8.00. But she never did. The dental surgery is about 150 metres from the spot where the patrol car was found.”

  Erlander and Modig both looked at their wristwatches.

  “Then he has a four-hour head start. What kind of car is it?”

  “A dark-blue 1991 Renault. Here’s the registration number.”

  “Send out an A.P.B. on the vehicle at once. He could be in Oslo by now, or Malmö, or maybe even Stockholm.”

  They brought the conference to a close by deciding that Modig and Erlander would together interrogate Zalachenko.

  Cortez frowned and followed Berger with his gaze as she cut across the hall from her office to the kitchenette. She returned moments later with a cup of coffee, went back into her office and closed the door.

  Cortez could not put his finger on what was wrong. Millennium was the kind of small office where co-workers were close. He had worked part-time at the magazine for four years, and during that time the team had weathered some phenomenal storms, especially during the period when Blomkvist was serving a three-month sentence for libel and the magazine almost went under. Then their colleague Dag Svensson was murdered, and his girlfriend too.

  Through all these storms Berger had been the rock that nothing seemed capable of shifting. He was not surprised that she had called to wake him early that morning and put him and Lottie Karim to work. The Salander affair had cracked wide open, and Blomkvist had got himself somehow involved in the killing of a policeman in Göteborg. So far, everything was under control. Karim had parked herself at police headquarters and was doing her best to get some solid information out of someone. Cortez had spent the morning making calls, piecing together what had happened overnight. Blomkvist was not answering his telephone, but from a number of sources Cortez had a fairly clear picture of the events of the night before.

  Berger, on the other hand, had been distracted all morning. It was rare for her to close the door to her office. That usually happened only when she had a visitor or was working intently on some problem. This morning she had not had a single visitor, and she was not – so far as he could judge – working. On several occasions when he had knocked on the door to relay some news, he had found her sitting in the chair by the window. She seemed lost in thought, as listlessly she watched the stream of people walking down below on Götgatan. She had paid scant attention to his reports.

  Something was wrong.

  The doorbell interrupted his ruminations. He went to open it and found the lawyer Annika Giannini. Cortez had met Blomkvist’s sister a few times, but he did not know her well.

  “Hello, Annika,” he said. “Mikael isn’t here today.”

  “I know. I want to talk to Erika.”

  Berger barely looked up from her position by the window, but she quickly pulled herself together when she saw who it was.

  “Hello,” she said. “Mikael isn’t here today.”

  Giannini smiled. “I know. I’m here for Björck’s Säpo report. Micke asked me to take a look at it in case it turns out that I represent Salander.”

  Berger nodded. She got up, took a folder from her desk and handed it to Giannini.

  Giannini hesitated a moment, wondering whether to leave the office. Then she made up her mind and, uninvited, sat down opposite Berger.

  “O.K… what’s going on with you?”

  “I’m about to resign from Millennium, and I haven’t been able to tell Mikael. He’s been so tied up in this Salander mess that there hasn’t been the right opportunity, and I can’t tell the others before I tell him. Right now I just feel like shit.”

  Giannini bit her lower lip. “So you’re telling me instead. Why are you leaving?”

  “I’m going to be editor-in-chief of Svenska Morgon-Posten.”

  “Jesus. Well, in that case, congratulations seem to be in order rather than any weeping or gnashing of teeth.”

  “Annika… this isn’t the way I had planned to end my time at Millennium. In the middle of bloody chaos. But the offer came like a bolt from the blue, and I can’t say no. I mean… it’s the chance of a lifetime. But I got the offer just before Dag and Mia were shot, and there’s been such turmoil here that I buried it. And now I have the world’s worst guilty conscience.”

  “I understand. But now you’re afraid of telling Micke.”

  “It’s an utter disaster. I haven’t told anybody. I thought I wouldn’t be starting at S.M.P. until after the summer, and that there would still be time to tell everyone. But now they want me to start asap.”

  She fell silent and stared at Annika. She looked on the verge of tears.

  “This is, in point of fact, my last week at Millennium. Next week I’ll be on a trip, and then… I need about a fortnight off to recharge my batteries. I start at S.M.P. on the first of May.”

  “Well, what would have happened if you’d been run over by a bus? Then they would have been without an editor-in-chief with only a moment’s notice.”

  Erika looked up. “But I haven’t been run over by a bus. I’ve been deliberately keeping quiet about my decision for weeks now.”

  “I can see this is a difficult situation, but I’ve got a feeling that Micke and Christer Malm and the others will be able to work things out. I think you ought to tell them right away.”

  “Alright, but your damned brother is in Göteborg today. He’s asleep and has turned off his mobile.”

  “I know. There aren’t many people who are as stubborn as Mikael about not being available when you need him. But Erika, this isn’t about you and Micke. I know that you’ve worked together for twenty years or so and you’ve had your ups and downs, but you have to think about Christer and the others on the staff too.”

  “I’ve been keeping it under wraps all this time – Mikael’s going to –”

  “Micke’s going to go through the roof, of course he is. But if he can’t handle the fact that you screwed up one time in twenty years, then he isn’t worth the time you’ve put in for him.”

  Berger sighed.

  “Pull yourself together,” Giannini told her. “Call Christer in, and the rest of the staff. Right now.”

  Malm sat motionless for a few seconds. Berger had gathered her colleagues into Millennium’s small conference room with only a few minutes’ notice, just as he was about to leave early. He glanced at Cortez and Karim. They were as astonished as he was. Malin Eriksson, the assistant editor, had not known anything either, nor had Monika N
ilsson, the reporter, or the advertising manager Magnusson. Blomkvist was the only one absent from the meeting. He was in Göteborg being his usual Blomkvist self.

  Good God. Mikael doesn’t know anything about it either, thought Malm. How on earth is he going to react?

  Then he realized that Berger had stopped talking, and it was as silent as the grave in the conference room. He shook his head, stood up, and spontaneously gave Berger a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “Congrats, Ricky,” he said. “Editor-in-chief of S.M.P. That’s not a bad step up from this sorry little rag.”

  Cortez came to life and began to clap. Berger held up her hands.

  “Stop,” she said. “I don’t deserve any applause today.” She looked around at her colleagues in the cramped editorial office. “Listen… I’m terribly sorry that it had to be this way. I wanted to tell you so many weeks ago, but the news sort of got drowned out by all the turmoil surrounding Dag and Mia. Mikael and Malin have been working like demons, and… it just didn’t ever seem like the right time or place. And that’s how we’ve arrived at this point today.”

  Eriksson realized with terrible clarity how understaffed the paper was, and how empty it was going to seem without Berger. No matter what happened, or whatever problem arose, Berger had been a boss she could always rely on. Well… no wonder the biggest morning daily had recruited her. But what was going to happen now? Erika had always been a crucial part of Millennium.

  “There are a few things we have to get straight. I’m perfectly aware that this is going to create difficulties in the office. I didn’t want it to, but that’s the way things are. First of all: I won’t abandon Millennium. I’m going to stay on as a partner and will attend board meetings. I won’t, of course, have any influence in editorial matters.”

  Malm nodded thoughtfully.

  “Secondly, I officially leave on the last day of April. But today is my last day of work. Next week I’ll be travelling, as you know. It’s been planned for a long time. And I’ve decided not to come back here to put in any days during the transition period.” She paused for a moment. “The next issue of the magazine is ready in the computer. There are a few minor things that need fixing. It will be my final issue. A new editor-in-chief will have to take over. I’m clearing my desk tonight.”

  There was absolute silence in the room.

  “The selection of a new editor-in-chief will have to be discussed and made by the board. It’s something that you all on the staff will have to talk through.”

  “Mikael,” Malm said.

  “No. Never Mikael. He’s surely the worst possible editor-in-chief you could pick. He’s perfect as publisher and damned good at editing articles and tying up loose ends in work that is going to be published. He’s the fixer. The editor-in-chief has to be the one who takes the initiative. Mikael also has a tendency to bury himself in his own stories and be totally off the radar for weeks at a time. He’s at his best when things heat up, but he’s incredibly bad at routine work. You all know that.”

  Malm muttered his assent and then said: “Millennium functioned because you and Mikael were a good balance for each other.”

  “That’s not the only reason. You remember when Mikael was up in Hedestad sulking for almost a whole bloody year. Millennium functioned without him precisely the way the magazine is going to have to function without me now.”

  “O.K. What’s your plan?”

  “My choice would be for you, Christer, to take over as editor-inchief.”

  “Not on your life.” Malm threw up his hands.

  “But since I knew that’s what you would say, I have another solution. Malin. You can start as acting editor-in-chief as from today.”

  “Me?” Eriksson said. She sounded shocked.

  “Yes, you. You’ve been damned good as assistant editor.”

  “But I –”

  “Give it a try. I’ll be out of my office tonight. You can move in on Monday morning. The May issue is done – we’ve already worked hard on it. June is a double issue, and then you have a month off. If it doesn’t work, the board will have to find somebody else for August. Henry… you’ll have to go full-time and take Malin’s place as assistant editor. Then we’ll need to hire a new employee. But that will be up to all of you, and to the board.”

  She studied the group thoughtfully.

  “One more thing. I’ll be starting at another publication. For all practical purposes, S.M.P. and Millennium are not competitors, but nevertheless I don’t want to know any more than I already do about the content of the next two issues. All such matters should be discussed with Malin, effective immediately.”

  “What should we do about this Salander story?” Cortez said.

  “Discuss it with Mikael. I know something about Salander, but I’m putting what I know in mothballs. I won’t take it to S.M.P.”

  Berger suddenly felt an enormous wave of relief. “That’s about it,” she said, and she ended the meeting by getting up and going back to her office without another word.

  Millennium’s staff sat in silence.

  It was not until an hour later that Eriksson knocked on Berger’s door.

  “Hello there.”

  “Yes?” said Berger.

  “The staff would like to have a word.”

  “What is it?”

  “Out here.”

  Berger got up and went to the door. They had set a table with cake and Friday afternoon coffee.

  “We think we should have a party and give you a real send-off in due course,” Malm said. “But for now, coffee and cake will have to do.”

  Berger smiled, for the first time in a long time.

  CHAPTER 3

  FRIDAY, 8.IV – SATURDAY, 9.IV

  Zalachenko had been awake for eight hours when Inspectors Modig and Erlander came to his room at 7.00 in the evening. He had undergone a rather extensive operation in which a significant section of his jaw was realigned and fixed with titanium screws. His head was wrapped in so many bandages that you could see only his left eye and a narrow slit of mouth. A doctor had explained that the axe blow had crushed his cheekbone and damaged his forehead, peeling off a large part of the flesh on the right side of his face and tugging at his eye socket. His injuries were causing him immense pain. He had been given large doses of painkillers, yet was relatively lucid and able to talk. But the officers were warned not to tire him.

  “Good evening, Herr Zalachenko,” Modig said. She introduced herself and her colleague.

  “My name is Karl Axel Bodin,” Zalachenko said laboriously through clenched teeth. His voice was steady.

  “I know exactly who you are. I’ve read your file from Säpo.”

  This, of course, was not true.

  “That was a long time ago,” Zalachenko said. “I’m Karl Axel Bodin now.”

  “How are you doing? Are you able to have a conversation?”

  “I want to report a serious crime. I have been the victim of attempted murder by my daughter.”

  “We know. That matter will be taken up at the appropriate time,” Erlander said. “But we have more urgent issues to talk about.”

  “What could be more urgent than attempted murder?”

  “Right now we need information from you about three murders in Stockholm, at least three murders in Nykvarn, and a kidnapping.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. Who was murdered?”

  “Herr Bodin, we have good reason to believe that your associate, 35-year-old Ronald Niedermann, is guilty of these crimes,” Erlander said. “Last night he also murdered a police officer from Trollhättan.”

  Modig was surprised that Erlander had acquiesced to Zalachenko’s wish to be called Bodin. Zalachenko turned his head a little so that he could see Erlander. His voice softened slightly.

  “That is… unfortunate to hear. I know nothing about Niedermann’s affairs. I have not killed any policeman. I was the victim of attempted murder myself last night.”

  “There’s a manhunt under
way for Ronald Niedermann even as we speak. Do you have any idea where he might hide?”

  “I am not aware of the circles he moves in. I…” Zalachenko hesitated a few seconds. His voice took on a confidential tone. “I must admit… just between us… that sometimes I worry about Niedermann.”

  Erlander bent towards him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have discovered that he can be a violent person… I am actually afraid of him.”

  “You mean you felt threatened by Niedermann?” Erlander said.

  “Precisely. I’m old and handicapped. I cannot defend myself.”

  “Could you explain your relationship to Niedermann?”

  “I’m disabled.” Zalachenko gestured towards his feet. “This is the second time my daughter has tried to kill me. I hired Niedermann as an assistant a number of years ago. I thought he could protect me… but he has actually taken over my life. He comes and goes as he pleases… I have nothing more to say about it.”

  “What does he help you with?” Modig broke in. “Doing things that you can’t do yourself?”

  Zalachenko gave Modig a long look with his only visible eye.

  “I understand that your daughter threw a Molotov cocktail into your car in the early ’90s,” Modig said. “Can you explain what prompted her to do that?”

  “You would have to ask my daughter. She is mentally ill.” His tone was again hostile.

  “You mean that you can’t think of any reason why Lisbeth Salander attacked you in 1991?”

  “My daughter is mentally ill. There is substantial documentation.”

  Modig cocked her head to one side. Zalachenko’s answers were much more aggressive and hostile when she asked the questions. She saw that Erlander had noticed the same thing. O.K… Good cop, bad cop. Modig raised her voice.

  “You don’t think that her actions could have anything to do with the fact that you had beaten her mother so badly that she suffered permanent brain damage?”

  Zalachenko turned his head towards Modig.

  “That is all bullshit. Her mother was a whore. It was probably one of her punters who beat her up. I just happened to be passing by.”