“And why do you think that?”
“He was a sadistic pig, a pervert, and a rapist – and therefore a bastard.”
She was quoting the text that had been tattooed on the late Advokat Bjurman’s stomach and thus indirectly admitting that she was responsible for it. This affray, however, was not included in the charges against Salander. Bjurman had never filed a report of assault, and it would be impossible now to prove whether he had allowed himself to be tattooed or whether it had been done against his will.
“In other words, you are alleging that your guardian forced himself on you. Can you tell the court when these assaults are supposed to have taken place?”
“They took place on Tuesday, February 18, 2003 and again on Friday, March 7 of the same year.”
“You have refused to answer every question asked by the police in their attempts to interview you. Why?”
“I had nothing to say to them.”
“I have read the so-called ‘autobiography’ that your lawyer delivered without warning a few days ago. I must say it is a strange document, and we’ll come back to it in more detail later. But in it you claim that Advokat Bjurman allegedly forced you to perform oral sex on the first occasion, and on the second subjected you to an entire night of repeated and consummated rape and severe torture.”
Lisbeth did not reply.
“Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did you report the rapes to the police?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The police never listened before when I tried to tell them something. So there seemed no point in reporting anything to them then.”
“Did you discuss these assaults with any of your acquaintances? A girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s none of their business.”
“Did you try to contact a lawyer?”
“No.”
“Did you go to a doctor to be treated for the injuries you claim to have sustained?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t go to any women’s crisis centre either.”
“Now you’re making an assertion again.”
“Excuse me. Did you go to any women’s crisis centre?”
“No.”
Ekström turned to the judge. “I want to make the court aware that the defendant has stated that she was subjected to sexual assaults on two occasions, the second of which should be considered exceptionally severe. The person she claims committed these rapes was her guardian, the late Advokat Nils Bjurman. The following facts should be taken into account at this juncture…” Ekström pointed at the text in front of him. “In the investigation carried out by the Violent Crimes Division, there was nothing in Advokat Bjurman’s past to support the credibility of Lisbeth Salander’s account. Bjurman was never convicted of any crime. He has never been reported to the police or been the subject of an investigation. He had previously been a guardian or trustee to several other young people, none of whom have claimed that they were subjected to any sort of attack. On the contrary, they assert that Bjurman invariably behaved correctly and kindly towards them.”
Ekström turned a page.
“It is also my duty to remind the court that Lisbeth Salander has been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. This is a young woman with a documented violent tendency, who since her early teens has had serious problems in her interactions with society. She spent several years in a children’s psychiatric institution and has been under guardianship since the age of eighteen. However regrettable this may be, there are reasons for it. Lisbeth Salander is a danger to herself and to those around her. It is my conviction that she does not need a prison sentence. She needs psychiatric care.”
He paused for effect.
“Discussing a young person’s mental state is an innately disagreeable task. So much is an invasion of privacy, and her mental state becomes the subject of interpretation. In this case, however, we have Lisbeth Salander’s own confused world view on which to base our decision. It becomes manifestly clear in what she has termed her ‘autobiography’. Nowhere is her want of a foothold in reality as evident as it is here. In this instance we need no witnesses or interpretations to invariably contradict one another. We have her own words. We can judge for ourselves the credibility of her assertions.”
His gaze fell on Salander. Their eyes met. She smiled. She looked malicious. Ekström frowned.
“Does Advokat Giannini have anything to say?” Judge Iversen said.
“No,” Giannini said. “Other than that Prosecutor Ekström’s conclusions are nonsensical.”
The afternoon session began with the cross-questioning of witnesses. The first was Ulrika von Liebenstaahl from the guardianship agency. Ekström had called her to the stand to establish whether complaints had ever been lodged against Advokat Bjurman. This was strongly denied by von Liebenstaahl. Such assertions were defamatory.
“There exists a rigorous supervision of guardianship cases. Advokat Bjurman had been active on behalf of the guardianship agency for almost twenty years before he was so shockingly murdered.”
She gave Salander a withering look, despite the fact that Salander was not accused of murder; it had already been established that Bjurman was murdered by Ronald Niedermann.
“In all these years there has not been a single complaint against Advokat Bjurman. He was a conscientious person who evidenced a deep commitment to his wards.”
“So you don’t think it’s plausible that he would have subjected Lisbeth Salander to aggravated sexual assault?”
“I think that statement is ridiculous. We have monthly reports from Advokat Bjurman, and I personally met him on several occasions to go over the assignment.”
“Advokat Giannini has presented a request that Lisbeth Salander’s guardianship be rescinded, effective immediately.”
“No-one is happier than we who work at the agency when a guardianship can be rescinded. Unfortunately we have a responsibility, which means that we have to follow the appropriate regulations. For the agency’s part, we are required in accordance with normal protocol to see to it that Lisbeth Salander is declared fit by a psychiatric expert before there can be any talk of changes to her legal status.”
“I understand.”
“This means that she has to submit to a psychiatric examination. Which, as everyone knows, she has refused to do.”
The questioning of Ulrika von Liebenstaahl lasted for about forty minutes, during which time Bjurman’s monthly reports were examined.
Giannini asked only one question before Ulrika von Liebenstaahl was dismissed.
“Were you in Advokat Bjurman’s bedroom on the night of 7 to 8 March, 2003?”
“Of course not.”
“In other words, you haven’t the faintest idea whether my client’s statement is true or not?”
“The accusation against Advokat Bjurman is preposterous.”
“That is your opinion. Can you give him an alibi or in any other way document that he did not assault my client?”
“That’s impossible, naturally. But the probability –”
“Thank you. That will be all,” Giannini said.
Blomkvist met his sister at Milton’s offices near Slussen at around 7.00 to go through the day’s proceedings.
“It was pretty much as expected,” Giannini said. “Ekström has bought Salander’s autobiography.”
“Good. How’s she holding up?”
Giannini laughed.
“She’s holding up very well, coming across as a complete psychopath. She’s merely being herself.”
“Wonderful.”
“Today has mostly been about what happened at the cabin in Stallarholmen. Tomorrow it’ll be about Gosseberga, interrogations of people from forensics and so forth. Ekström is going to try to prove that Salander went down there intending to murder her father.”
“Well…”
“But we may have a techn
ical problem. This afternoon Ekström called Ulrika von Liebenstaahl from the guardianship agency. She started going on about how I had no right to represent Lisbeth.”
“Why so?”
“She says that Lisbeth is under guardianship and therefore isn’t entitled to choose her own lawyer. So, technically, I may not be her lawyer if the guardianship agency hasn’t rubber-stamped it.”
“And?”
“Judge Iversen is to decide tomorrow morning. I had a brief word with him after today’s proceedings. I think he’ll decide that I can continue to represent her. My point was that the agency has had three whole months to raise the objection – to show up with that kind of objection after proceedings have started is an unwarranted provocation.”
“Teleborian will testify on Friday, I gather. You have to be the one who cross-examines him.”
On Thursday Prosecutor Ekström explained to the court that after studying maps and photographs and listening to extensive technical conclusions about what had taken place in Gosseberga, he had determined that the evidence indicated that Salander had gone to her father’s farmhouse at Gosseberga with the intention of killing him. The strongest link in the chain of evidence was that she had taken a weapon with her, a Polish P-83 Wanad.
The fact that Alexander Zalachenko (according to Salander’s account) or possibly the police murderer Ronald Niedermann (according to testimony that Zalachenko had given before he was murdered at Sahlgrenska) had in turn attempted to kill Salander and bury her in a trench in woods nearby could in no way be held in mitigation of the fact that she had tracked down her father to Gosseberga with the express intention of killing him. Moreover, she had all but succeeded in that objective when she struck him in the face with an axe. Ekström demanded that Salander be convicted of attempted murder or premeditation with the intent to kill and, in that case, grievous bodily harm.
Salander’s own account stated that she had gone to Gosseberga to confront her father, to persuade him to confess to the murders of Dag Svensson and Mia Johansson. This statement was of dramatic significance in the matter of establishing intent.
When Ekström had finished questioning the witness Melker Hansson from the technical unit of the Göteborg police, Advokat Giannini had asked some succinct questions.
“Herr Hansson, is there anything at all in your investigation or in all the technical documentation that you have compiled which could in any way establish that Lisbeth Salander is lying about her intent regarding the visit to Gosseberga? Can you prove that she went there with the intention of murdering her father?”
Hansson thought for a moment.
“No,” he said at last.
“Do you have anything to say about her intent?”
“No.”
“Prosecutor Ekström’s conclusion, eloquent and extensive as it is, is therefore speculation?”
“I believe so.”
“Is there anything in the forensic evidence that contradicts Lisbeth Salander’s statement that she took with her the Polish weapon, a P-83 Wanad, by chance simply because it was in her bag, and she didn’t know what she should do with the weapon having taken it the day before from Sonny Nieminen in Stallarholmen?”
“No.”
“Thank you,” Giannini said and sat down. Those were her only words throughout Hansson’s testimony, which had lasted one hour.
Wadensjöö left the Section’s apartment on Artillerigatan at 6.00 on Thursday evening with a feeling that he was hedged about by ominous clouds of turmoil, of imminent ruin. For several weeks he had known that his title as director, that is, the chief of the Section for Special Analysis, was but a meaningless label. His opinions, protests and entreaties carried no weight. Clinton had taken over all decision-making. If the Section had been an open and public institution, this would not have been a problem – he would merely have gone to his superior and lodged his protests.
As things stood now, there was no-one he could protest to. He was alone and subject to the mercy or disfavour of a man whom he regarded as insane. And the worst of it was that Clinton’s authority was absolute. Snot-nosed kids like Sandberg and faithful retainers like Nyström… they all seemed to jump into line at once and obey the fatally ill lunatic’s every whim.
No question that Clinton was a soft-spoken authority who was not working for his own gain. He would even acknowledge that Clinton was working in the best interests of the Section, or at least in what he regarded as its best interests. The whole organization seemed to be in free fall, indulging in a collective fantasy in which experienced colleagues refused to admit that every movement they made, every decision that was taken and implemented, only led them one step closer to the abyss.
Wadensjöö felt a pressure in his chest as he turned on to Linnégatan, where he had found a parking spot earlier that day. He disabled the alarm and was about to open the car door when he heard a movement behind him. He turned around, squinting against the sun. It was a few seconds before he recognized the stately man on the pavement before him.
“Good evening, Herr Wadensjöö,” Edklinth said. “I haven’t been out in the field in ten years, but today I felt that my presence might be appropriate.”
Wadensjöö looked in confusion at the two plain-clothes policemen flanking Edklinth. Bublanski he knew, but not the other man.
Suddenly he guessed what was going to happen.
“It is my unenviable duty to inform you that the Prosecutor General has decided that you are to be arrested for such a long string of crimes that it will surely take weeks to compile a comprehensive catalogue of them.”
“What’s going on here?” Wadensjöö said indignantly.
“What is going on at this moment is that you are being arrested, suspected of being an accessory to murder. You are also suspected of extortion, bribery, illegal telephone tapping, several counts of criminal forgery, criminal embezzlement of funds, participation in breaking and entering, misuse of authority, espionage and a long list of other lesser but that’s not to say insignificant offences. The two of us are going to Kungsholmen to have a very serious talk in peace and quiet.”
“I haven’t committed murder,” Wadensjöö said breathlessly.
“That will have to be established by the investigation.”
“It was Clinton. It was always Clinton,” Wadensjöö said.
Edklinth nodded in satisfaction.
Every police officer knows that there are two classic ways to conduct the interrogation of a suspect. The bad cop and the good cop. The bad cop threatens, swears, slams his fist on the table and generally behaves aggressively with the intent of scaring the suspect into submission and confession. The good cop, often a small, grey-haired, elderly man, offers cigarettes and coffee, nods sympathetically, and speaks in a reasonable tone.
Many policemen – though not all – also know that the good cop’s interrogation technique is by far a superior way of getting results. The tough-as-nails veteran thief will be least impressed by the bad cop. And the uncertain amateur, who might be frightened into a confession by a bad cop, would in all likelihood have confessed everything anyway, regardless of the technique used.
Blomkvist listened to the questioning of Birger Wadensjöö from an adjoining room. His presence had been the topic of a good deal of internal argument before Edklinth decided that he would probably have use for Blomkvist’s observation.
Blomkvist noticed that Edklinth was using a third variant on the police interrogator, the uninterested cop, which in this particular case seemed to be working even better. Edklinth strolled into the interrogation room, served coffee in china cups, turned on the tape recorder and leaned back in his chair.
“This is how it is: we already have every conceivable forensic evidence against you. We have, accordingly, no interest whatsoever in hearing your story save as confirmation of what we already know. But the question we might want an answer to is: why? Or how could you be so idiotic as to decide to begin liquidating individuals in Sweden just as we saw happen in C
hile under the Pinochet dictatorship? The tape is rolling. If you have anything to say, now is the time. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll turn off the tape recorder and then we’ll remove your tie and shoelaces and accommodate you in a cell upstairs while we wait for a lawyer, a trial, and in due course, sentencing.”
Edklinth then took a sip of coffee and sat in silence. When nothing was said for two minutes, he reached out and turned off the tape recorder. He stood up.
“I’ll see that you’re taken upstairs in a few minutes. Good evening.”
“I didn’t murder anyone,” Wadensjöö said when Edklinth had already opened the door. Edklinth paused on the threshold.
“I’m not interested in having a general discussion with you. If you want to explain yourself, then I’ll sit down and turn the tape recorder back on. All of Swedish officialdom – and the Prime Minister in particular – is eagerly waiting to hear what you have to say. If you tell me, then I can go and see the Prime Minister tonight to give him your version of events. If you don’t tell me, you will be charged and convicted anyway.”
“Please sit down,” Wadensjöö said.
It was evident to everyone that he was resigned to it already. Blomkvist exhaled. He was there with Figuerola, Prosecutor Gustavsson, the otherwise anonymous Säpo officer Stefan, and two other altogether nameless individuals. Blomkvist suspected that one of them at least was there to represent the Minister of Justice.
“I had nothing to do with the murders,” Wadensjöö said when Edklinth started the tape recorder again.
“Murders?” Blomkvist whispered to Figuerola.
“Ssshh,” she said.
“It was Clinton and Gullberg. I had no idea what they intended. I swear it. I was utterly shocked when I heard that Gullberg had shot Zalachenko. I couldn’t believe it… I simply couldn’t believe it. And when I heard about Björck I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”
“Tell me about Björck’s murder,” Edklinth said without altering his tone. “How was it carried out?”
“Clinton hired some people. I don’t even know how it happened, but it was two Yugoslavs. Serbs, if I’m not mistaken. Georg Nyström gave them the contract and paid them afterwards. When I found out, I knew it would end in disaster.”
The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets’ Nest m(-3 Page 57
