CHAPTER 17
Easter Sunday, March 27–Tuesday, March 29
Armansky got up early on Sunday after hours of worrying. He padded downstairs
without waking Ritva and made coffee and a sandwich. Then he opened his laptop.
He opened the report form that Milton Security used for personal investigations.
He typed in as many facts as he could think of about Salander’s personality.
At 9:00 Ritva came down and poured herself coffee. She wondered what he was
doing. He gave a noncommittal answer and kept writing. He was going to be a lost
cause all day.
Blomkvist turned out to be wrong, probably because it was Easter weekend and
police headquarters was still relatively empty. It took until Sunday morning before
the media discovered that he was the one who had found Svensson and Johansson.
The first to call was a reporter from Aftonbladet, an old friend.
“Hello, Blomkvist. It’s Nicklasson.”
“Hello, Nicklasson.”
“So you were the one who found the couple in Enskede.”
Blomkvist confirmed that was true.
“My source tells me they worked for Millennium.”
“Your source is part right and part wrong. Dag Svensson was doing a freelance
report for Millennium. Mia Johansson wasn’t working for us.”
“Oh boy. This is a hell of a story, you’ve got to admit.”
“I know,” Blomkvist said wearily.
“Why haven’t you released a statement?”
“Dag was a colleague and a friend. We thought it would be best at least to tell his
and Mia’s relatives what happened before we put out any story.”
Blomkvist knew that he wouldn’t be quoted on that point.
“That makes sense. What was Dag working on?”
“A story we commissioned.”
“What about?”
“What sort of scoop are you planning at Aftonbladet?”
“So it was a scoop.”
“Screw you, Nicklasson.”
“Oh, come on, Blomman. You think the murders had anything to do with the story
Dag Svensson was working on?”
“You call me Blomman one more time, and I’m hanging up and not talking to you
for the rest of the year.”
“All right, I’m sorry. Do you think Dag was murdered because of his work as an
investigative journalist?”
“I have no idea why Dag was murdered.”
“Did the story he was working on have anything to do with Lisbeth Salander?”
“No. Nothing whatsoever.”
“Did Dag know that nutcase?”
“I have no idea.”
“Dag wrote a bunch of articles on computer crime recently. Was that the type of
story he was writing for Millennium?”
You just won’t give up, will you? Blomkvist thought. He was about to tell
Nicklasson to piss off when he sat bolt upright in bed. He had just had two great
ideas. Nicklasson started to say something else.
“Hold on, Nicklasson. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Blomkvist got up and held his hand over the mouthpiece. He was suddenly on a
completely different planet.
Ever since the murders, he had been racking his brains about how he could find a
way to get in touch with Salander. There was a chance—a rather good chance—that
she would read what he said to the newspapers, wherever she was. If he denied
that he knew her, she might interpret that to mean that he had abandoned her or
betrayed her. If he defended her, then other people would interpret it as meaning
that he knew more about the murders than he had said. But if he made a
statement in just the right way, it might give Salander an impulse to reach him.
“Sorry, I’m back. What did you say?”
“Was Dag writing about computer crime?”
“If you want a sound bite from me, I’ll give you one.”
“Go for it.”
“Only if you quote me word for word.”
“How else would I quote you?”
“I’d rather not answer that question.”
“So what do you want to say?”
“I’ll email it to you in fifteen minutes.”
“What?”
“Check your email,” Blomkvist said and hung up. He went over to his desk and
booted up his iBook. He opened Word and sat there concentrating for two minutes
before he started writing.
Millennium’s editor in chief, Erika Berger, is deeply shaken by the murder of
freelance journalist and colleague Dag Svensson. She hopes that the murders will
soon be solved.
It was Millennium’s publisher, Mikael Blomkvist, who discovered Dag Svensson and
his girlfriend murdered last Wednesday night.
“Dag Svensson was a fantastically gifted journalist and a person I liked a lot. He had
proposed several ideas for articles. Among other things, he was working on a major
investigation into illegal computer hacking,” Mikael Blomkvist tells Aftonbladet.
Neither Blomkvist nor Berger will speculate about who might be guilty of the
murders, or what motive might lie behind them.
Blomkvist picked up the telephone and called Berger.
“Hi, Ricky. You’ve just been interviewed by Aftonbladet.”
“Do tell.”
He read her the quote.
“How come?”
“Every word is true. Dag has worked freelance for ten years, and one of his
specializations was computer security. I discussed it with him many times, and we
were considering running an article by him on it when we finished the trafficking
story. And do you know anyone else who is interested in hacking?”
Berger realized what he was trying to do.
“Smart, Micke. Damned smart. OK. Run it.”
Nicklasson called back a minute after he got Blomkvist’s email.
“That’s not much of a sound bite.”
“That’s all you’re getting, and it’s more than any other paper will get. You run the
whole quote or nothing.”
Blomkvist went back to his iBook. He thought for a minute and then wrote:
Dear Lisbeth,
I’m writing this letter and leaving it on my hard drive knowing that sooner or later
you’ll read it. I remember the way you took over Wennerström’s hard drive two
years ago and suspect that you also made sure to hack my machine. It’s clear that
you don’t want to have anything to do with me now. I don’t intend to ask why and
you don’t have to explain.
The events of the past few days have linked us again, whether you like it or not.
The police are saying that you murdered two people I was very fond of. I was the
one who discovered Dag and Mia minutes after they were shot. I don’t think it was
you who shot them. I certainly hope it wasn’t. The police claim you’re a psychotic
killer, but that would mean that I totally misjudged you or that you’ve changed
dramatically over the past year. And if you’re not the murderer, then the police are
chasing the wrong person.
In this situation I should probably urge you to turn yourself in to the police, but I
suspect I’d be wasting my breath. Sooner or later you’re going to be found, and
when that happens you’re going to need a friend. You may not want to have
anything to do with me, but I have a sister called Annika Giannini and she’s a
lawyer. The best. She’s willing to represent you if you get in touch with her. You
can trust her.
As far as Millennium is concerned, we’ve begun our own investigation into why
Dag and Mia were murdered. What I’m doing right now is putting together a list of
the people who had reason to want to silence Dag. I don’t know if I’m on the right
track, but I’m going to check the list one person at a time.
One problem I have is that I don’t understand how Nils Bjurman fits into the
picture. He isn’t mentioned anywhere in Dag’s material, and I can’t fathom any
connection between him and Dag and Mia.
Help me. Please. What’s the connection?
Mikael.
P.S. You should get a new passport photo. That one doesn’t do you justice.
He named the document [To Sally]. Then he created a folder that he named and put
an icon for it on the desktop of his iBook.
On Tuesday morning Armansky called a meeting in his office at Milton Security. He
had brought in three people.
Johan Fräklund, a former criminal inspector with the Solna police, was the chief of
Milton’s operations unit. He had overall responsibility for planning and analysis.
Armansky had recruited him ten years earlier and had come to regard him, now in
his early sixties, as one of the company’s most valuable assets.
Armansky also called in Sonny Bohman and Niklas Hedström. Bohman too was a
former policeman. He had received his training in the Norrmalm armed response
squad in the eighties and then moved to the violent crimes division, where he had
led a dozen dramatic investigations. During the rampage of the “Laser Man” sniper
in the early nineties, Bohman had been one of the key players, and in 1997 he had
moved to Milton only after a great deal of persuasion and the offer of a
significantly higher salary.
Niklas Hedström was regarded as a rookie. He had been trained at the police
academy, but just before he was due to take his final exams he learned that he had
a congenital heart defect. This not only required a major operation but also meant
that his police career was already at an end.
Fräklund, who had been a contemporary of Hedström’s father, had suggested to
Armansky that they give him a chance. Since there was a position free in the
analysis unit, Armansky approved the recruitment, and he had never had cause to
regret it. Hedström had worked for Milton for five years. He might lack field
experience, but he stood out as a sharp-witted intellectual asset.
“Good morning, everyone. Take a seat and start reading,” Armansky said. He handed
out three folders with some fifty photocopied pages of press cuttings about the
hunt for Salander, along with Armansky’s three-page summary of her background.
Hedström finished reading first and put the folder down. Armansky waited until
Bohman and Fräklund were done.
“I presume none of you gentlemen has missed seeing the headlines in the papers
over the weekend.”
“Lisbeth Salander,” Fräklund said in a gloomy voice.
Bohman shook his head.
Hedström stared into space with an inscrutable expression and the hint of a sad
smile.
Armansky gave the trio a searching look.
“One of our employees,” he said. “How well did you get to know her when she
worked here?”
“I tried a little light banter with her once,” Hedström said, again with a hint of a
smile. “It didn’t go so well. I thought she was going to bite my head off. She was a
first-class sourpuss, and I hardly exchanged ten sentences with her.”
“I found her seriously odd,” Fräklund said.
Bohman shrugged. “She was a real pain to deal with. I knew she was weird, but not
that she was this fucking crazy.”
“She did things her own way,” Armansky said. “She wasn’t easy to handle. But I
trusted her because she was the best researcher I’ve ever come across. She
delivered results beyond expectation every time.”
“I never understood that,” Fräklund said. “I couldn’t figure out how she could be so
incredibly skilled and at the same time so hopeless socially.”
“The explanation, of course, lies in her mental state,” Armansky said, poking at one
of the folders. “She was declared incompetent.”
“I didn’t have a clue about that,” Hedström said. “I mean, she didn’t wear a sign on
her back. And you never said anything.”
“No,” Armansky said. “I didn’t think she needed to be any more stigmatized than
she already was. Everybody deserves a chance.”
“And the result of that experiment is what we saw happen in Enskede,” Bohman
said.
“Could be,” Armansky said.
He did not want to betray his weakness for Salander in front of these three
professionals who were now watching him expectantly. They had adopted quite a
neutral tone during the conversation, but Armansky knew that Salander was in fact
detested by all three of them, as well as by the rest of the employees at Milton
Security. He did not want to come across as soft or confused. It was important to
present the matter in a way that created a measure of enthusiasm and
professionalism.
“I’ve decided for the first time ever to utilize some of Milton’s resources for a
purely internal matter,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be a big expense in the budget,
but I’m thinking of releasing you two, Bohman and Hedström, from your present
duties. Your assignment, although I may be formulating it a bit vaguely, is to
‘establish the truth’ about Lisbeth Salander.”
Both men gave Armansky a sceptical look.
“I want you, Fräklund, to lead and keep track of the investigation. I want to know
what happened and what would have induced Salander to murder her guardian as
well as the couple in Enskede. There has to be a rational explanation.”
“Forgive my saying so, but this sounds like a job for the police,” Fräklund said.
“No question,” Armansky shot back. “But we have an advantage over the police. We
knew Salander, and we have an insight into how she functions.”
“Well, if you say so,” Bohman said, sounding unsure. “I don’t believe anyone here at
the firm has any idea what went on in her little head.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Armansky said. “Salander worked for Milton Security. In my
view, we have a responsibility to establish the truth.”
“Salander hasn’t worked for us in … what is it, almost two years,” Fräklund said. “I
don’t see us as responsible for what she may have done. And I don’t think the
police would appreciate it if we interfered in their investigation.”
“On the contrary,” Armansky said. This was his trump card, and he had to play it
well.
“How’s that?” Bohman wondered.
“Yesterday I had a couple of long conversations with the preliminary investigation
leader, Prosecutor Ekström, and Criminal Inspector Bublanski, who’s in charge of
the investigation. Ekström is under pressure. This isn’t some sort of showdown
among gangsters; it’s an event with enormous media potential in which a lawyer, a
criminologist, and a journalist were all—it would appear—executed. I explained that
since the prime suspect is a former employee of Milton Security, we have also
decided to start an investigation of our own.” Armansky paused to let this sink in
before going on. “Ekström and I agree that the important thing right now is for
Lisbeth Salander to be taken into custody as rapidly as possible—before she causes
any more harm to herself or to others. Since we have more knowledge of her than
the police do, we can contribute to the investigation. Ekström and I decided that
you two”—he pointed at Bohman and Hedström—“will move over to Kungsholmen
and be seconded to Bublanski’s team.”
All three of his employees looked astonished.
“Pardon me for asking a simple question … but we’re only civilians,” Bohman said.
“Do the police really intend to let us into a murder investigation, just like that?”
“You’ll be working under Bublanski, but you’ll also report to me. You will be given
full access to the investigation. All the material we have and that you turn up will
go to Bublanski. For the police, this means that his team will get free
reinforcements. And none of you are ‘only civilians.’ You two, Fräklund and
Bohman, worked for the police for longer than you’ve worked here, and even you,
Hedström, went to the police academy.”
“But it’s against the principles—”
“Not at all. The police often bring civilian consultants into investigations, whether
psychologists in sex crimes or interpreters where foreigners are involved. You will
simply participate as civilian consultants with particular knowledge of the prime
suspect.”
Fräklund nodded slowly. “OK. Milton is joining the police investigation and trying to
help catch Salander. Anything else?”
“Yes. Your principal assignment as far as Milton is concerned is to establish the
truth. Nothing else. I want to know if Salander shot these three people—and if so,
why.”
“Is there any doubt about her guilt?” asked Hedström.
“The circumstantial evidence the police hold is very damaging to her. But I want to
know whether there’s another side to the story—whether there’s some accomplice
we don’t know about, someone who may have been the one actually holding the
gun, or whether there are any other as yet unknown circumstances.”
“It’s going to be hard work to find mitigating circumstances in a triple murder,”
Fräklund said. “If that’s what we’re looking for, we’d have to suppose there’s a
possibility she’s innocent. And I don’t believe that.”
“I don’t either,” Armansky said. “But your work will be to assist the police in every
way and to help them take her into custody in the shortest time possible.”
“Budget?” Fräklund said.
“Open. I want to be regularly updated on what this is costing, and if it gets out of
hand we’ll shut it down. But assume that you’ll be on this for a week at least,
starting today. And since I’m the one here who knows Salander best, I should be
one of the people you interview.”
Modig hurtled down the corridor and made it into the conference room just as her
colleagues had settled in their seats. She sat down next to Bublanski, who had
gathered the whole investigative team for this meeting, including the preliminary
investigation leader. Faste gave her an annoyed look and then took care of the
introduction; he was the one who had asked for the meeting.
He had gone on burrowing through the years of confrontation between the social
welfare bureaucracy and Salander—what he called the “psychopath trail”—and he
had managed to assemble quite a body of material. He cleared his throat and
turned to the man on his right.
“This is Dr. Peter Teleborian, head physician at St. Stefan’s Psychiatric Clinic in
Uppsala. He has been good enough to come down to Stockholm to assist in the
investigation and to tell us what he knows about Lisbeth Salander.”
Modig studied Dr. Teleborian. He was a short man with curly brown hair, steel-rimmed glasses, and a small goatee. He was casually dressed in a beige corduroy
jacket, jeans, and a light-blue striped shirt buttoned at the neck. His features were
sharp and his appearance boyish. Modig had come across Dr. Teleborian on several
occasions but had never spoken to him. He had given a lecture on psychiatric
disturbances when she was in her last term at the police academy, and on another
occasion at a course he had spoken about psychopaths and psychopathic behaviour
in young people. She had also attended the trial of a serial rapist when Teleborian
was called as an expert witness. Dr. Teleborian was one of the best-known
psychiatrists in Sweden. He had made a name for himself with his tough criticism
of the cutbacks in psychiatric care that had resulted in the closure of mental
hospitals. People who were obviously in need of care had been abandoned to the
streets, doomed to become homeless welfare cases. Since the assassination of
Foreign Minister Anna Lindh, * Dr. Teleborian had been a member of the government
commission that reported on the decline in psychiatric care.
Teleborian nodded to the group and poured mineral water into his plastic cup.
“We’ll have to see whether there’s anything I can contribute,” he began cautiously.
“I hate being right in my predictions in situations like this.”
“Your predictions?” Bublanski said.
“Yes. It’s ironic. On the evening of the murders in Enskede, I was on a TV panel
discussing the time bomb that’s ticking almost everywhere in our society. It’s
terrible. I wasn’t thinking specifically of Lisbeth Salander just then, but I gave a
number of examples—with pseudonyms, of course—of patients who quite simply
ought to be in institutions rather than at liberty on our streets. I would surmise
that during this year alone the police will have to solve half a dozen murder or
manslaughter cases where the killer is among this small group of patients.”
“And you think that Lisbeth Salander is one of these loonies?” Faste asked.
“Loony isn’t a term we would use. Yet she is without doubt one of these frayed
individuals that I would not have let out into society, were it up to me.”
“Are you saying that she should have been locked up before she committed a
crime?” Modig asked. “That doesn’t really accord with the principles of a society
governed by the rule of law.”
Faste frowned and gave her a dirty look. Modig wondered why Faste always seemed
so hostile towards her.
“You’re perfectly right,” Teleborian said, inadvertently coming to her rescue. “It’s
not compatible with a society based on the rule of law, at least not in its present
form. It’s a balancing act between respect for the individual and respect for the
potential victims that a mentally ill person may leave in his wake. Every case is
different, and each patient must be treated on an individual basis. It’s inevitable
that we in the psychiatric field also make mistakes and release people who
shouldn’t be out on the streets.”
“Well, I don’t think we need to go into social politics in great depth here,”
Bublanski said cautiously.
“Of course,” Teleborian said. “We’re dealing with a specific case. But let me just say
that it’s important for you all to understand that Lisbeth Salander is a sick person
in need of care, just as any patient with a toothache or heart disease is in need of
care. She can still get well, and she would have gotten well if she had received the
care she needed when she was still treatable.”
“So you weren’t her doctor,” Faste said.
“I’m one of many people who was involved with Lisbeth Salander’s case. She was
my patient in her early teens, and I was one of the doctors who evaluated her
before it was decided to place her under guardianship when she turned eighteen.”
“Could you give us a little background about her?” Bublanski asked. “What could
have made her murder two people she didn’t know, and what could have made her
murder her guardian?”
Dr. Teleborian laughed.
“No, I can’t tell you that. I haven’t followed her development in several years, and I
don’t know what stage of psychosis she’s in at present. But I can say without a
shadow of a doubt that the couple in Enskede had to have been known to her.”
“What makes you so sure?” Faste wanted to know.
“One of the failures in the treatment of Lisbeth Salander was that no complete
diagnosis was ever established for her. That was because she was not receptive to
treatment. She invariably refused to answer questions or participate in any form of
therapy.”
“So you don’t actually know if she’s sick or not,” Modig said. “I mean, if there isn’t
any diagnosis.”
“Look at it this way,” Dr. Teleborian said. “I was given Lisbeth Salander just as she
was about to turn thirteen. She was psychotic, showed obsessive behaviour, and
was obviously suffering from paranoia. She was my patient for two years after she
was committed to St. Stefan’s. The reason for committing her was that throughout
her childhood she had exhibited exceedingly violent behaviour towards
schoolmates, teachers, and acquaintances. In repeated instances she was reported
for assault. In every case that we know of, the violence was directed at people in
her own circle, that is, against people she knew who said or did something that she
perceived as an insult. There is no case of her ever having attacked a stranger.
That’s why I believe there must be a link between her and the couple in Enskede.”
“Except for the attack in the tunnelbana when she was seventeen,” Faste said.
“Well, on that occasion she was the one who was attacked and she was defending
herself,” Teleborian said. “Against, it should be said, a known sex offender. But it’s
also a good example of the way she behaves. She could have walked away or sought
refuge among other passengers in the carriage. Instead she responded with
aggravated assault. When she feels threatened she reacts with excessive violence.”
“What’s actually the matter with her?” Bublanski asked.
“As I said, we don’t have a real diagnosis. I would say that she suffers from
schizophrenia and is continually balancing on the brink of psychosis. She lacks
empathy and in many respects can be described as a sociopath. It’s surprising,
frankly, that she has managed so well since she turned eighteen. She has been
functioning in society, albeit under guardianship, for eight years without doing
anything that led to a police report or arrest. But her prognosis—”
“Her prognosis?”
“During this entire time she has not received any treatment. My guess is that the
illness we might have been able to treat and cure ten years ago is now a fixed part
of her personality. I predict that when she is apprehended, she will not be given a
prison sentence. She needs treatment.”
“So why the hell did the district court decide to give her a free pass into society?”
Faste asked.
“It should probably be viewed as a combination of things. She had a lawyer, an
eloquent one, but it was also a manifestation of the current liberalization policies
and cutbacks. It was a decision that I opposed when I was consulted by forensic
medicine. But I had no say in the matter.”
“But surely that kind of prognosis must be pretty much guesswork, don’t you
think?” Modig said. “You don’t actually know what’s been going on with her since
she turned eighteen.”
“It’s more than a guess. It’s based on my professional experience.”
“Is she self-destructive?” Modig asked.
“You mean could I picture her committing suicide? No, I doubt that. She’s more of
an egomaniacal psychopath. It’s all about her. Everyone else around her is
unimportant.”
“You said that she might react with excessive force,” Faste said. “In other words,
should we consider her to be dangerous?”
Dr. Teleborian looked at him for a long moment. Then he leaned forward and
rubbed his forehead.
“You have no idea how difficult it is to say exactly how a person will react. I don’t
want Lisbeth Salander to be harmed when you apprehend her … but yes, in her case
I would try to make sure the arrest is carried out with the utmost circumspection.
If she is armed, there would be a very real risk that she will use the weapon.”
* Anna Lindh was one of Sweden’s most popular politicians, foreign minister under
Prime Minister Goran Persson from 1998 to 2003. She was assassinated in 2003 in a
stabbing attack. Her alleged murderer confessed and was sentenced to life in prison
after a psychiatric evaluation. However, an appeals court overturned the sentence
in 2004, and the defendant was transferred from prison to a closed psychiatric
ward. Prosecutors reappealed to the Supreme Court of Sweden, which has since
reinstated the life sentence.
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