CHAPTER 26
Friday, 15.vii
Teleborian’s appearance inspired confidence as he sat in
the witness box in the courtroom on Friday morning. He
was questioned by Prosecutor Ekström for some ninety
minutes and he replied with calm authority to every
question. The expression on his face was sometimes
concerned and sometimes amused.
“To sum up …” Ekström said, leafing through his sheaf of
papers. “It is your judgement as a psychiatrist of long
standing that Lisbeth Salander suffers from paranoid
schizophrenia?”
“I have said that it is unusually difficult to make a precise
evaluation of her condition. The patient is, as you know,
almost autistic in her relation to doctors and other figures
of authority. My assessment is that she suffers from a
serious mental disorder, but that at the present time I
cannot give an exact diagnosis. Nor can I determine what
stage of the psychosis she is in without more extensive
study.”
“At any rate, you don’t consider her to be sane.”
“Indeed her entire history presents most compelling proof
that she is not sane.”
“You have been allowed to read what Lisbeth Salander has
termed her ‘autobiography’, which she has presented to
the district court. What are your comments on this?”
Teleborian threw up his hands and shrugged.
“How would you judge the credibility of her account?”
“There is no credibility. It is a series of assertions about
various individuals, one story more fantastical than the
other. Taken as a whole, her written explanation confirms
our suspicions that she suffers from paranoid
schizophrenia.”
“Could you give an instance?”
“The most obvious is of course the description of the
alleged rape by her guardian Advokat Bjurman.”
“Could you expand on that?”
“The description is extremely detailed. It is a classic
example of the sort of grotesque fantasy that children are
capable of. There are plenty of parallel examples from
familial incest cases in which the child gives an account
which falls through due to its utter improbability, and for
which there is no forensic evidence. These are erotic
fantasies which even children of a very young age can
fantasies which even children of a very young age can
have … Almost as if they were watching a horror film on
television.”
“But Lisbeth Salander is not a child, she is a grown
woman,” Ekström said.
“That is correct. Although it remains to be seen exactly
what her mental level may be. But basically you are
correct. She is a grown woman, and presumably she
believes in the account she has presented.”
“So you’re saying it is all lies.”
“No. If she believes what she says, then it is not a lie. It’s a
story which shows that she cannot distinguish fantasy from
reality.”
“So she was not raped by Advokat Bjurman?”
“No. There is no likelihood of that at all. She needs expert
care.”
“You yourself appear in Lisbeth Salander’s account—”
“Yes, and that is rather intriguing. But once again, it’s a
figment of her imagination. If we are to believe the poor girl,
then I’m something approximate to a paedophile …” He
smiled and continued. “But this is all just another
expression of what I was speaking of before. In Salander’s
expression of what I was speaking of before. In Salander’s
autobiography we are told that she was abused by being
placed in restraints for long spells at St Stefan’s. And that I
came to her room at night … This is a classic manifestation
of her inability to interpret reality, or rather, she is giving
reality her own interpretation.”
“Thank you. I leave it to the defence, if Fru Giannini has
any questions.”
Since Giannini had not had any questions or objections on
the first two days of the trial, those in the courtroom
expected that she would once again ask some obligatory
questions and then bring the questioning to an end. This
really is an embarrassingly deficient effort by the defence,
Ekström thought.
“Yes, I do,” Giannini said. “I do in fact have a number of
questions, and they may take some time. It’s 11.30 now.
May I propose that we break for lunch, and that I be
allowed to carry out my cross-examination of the witness
after lunch without interval?”
Judge Iversen agreed that the court should adjourn for
lunch.
*
Andersson was accompanied by two uniformed officers
when he placed his huge hand on Superintendent
when he placed his huge hand on Superintendent
Nyström’s shoulder outside the Mäster Anders restaurant
on Hantverkargatan at noon precisely. Nyström looked up
in amazement at the man who was shoving his police I.D.
right under his nose.
“Hello. You’re under arrest, suspected of being an
accessory to murder and attempted murder. The charges
will be explained to you by the Prosecutor General at a
hearing this afternoon. I suggest that you come along
peacefully,” he said.
Nyström did not seem to comprehend the language
Andersson was speaking in, but he could see that he was a
man you went along with without protest.
Inspector Bublanski was accompanied by Modig and seven
uniformed officers when Stefan Bladh of the Constitutional
Protection Unit admitted them at noon precisely into the
locked section that comprised the domain of the Security
Police at Kungsholmen. They walked through the corridors
behind Bladh until he stopped and pointed at an office
door. The chief of Secretariat’s assistant looked up and
was utterly perplexed when Bublanski held up his I.D.
“Kindly remain where you are. This is a police action.”
He strode to the inner door. Chief of Secretariat Albert was
on the telephone.
“What is this interruption?” Shenke said.
“I am Criminal Inspector Jan Bublanski. You are under
arrest for violation of the Swedish constitution. There is a
long list of specific points in the charge, all of which will be
explained to you this afternoon.”
“This is outrageous,” Shenke said.
“It most certainly is,” Bublanski said.
He had Shenke’s office sealed and then placed two officers
on guard outside the door, with instructions to let no-one
cross the threshold. They had permission to use their
batons and even draw their service weapons if anyone
tried to enter the sealed office by force.
They continued their procession down the corridor until
Bladh pointed to another door, and the procedure was
repeated with chief of Budget, Gustav Atterbom.
*
Inspector Holmberg had the Södermalm armed response
team as backup when at exactly noon he knocked on the
door of an office rented temporarily on the fourth floor just
across the street from Millennium’s offices on Götgatan.
Since no-one opened the door, Holmberg ordered the
Södermalm police to force the lock, but the door was
opened a crack before the crowbar was used.
“Police,” Holmberg said. “Come out with your hands up.”
“I’m a policeman myself,” Inspector Mårtensson said.
“I know. And you have licences for a great many guns.”
“Yes, well … I’m an officer on assignment.”
“I think not,” Holmberg said.
He accepted the assistance of his colleagues in propping
Mårtensson against the wall so he could confiscate his
service weapon.
“You are under arrest for illegal telephone tapping, gross
dereliction of duty, repeated break-ins at Mikael Blomkvist’s
apartment on Bellmansgatan, and additional counts.
Handcuff him.”
Holmberg took a swift look around the room and saw that
there was enough electronic equipment to furnish a
recording studio. He detailed an officer to guard the
premises, but told him to sit still on a chair so he would not
leave any fingerprints.
As Mårtensson was being led through the front door of the
building, Cortez took a series of twenty-two photographs
with his Nikon. He was, of course, no professional
photographer, and the quality left something to be desired.
But the best images were sold the next day to an evening
newspaper for an obscene sum of money.
Figuerola was the only police officer participating in the
day’s raids who encountered an unexpected incident. She
had back-up from the Norrmalm team and three colleagues
from S.I.S. when at noon she walked through the front door
of the building on Artillerigatan and went up the stairs to
the top-floor apartment, registered in the name of Bellona
Inc.
The operation had been planned at short notice. As soon
as the group was assembled outside the door of the
apartment, she gave the go-ahead. Two burly officers from
the Norrmalm team raised a forty-kilo steel battering ram
and opened the door with two well-aimed blows. The team,
equipped with bulletproof vests and assault rifles, took
control of the apartment within ten seconds of the door
being forced.
According to surveillance carried out at dawn that morning,
five individuals identified as members of the Section had
arrived at the apartment that morning. All five were
apprehended and put in handcuffs.
Figuerola was wearing a protective vest. She went through
the apartment, which had been the headquarters of the
Section since the ’60s, and flung open one door after
another. She was going to need an archaeologist to sort
through the reams and reams of paper that filled the
rooms.
A few seconds after she entered the apartment, she
opened the door to a small room towards the back and
discovered that it was used for overnight stays. She found
herself eye to eye with Jonas Sandberg. He had been a
question mark during that morning’s assignment of tasks,
as the surveillance officer detailed to watch him had lost
track of him the evening before. His car had been parked
on Kungsholmen and he had not been home to his
apartment during the night. This morning they had not
expected to locate and apprehend him.
They man the place at night for security reasons. Of
course. And Sandberg sleeps over after the night shift.
Sandberg had on only his underpants and seemed to be
dazed with sleep. He reached for his service weapon on
the bedside table, but Figuerola bent over and swept the
weapon away from him on to the floor.
“Jonas Sandberg … you are under arrest as a suspect and
accessory to the murders of Gunnar Björck and Alexander
Zalachenko, and as an accomplice in the attempted
murders of Mikael Blomkvist and Erika Berger. Now get
your trousers on.”
Sandberg threw a punch at Figuerola. She blocked it
instinctively.
“You must be joking,” she said. She took hold of his arm
and twisted his wrist so hard that he was forced backwards
to the floor. She flipped him over on to his stomach and put
her knee in the small of his back. She handcuffed him
herself. It was the first time she had used handcuffs on an
assignment since she began at S.I.S.
She handed Sandberg over to one of the back-up team
and continued her passage through the apartment until
she opened the last door at the very back. According to the
blueprints, this was a small cubbyhole looking out on to the
courtyard. She stopped in the doorway and looked at the
most emaciated figure she had ever seen. She did not for
one second doubt that here was a person who was mortally
ill.
“Fredrik Clinton, you are under arrest as an accomplice to
murder, attempted murder, and for a long list of further
crimes,” she said. “Stay where you are in bed. We’ve called
an ambulance to take you to Kungsholmen.”
Malm was stationed immediately outside the building on
Artillerigatan. Unlike Cortez, he knew how to handle his
digital Nikon. He used a short telephoto lens and the
pictures he took were of excellent quality.
They showed the members of the Section, one by one,
being led out through the front door and down to the police
cars. And finally the ambulance that arrived to pick up
Clinton. His eyes were fixed on the lens as the shutter
clicked. Clinton looked nervous and confused.
The photograph later won the Picture of the Year award.
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