The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo Trilogy Bundle (205 page)

“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 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 many questions or objections during 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 interruption?”

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 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 ID 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 process what Andersson was saying, 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 exactly noon into the locked section that comprised the domain of the Security Police at Kungsholmen. They walked through the halls 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 ID.

“Kindly remain where you are. This is a police action.”

He strode to the inner door. Chief of Secretariat Albert Shenke was on the phone.

“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 hall 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 MÃ¥rtensson said.

“I know. And you have licences for a great many guns.”

“Yes, well … I'm on assignment.”

“I think not,” Holmberg said.

He accepted the assistance of his colleagues in placing MÃ¥rtensson 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 MÃ¥rtensson 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 backup from the Norrmalm team and three colleagues from SIS 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 on 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 an eighty-five-pound 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's being forced.

According to surveillance carried out at dawn, 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 bulletproof vest. She went through the apartment, which had been the headquarters of the Section since the sixties, 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 onto 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 onto 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 SIS.

She handed Sandberg over to one of the backup 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 onto 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, for 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.

Judge Iversen banged his gavel at 12:30 and decreed that district court proceedings were thereby resumed. He noticed that a third person had appeared at Advokat Giannini's table. It was Holger Palmgren, in a wheelchair.

“Hello, Holger,” Judge Iversen said. “I haven't seen you in a courtroom in quite a while.”

“Good day to you, Judge Iversen. Some cases are so complicated that these younger lawyers need a little assistance.”

“I thought you had retired.”

“I've been ill. But Advokat Giannini engaged me as assistant counsel in this case.”

“I see.”

Giannini cleared her throat.

“It is germane to the case that Advokat Palmgren was until his illness Lisbeth Salander's guardian.”

“I have no intention of commenting on that matter,” Judge Iversen said.

He nodded to Giannini to begin, and she stood up. She had always disliked the Swedish tradition of carrying on court proceedings informally while sitting around a table, almost as though the occasion were a dinner party. She felt better when she could speak standing up.

“I think we should begin with the concluding comments from this morning. Dr. Teleborian, what leads you so consistently to dismiss as untrue everything that Lisbeth Salander says?”

“Because her statements so obviously
are
untrue,” replied Teleborian.

He was relaxed. Giannini turned to the judge.

“Judge Iversen, Dr. Teleborian claims that Lisbeth Salander tells lies and that she fantasizes. The defence will now demonstrate that every word in her autobiography is true. We will present copious documentation, both
visual and written, as well as the testimony of witnesses. We have now reached the point in this trial when the prosecutor has presented the principal elements of his case. We have listened, and we now know the exact nature of the accusations against Lisbeth Salander.”

Giannini's mouth was suddenly dry, and she felt her hands shake. She took a deep breath and sipped her mineral water. Then she placed her hands in a firm grip on the back of the chair so that they would not betray her nervousness.

“From the prosecutor's presentation we may conclude that he has a great many opinions but a woeful shortage of evidence. He
believes
that Lisbeth Salander shot Carl-Magnus Lundin in Stallarholmen. He
claims
that she went to Gosseberga to kill her father. He
assumes
that my client is a paranoid schizophrenic and mentally ill in every sense. And he
bases
this assumption on information from a single source: to wit, Dr. Peter Teleborian.”

She paused to catch her breath and forced herself to speak slowly.

“As it now stands, the case presented by the prosecutor rests on the testimony of Dr. Teleborian. If he is right, then my client would be best served by receiving the expert psychiatric care that both he and the prosecutor are seeking.”

Pause.

“But if Dr. Teleborian is wrong, this prosecution case must be seen in a different light. Furthermore, if he is lying, then my client is now, here in this courtroom, being subjected to a violation of her civil rights, a violation that has gone on for many years.”

She turned to face Ekström.

“What we shall do this afternoon is to show that your witness is a false witness, and that you as prosecutor have been deceived into accepting these false testimonies.”

Teleborian flashed a smile. He held out his hands and nodded to Giannini, as if applauding her presentation. Giannini now turned to the judge.

“Your honour. I will show that Dr. Teleborian's so-called forensic psychiatric investigation is nothing but a deception from start to finish. I will show that he is lying about Lisbeth Salander. I will show that my client has in the past been subjected to a gross violation of her rights. And I will show that she is just as sane and intelligent as anyone in this room.”

“Excuse me, but—” Ekström began.

“Just a moment.” She raised a finger. “I have for two days allowed you to talk uninterrupted. Now it's my turn.”

She turned back to Judge Iversen.

“I would not make so serious an accusation before the court if I did not have ample evidence to support it.”

“By all means, continue,” the judge said. “But I don't want to hear any long-winded conspiracy theories. Bear in mind that you can be charged with slander for false statements that are made before a court.”

“Thank you. I will bear that in mind.”

She turned to Teleborian. He still seemed entertained by the situation.

“The defence has repeatedly asked to be allowed to examine Lisbeth Salander's medical records from the time when she, in her early teens, was committed to your care at St. Stefan's. Why have we not been shown those records?”

“Because a district court decreed that they were classified. That decision was made out of solicitude for Lisbeth Salander, but if a higher court were to rescind that decision, I would naturally hand them over.”

“Thank you. For how many nights during the two years that Lisbeth Salander spent at St. Stefan's was she kept in restraints?”