The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest (Millennium 3)

The text had grown to thirty-three pages, and she was nearing the end. In some sections she was particularly reticent about details and went to a lot of trouble not to supply any evidence that could back up in any way the many claims she was making. She went so far as to obscure some obvious evidence and instead moved on to the next link in the chain of events.

She scrolled back and read through a section where she told how Advokat Bjurman had violently and sadistically raped her. That was the part she had spent the most time on, and one of the few she had rewritten several times before she was satisfied. The section took up nineteen lines in her account. She reported in a matter-of-fact manner how he had hit her, thrown her onto her stomach on the bed, taped her mouth, and handcuffed her. She then related how he had repeatedly committed acts of sexual violence against her, including anal penetration. She went on to report how at one point during the rape he had wound a piece of clothing--her own T-shirt--around her neck and strangled her for such a long time that she temporarily lost consciousness. Then there were several lines where she identified the implements he had used during the rape, which included a short whip, an anal plug, a rough dildo, and clamps, which he attached to her nipples.

She frowned and studied the text. At last she raised the stylus and tapped out a few more lines of text.

On one occasion when I still had my mouth taped shut, Bjurman commented on the fact that I had several tattoos and piercings, including a ring in my left nipple. He asked if I liked being pierced and then left the room. He came back with a needle, which he pushed through my right nipple.

The matter-of-fact tone gave the text such a surreal touch that it sounded like an absurd fantasy.

The story simply did not sound credible.

That was her intention.

At that moment she heard the rattle of the guard's key ring. She turned off the Palm at once and put it in the recess at the back of the bedside table. It was Giannini. She frowned. It was 9:00 in the evening and Giannini did not usually appear this late.

"Hello, Lisbeth."

"Hello."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm not finished yet."

Giannini sighed. "Lisbeth, they've set the trial date for July 13."

"That's OK."

"No, it's not OK. Time is running out, and you're not telling me anything. I'm beginning to think that I made a colossal mistake taking this job. If we're going to have the slightest chance, you have to trust me. We have to work together."

Salander studied her for a long moment. Finally she leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling.

"I know what we're supposed to be doing. I understand Mikael's plan. And he's right."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"But I am."

"The police want to interrogate you again. A detective named Hans Faste from Stockholm."

"Let him interrogate me. I won't say a word."

"You have to hand in a statement."

Salander gave Giannini a sharp look. "I repeat: I won't say a word to the police. When we get to that courtroom the prosecutor won't have a single syllable from any interrogation to fall back on. All they'll have is the statement that I'm composing now, large parts of which will seem preposterous. And they're going to get it a few days before the trial."

"So when are you actually going to sit down with a pen and paper and write this statement?"

"You'll have it in a few days. But it can't go to the prosecutor until just before the trial."

Giannini looked sceptical. Salander suddenly gave her a cautious smile. "You talk about trust. Can I trust you?"

"Of course you can."

"OK. Could you smuggle me in a hand-held computer so that I can keep in touch with people online?"

"No, of course not. If it were discovered I'd be charged with a crime and lose my licence to practice."

"But if someone else got one in, would you report it to the police?"

Giannini raised her eyebrows. "If I didn't know about it . . ."

"But if you did know about it, what would you do?"

"I'd shut my eyes. How about that?"

"This hypothetical computer is soon going to send you a hypothetical email. When you've read it I want you to come again."

"Lisbeth--

"

"Wait. It's like this. The prosecutor is dealing with a marked deck. I'm at a disadvantage no matter what I do, and the purpose of the trial is to get me committed to a secure psychiatric ward."

"I know."

"If I'm going to survive, I have to fight dirty."

Finally Giannini nodded.

"When you came to see me the first time," Salander said, "you had a message from Blomkvist. He said that he'd told you almost everything, with a few exceptions. One of those exceptions had to do with the skills he discovered I had when we were in Hedestad."

"That's correct."

"He was referring to the fact that I'm extremely good with computers. So good that I can read and copy what's on Ekstrom's machine."

Giannini went pale.

"You can't be involved in this. And you can't use any of that material at the trial," Salander said.

"You're right about that."

"So you know nothing about it."

"OK."

"But someone else--your brother, let's say--could publish selected excerpts from it. You'll have to think about this possibility when you plan your strategy."

"I understand."

"Annika, this trial is going to turn on who uses the toughest methods."

"I know."

"I'm happy to have you as my lawyer. I trust you and I need your help."

"Hmm."

"But if you get difficult about the fact that I'm going to use unethical methods, then we'll lose the trial."

"Right."

"And if that were the case, I need to know now. I'd have to get myself a new lawyer."

"Lisbeth, I can't break the law."

"You don't have to break any law. But you do have to shut your eyes to the fact that I am. Can you manage that?"

Salander waited patiently for almost a minute before Annika nodded.

"Good. Let me tell you the main points that I'm going to put in my statement."

Figuerola had been right. The burek was fantastic. Blomkvist studied her carefully as she came back from the ladies'. She moved as gracefully as a ballerina, but she had a body like . . . hmm. Blomkvist could not help being fascinated. He repressed an impulse to reach out and feel her leg muscles.

"How long have you been working out?" he said.

"Since I was a teenager."

"And how many hours a week do you do it?"