Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [126]
She shook her head.
“I come from a working-class family. I always thought I wanted to be a doctor. I’d actually thought about becoming a psychiatrist when I was a teenager. I was terribly intellectual.”
Salander looked at him with sudden alertness as soon as he mentioned the word “psychiatrist”.
“But I wasn’t sure that I could handle the studies. So when I finished school I studied to be a welder and I even worked as one for several years. I thought it was a good idea to have something to fall back on if the medical studies didn’t work out. And being a welder wasn’t so different from being a doctor. It’s all about patching up things. And now I’m working here at Sahlgrenska and patching up people like you.”
She wondered if he were pulling her leg.
“Lisbeth … I’m wondering …”
He then said nothing for such a long time that Salander almost asked what it was he wanted. But she waited for him to speak.
“Would you be angry with me if I asked you a personal question? I want to ask you as a private individual, not as a doctor. I won’t make any record of your answer and I won’t discuss it with anyone else. And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“What is it?”
“Since you were shut up at St Stefan’s when you were twelve, you’ve refused to respond when any psychiatrist has tried to talk to you. Why is that?”
Salander’s eyes darkened, but they were utterly expressionless as she looked at Jonasson. She sat in silence for two minutes.
“Why?” she said at last.
“To be honest, I’m not really sure. I think I’m trying to understand something.”
Her lips curled a little. “I don’t talk to crazy-doctors because they never listen to what I have to say.”
Jonasson laughed. “O.K. Tell me … what do you think of Peter Teleborian?”
Jonasson threw out the name so unexpectedly that Salander almost jumped. Her eyes narrowed.
“What the hell is this, ‘Twenty Questions’? What are you after?” Her voice sounded like sandpaper.
Jonasson leaned forward, almost too close.
“Because a … what did you call it … a crazy-doctor by the name of Peter Teleborian, who’s somewhat renowned in my profession, has been to see me twice in the past few days, trying to convince me to let him examine you.”
Salander felt an icy chill run down her spine.
“The district court is going to appoint him to do a forensic psychiatric assessment of you.”
“And?”
“I don’t like the man. I’ve told him he can’t see you. Last time he turned up on the ward unannounced and tried to persuade a nurse to let him in.”
Salander pressed her lips tight.
“His behaviour was a bit odd and a little too eager. So I want to know what you think of him.”
This time it was Jonasson’s turn to wait patiently for Salander’s reply.
“Teleborian is a beast,” she said at last.
“Is it something personal between the two of you?”
“You could say that.”
“I’ve also had a conversation with an official who wants me to let Teleborian see you.”
“And?”
“I asked what sort of medical expertise he thought he had to assess your condition and then I told him to go to hell. More diplomatically than that, of course. And one last question. Why are you talking to me?”
“You asked me a question, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m a doctor and I’ve studied psychiatry. So why are you talking to me? Should I take it to mean that you have a certain amount of trust in me?”
She did not reply.
“Then I’ll choose to interpret it that way. I want you to know this: you are my patient. That means that I work for you and not for anyone else.”
She gave him a suspicious look. He looked back at her for a moment. Then he spoke in a lighter tone of voice.
“From a medical standpoint, as I said, you’re more or less healthy. You don’t need any more weeks of rehab. But unfortunately you’re a bit too healthy.”
“Why ‘unfortunately’?”
He gave her a cheerful smile. “You’re getting better too fast.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means that I have no legitimate reason to keep you isolated here. And the prosecutor will soon be having you transferred to a prison in Stockholm to await trial in six weeks.