Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [145]
After about fifteen minutes the blond man stood up and left the café. Figuerola cursed. Why had she not stayed outside? She would have recognized him when he came out. She wanted to leap up and follow him. But Mårtensson was still there, calmly nursing his coffee. She did not want to draw attention to herself by leaving so soon after his unidentified companion.
And then Mårtensson went to the toilet. As soon as he closed the door Figuerola was on her feet and back out on Kungsgatan. She looked up and down the block, but the blond man was gone.
She took a chance and hurried to the corner of Sveavägen. She could not see him anywhere, so she went down to the tunnelbana concourse, but it was hopeless.
She turned back towards Kungstornet, feeling stressed. Mårtensson had left too.
Berger swore when she got back to where she had parked her B.M.W. the night before.
The car was still there, but during the night some bastard had punctured all four tyres. Infernal bastard piss rats, she fumed.
She called the vehicle recovery service, told them that she did not have time to wait, and put the key in the exhaust pipe. Then she went down to Hornsgaten and hailed a taxi.
Lisbeth Salander logged on to Hacker Republice and saw that Plague was online. She pinged him.
his email. You’ll have to send the material to a hotmail address.>
Plague went quiet for a few seconds.
She explained what she needed to have done.
On Friday morning Jonasson was faced with an obviously irritated Inspector Faste on the other side of his desk.
“I don’t understand this,” Faste said. “I thought Salander had recovered. I came to Göteborg for two reasons: to interview her and to get her ready to be transferred to a cell in Stockholm, where she belongs.”
“I’m sorry for your wasted journey,” Jonasson said. “I’d be glad to discharge her because we certainly don’t have any beds to spare here. But—”
“Could she be faking?”
Jonasson smiled politely. “I really don’t think so. You see, Lisbeth Salander was shot in the head. I removed a bullet from her brain, and it was 50/50 whether she would survive. She did survive and her prognosis has been exceedingly satisfactory … so much so that my colleagues and I were getting ready to discharge her. Then yesterday she had a setback. She complained of severe headaches and developed a fever that has been fluctuating up and down. Last night she had a temperature of 38 and vomited on two occasions. During the night the fever subsided; she was almost back down to normal and I thought the episode had passed. But when I examined her this morning her temperature had gone up to almost 39. That is serious.”
“So what’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know, but the fact that her temperature is fluctuating indicates that it’s not flu or any other viral infection. Exactly what’s causing it I can’t say, but it could be something as simple as an allergy to her medication or to something else she’s come into contact with.”
He clicked on an image on his computer and turned the screen towards Faste.
“I had a cranial X-ray done. There’s a darker area here, as you can see right next to her gunshot wound. I can’t determine what it is. It could be scar tissue as a product of the healing process, but it could also be a minor haemorrhage. And until we’ve found out what’s wrong, I can’t release her, no matter how urgent it may be from a police point of view.”
Faste knew better than to argue with a doctor, since they were the closest things to God’s representatives here on earth. Policemen possibly excepted.
“What is going to happen now?”
“I’ve ordered complete bedrest and put her physiotherapy on hold – she needs therapeutic exercise because of the wounds in her shoulder and hip.”
“Understood. I’ll have to call Prosecutor Ekström in Stockholm. This will come as a bit of a surprise. What can I tell him?”
“Two days ago I was ready to approve a discharge, possibly for the end of this week. As the situation is now, it will take longer. You’ll have to prepare him for the fact that probably