Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [237]
“The defence rejects all the charges brought against her except one. My client admits to possession of an illegal weapon, that is, one spray canister of Mace. To all other counts, my client pleads not guilty of criminal intent. We will show that the prosecutor’s assertions are flawed and that my client has been subjected to grievous encroachment of her civil rights. I will demand that my client be acquitted of all charges, that her declaration of incompetence be revoked, and that she be released.”
There was a murmuring from the press gallery. Advokat Giannini’s strategy had at last been revealed. It was obviously not what the reporters had been expecting. Most had speculated that Giannini would in some way exploit her client’s mental illness to her advantage. Blomkvist smiled.
“I see,” Judge Iversen said, making a swift note. He looked at Giannini. “Are you finished?”
“That is my presentation.”
“Does the prosecutor have anything to add?” Judge Iversen said.
It was at this point that Ekström requested a private meeting in the judge’s chambers. There he argued that the case hinged upon one vulnerable individual’s mental state and welfare, and that it also involved matters which, if explored before the public in court, could be detrimental to national security.
“I assume that you are referring to what may be termed the Zalachenko affair,” Judge Iversen said.
“That is correct. Alexander Zalachenko came to Sweden as a political refugee and sought asylum from a terrible dictatorship. There are elements in the handling of his situation, personal connections and the like, that are still classified, even though Herr Zalachenko is now deceased. I therefore request that the deliberations be held behind closed doors and that a rule of confidentiality be applied to those sections of the deliberations that are particularly sensitive.”
“I believe I understand your point,” Judge Iversen said, knitting his brows.
“In addition, a large part of the deliberations will deal with the defendant’s guardianship. This touches on matters which in all normal cases become classified almost automatically, and it is out of respect for the defendant that I am requesting a closed court.”
“How does Advokat Giannini respond to the prosecutor’s request?”
“For our part it makes no difference.”
Judge Iversen consulted his assessor and then announced, to the annoyance of the reporters present, that he had accepted the prosecutor’s request. So Blomkvist left the courtroom.
Armansky waited for Blomkvist at the bottom of the stairs in the courthouse. It was sweltering in the July heat and Blomkvist could feel sweat in his armpits. His two bodyguards joined him as he emerged from the courthouse. Both nodded to Armansky and then they busied themselves studying the surroundings.
“It feels strange to be walking around with bodyguards,” Blomkvist said. “What’s all this going to cost?”
“It’s on the firm. I have a personal interest in keeping you alive. But, since you ask, we’ve spent roughly 250,000 kronor on pro bono work in the past few months.”
“Coffee?” Blomkvist said, pointing to the Italian café on Bergsgatan.
Blomkvist ordered a latte and Armansky a double espresso with a teaspoon of milk. They sat in the shade on the pavement outside. The bodyguards sat at the next table drinking Cokes.
“Closed court,” Armansky said.
“That was expected. And it’s O.K., since it means that we can control the news flow better.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t matter to us, but my opinion of Prosecutor Ekström is sinking fast,” Armansky said.
They drank their coffee and contemplated the courthouse in which Salander’s future would be decided.
“Custer’s last stand,” Blomkvist said.
“She’s well prepared,” Armansky said. “And I must say I’m impressed with your sister. When she began planning her strategy I thought it made no sense, but the more I think about it, the more effective it seems.”
“This trial won’t be decided in there,” Blomkvist said. He had been repeating these words