Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [34]
“I work for S.I.S., Swedish Internal Security,” Sandberg said, and showed Zalachenko his I.D.
“I doubt that,” said Zalachenko.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You may be employed by S.I.S., but I doubt that’s who you’re working for.”
Sandberg looked around the room, then he pulled up the visitor’s chair.
“I came here late so as not to attract attention. We’ve discussed how we can help you, and now we have to reach some sort of agreement about what’s going to happen. I’m just here to have your version of the story and find out what your intentions are … so that we can work out a common strategy.”
“What sort of strategy had you in mind?”
“Herr Zalachenko … I’m afraid that a process has been set in motion in which the deleterious effects are hard to foresee,” Sandberg said. “We’ve talked it through. It’s going to be difficult to explain away the grave in Gosseberga, and the fact that the girl was shot three times. But let’s not lose hope altogether. The conflict between you and your daughter can explain your fear of her and why you took such drastic measures … but I’m afraid we’re talking about your doing some time in prison.”
Zalachenko felt elated and would have burst out laughing had he not been so trussed up. He managed a slight curl of his lips. Anything more would be just too painful.
“So that’s our strategy?”
“Herr Zalachenko, you are aware of the concept of damage control. We have to arrive at a common strategy. We’ll do everything in our power to assist you with a lawyer and so on … but we need your cooperation, as well as certain guarantees.”
“You’ll get only one guarantee from me. First, you will see to it that all this disappears.” He waved his hand. “Niedermann is the scapegoat and I guarantee that no-one will ever find him.”
“There’s forensic evidence that—”
“Fuck the forensic evidence. It’s a matter of how the investigation is carried out and how the facts are presented. My guarantee is this … if you don’t wave your magic wand and make all this disappear, I’m inviting the media to a press conference. I know names, dates, events. I don’t think I need to remind you who I am.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly. You’re an errand boy. So go to your superior and tell him what I’ve said. He’ll understand. Tell him that I have copies of … everything. I can take you all down.”
“We have to come to an agreement.”
“This conversation is over. Get out of here. And tell them that next time they should send a grown man for me to discuss things with.”
Zalachenko turned his head away from his visitor. Sandberg looked at Zalachenko for a moment. Then he shrugged and got up. He was almost at the door when he heard Zalachenko’s voice again.
“One more thing.”
Sandberg turned.
“Salander.”
“What about her?”
“She has to disappear.”
“How do you mean?”
Sandberg looked so nervous for a second that Zalachenko had to smile, although the pain drilled into his jaw.
“I see that you milksops are too sensitive to kill her, and that you don’t even have the resources to have it done. Who would do it … you? But she has to disappear. Her testimony has to be declared invalid. She has to be committed to a mental institution for life.”
Salander heard footsteps in the corridor. She had never heard those footsteps before.
Her door had been open all evening and the nurses had been in to check on her every ten minutes. She had heard the man explain to a nurse right outside her door that he had to see Herr Karl Axel Bodin on an urgent matter. She had heard him offering his I.D., but no words were exchanged that gave her any clue as to who he was or what sort of I.D. he had.
The nurse had asked him to wait while she went to see whether Herr Bodin was awake. Salander concluded that his I.D., whatever it said, must have been persuasive.
She heard the nurse go down the corridor to the left. It took her 17 steps to reach the room, and the male visitor took 14 steps to cover the same distance. That gave an average of 15.5 steps. She estimated the length of a step at 60 centimetres, which multiplied