Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [71]
Inspector Erlander saw Giannini through the doorway to Salander’s room. The lawyer had her mobile pressed to her ear, so he waited for her to finish her call.
Two hours after the murder there was still chaos in the corridor. Zalachenko’s room was sealed off. Doctors had tried resuscitation immediately after the shooting, but soon gave up. He was beyond all help. His body was sent to the pathologist, and the crime scene investigation proceeded as best it could under the circumstances.
Erlander’s mobile chimed. It was Fredrik Malmberg from the investigative team.
“We’ve got a positive I.D. on the murderer,” Malmberg said. “His name is Evert Gullberg and he’s seventy-eight years old.”
Seventy-eight. Quite elderly for a murderer.
“And who the hell is Evert Gullberg?”
“Retired. Lives in Laholm. Apparently he was a tax lawyer. I got a call from S.I.S. who told me that they had recently initiated a preliminary investigation against him.”
“When and why?”
“I don’t know when. But apparently he had a habit of sending crazy and threatening letters to people in government.”
“Such as who?”
“The Minister of Justice, for one.”
Erlander sighed. So, a madman. A fanatic.
“This morning Säpo got calls from several newspapers who had received letters from Gullberg. The Ministry of Justice also called, because Gullberg had made specific death threats against Karl Axel Bodin.”
“I want copies of the letters.”
“From Säpo?”
“Yes, damn it. Drive up to Stockholm and pick them up in person if necessary. I want them on my desk when I get back to H.Q. Which will be in about an hour.”
He thought for a second and then asked one more question.
“Was it Säpo that called you?”
“That’s what I told you.”
“I mean … they called you, not vice versa?”
“Exactly.”
Erlander closed his mobile.
He wondered what had got into Säpo to make them, out of the blue, feel the need to get in touch with the police – of their own accord. Ordinarily you couldn’t get a word out of them.
Wadensjöö flung open the door to the room at the Section where Clinton was resting. Clinton sat up cautiously.
“Just what the bloody hell is going on?” Wadensjöö shrieked. “Gullberg has murdered Zalachenko and then shot himself in the head.”
“I know,” Clinton said.
“You know?” Wadensjöö yelled. He was bright red in the face and looked as if he was about to have a stroke. “He shot himself, for Christ’s sake. He tried to commit suicide. Is he out of his mind?”
“You mean he’s alive?”
“For the time being, yes, but he has massive brain damage.”
Clinton sighed. “Such a shame,” he said with real sorrow in his voice.
“Shame?” Wadensjöö burst out. “Gullberg is out of his mind. Don’t you understand what—”
Clinton cut him off.
“Gullberg has cancer of the stomach, colon and bladder. He’s been dying for several months, and in the best case he had only a few months left.”
“Cancer?”
“He’s been carrying that gun around for the past six months, determined to use it as soon as the pain became unbearable and before the disease turned him into a vegetable. But he was able to do one last favour for the Section. He went out in grand style.”
Wadensjöö was almost beside himself. “You knew? You knew that he was thinking of killing Zalachenko?”
“Naturally. His assignment was to make sure that Zalachenko never got a chance to talk. And as you know, you couldn’t threaten or reason with that man.”
“But don’t you understand what a scandal this could turn into? Are you just as barmy as Gullberg?”
Clinton got to his feet laboriously. He looked Wadensjöö in the eye and handed him a stack of fax copies.
“It was an operational decision. I mourn for my friend, but I’ll probably be following him pretty soon. As far as a scandal goes … A retired tax lawyer wrote paranoid letters