Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [76]
Giannini had planned her visit to Göteborg as a brisk, necessary prologue to long-term work. She wanted to get to know Salander, question her about her actual condition, and present a first outline of the strategy that she and Blomkvist had cobbled together to deal with the legal proceedings. She had originally intended to return to Stockholm that evening, but the dramatic events at Sahlgrenska had meant that she still had not had a real conversation with Salander. Her client was in much worse shape than she had been led to believe. She was suffering from acute headaches and a high fever, which prompted a doctor by the name of Endrin to prescribe a strong painkiller, an antibiotic, and rest. Consequently, as soon as her client had been moved to a new room and a security guard had been posted outside, Giannini was asked, quite firmly, to leave.
It was already 4.30 p.m. She hesitated. She could go back to Stockholm knowing that she might have to take the train to Göteborg again as soon as the following day. Or else she could stay overnight. But her client might be too ill to deal with a visit tomorrow as well. She had not booked a hotel room. As a lawyer who mainly represented abused women without any great financial resources, she tried to avoid padding her bill with expensive hotel charges. She called home first and then rang Lillian Josefsson, a lawyer colleague who was a member of the Women’s Network and an old friend from law school.
“I’m in Göteborg,” she said. “I was thinking of going home tonight, but certain things happened today that require me to stay overnight. Is it O.K. if I sleep at your place?”
“Oh, please do, that would be fun. We haven’t seen each other in ages.”
“I’m not interrupting anything?”
“No, of course not. But I’ve moved. I’m now on a side street off Linnégatan. But I do have a spare room. And we can go out to a bar later if we feel like it.”
“If I have the energy,” Giannini said. “What time is good?”
They agreed that Giannini should turn up at around 6.00.
Giannini took the bus to Linnégatan and spent the next hour in a Greek restaurant. She was famished, and ordered a shish kebab with salad. She sat for a long time thinking about the day’s events. She was a little shaky now that the adrenaline had worn off, but she was pleased with herself. In a time of great danger she had been cool, calm and collected. She had instinctively made the right decisions. It was a pleasant feeling to know that her reactions were up to an emergency.
After a while she took her Filofax from her briefcase and opened it to the notes section. She read through it carefully. She was filled with doubt about the plan that her brother had outlined to her. It had sounded logical at the time, but it did not look so good now. Even so, she did not intend to back out.
At 6.00 she paid her bill and walked to Lillian’s place on Olivedalsgatan. She punched in the door code her friend had given her. She stepped into the stairwell and was looking for a light switch when the attack came out of the blue. She was slammed up against a tiled wall next to the door. She banged her head hard, felt a rush of pain and fell to the ground.
The next moment she heard footsteps moving swiftly away and then the front door opening and closing. She struggled to her feet and put her hand to her forehead. There was blood on her palm. What the hell? She went out on to the street and just caught a glimpse of someone turning the corner towards Sveaplan. In shock she stood still for about a minute. Then she walked back to the door and punched in the code again.
Suddenly she realized that her briefcase was gone. She had been robbed. It took a few seconds before the horror of it sank in. Oh no. The Zalachenko folder. She felt the alarm spreading up from her