Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [9]
“O.K.”
“As I said, I don’t know exactly what happened here tonight, but Lisbeth tracked down her father whom she hadn’t seen for fifteen years. Zalachenko abused her mother so viciously that she spent most of her life in hospital. He tried to murder Lisbeth, and through Niedermann he was the architect of the murders of Svensson and Johansson. Plus, he was behind the kidnapping of Salander’s friend Miriam Wu – you probably heard of Paolo Roberto’s title bout in Nykvarn, as a result of which Wu was rescued from certain death.”
“If Salander hit her father in the head with an axe she isn’t exactly innocent.”
“She has been shot three times. I think we could assume her actions were on some level self-defence. I wonder …”
“Yes?”
“She was so covered with dirt, with mud, that her hair was one big lump of dried clay. Her clothes were full of sand, inside and out. It looked as though she might have been buried during the night. Niedermann is known to have a habit of burying people. The police in Södertälje have found two graves in the place that’s owned by Svavelsjö Motorcycle Club, outside Nykvarn.”
“Three, as a matter of fact. They found one more late last night. But if Salander was shot and buried, how was she able to climb out and start wandering around with an axe?”
“Whatever went on here tonight, you have to understand that Salander is exceptionally resourceful. I tried to persuade Paulsson to bring in a dog unit—”
“It’s on its way now.”
“Good.”
“Paulsson arrested you for insulting a police officer …”
“I will dispute that. I called him an imbecile and an incompetent fool. Under the circumstances neither of these epithets could be considered wide of the mark.”
“Hmm. It’s not a wholly inaccurate description. But you were also arrested for possession of an illegal weapon.”
“I made the mistake of trying to hand over a weapon to him. I don’t want to say anything more about that until I talk to my lawyer.”
“Alright. We’ll leave it at that. We have more serious issues to discuss. What do you know about this Niedermann?”
“He’s a murderer. And there’s something wrong with him. He’s over two metres tall and built like a tank. Ask Paolo Roberto, who boxed with him. He suffers from a disease called congenital analgesia, which means the transmitter substance in his nerve synapses doesn’t function. He feels no pain. He’s German, was born in Hamburg, and in his teens he was a skinhead. Right now he’s on the run and he’ll be seriously dangerous to anyone he runs into.”
“Do you have an idea where he might be heading?”
“No. I only know that I had him neatly trussed, all ready to be arrested, when that idiot from Trollhättan took charge of the situation.”
Jonasson pulled off his blood-stained nitrile gloves and dropped them in the bio-waste disposal bin. A theatre nurse was applying bandages to the gunshot wound on Salander’s hip. The operation had lasted three hours. He looked at the girl’s shaved and wounded head, which was already wrapped in bandages.
He felt a sudden tenderness, as he often did for patients after an operation. According to the newspapers, she was a psychopathic mass murderer, but to him she looked more like an injured sparrow.
“You’re an excellent surgeon,” Ellis said, looking at him with amused affection.
“Can I buy you breakfast?”
“Can one get pancakes and jam anywhere round here?”
“Waffles,” Jonasson said. “At my house. Let me call my wife to warn her, then we can take a taxi.” He stopped and looked at the clock. “On second thoughts, it might be better if we didn’t call.”
Annika Giannini woke with a start. She saw that it was 5.58 a.m…. She had her first client meeting at 8.00. She turned to look at Enrico, who was sleeping peacefully and probably would not be awake before 8.00. She blinked hard a few times and got up to turn on the coffeemaker before she took her shower. She dressed in black trousers, a white polo neck,