Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [93]
“But while we’re going backwards and forwards with bureaucracy, there is a risk that her condition may continue to deteriorate. I’m only interested in her wellbeing.”
“And so am I,” Jonasson said. “And between us, I can tell you that I see no sign of mental illness. She has been badly treated and is under a lot of pressure. But I see no evidence whatsoever that she is schizophrenic or suffering from paranoid delusions.”
When at long last he realized that it was fruitless trying to persuade Jonasson to change his mind, Teleborian got up abruptly and took his leave.
Jonasson sat for a while, staring at the chair Teleborian had been sitting in. It was not unusual for other doctors to contact him with advice or opinions on treatment. But that usually happened only with patients whose doctors were already managing their treatment. He had never before seen a psychiatrist land like a flying saucer and more or less demand to be given access to a patient, ignoring all the protocols, and a patient, at that, whom he obviously had not been treating for several years. After a while Jonasson glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost 7.00. He picked up the telephone and called Martina Karlgren, the psychologist at Sahlgrenska who had been made available to trauma patients.
“Hello. I’m assuming you’ve already left for the day. Am I disturbing you?”
“No problem. I’m at home, but just pottering.”
“I’m curious about something. You’ve spoken to our notorious patient, Lisbeth Salander. Could you give me your impression of her?”
“Well, I’ve visited her three times and offered to talk with her. Every time she declined in a friendly but firm way.”
“What’s your impression of her?”
“What do you mean?”
“Martina, I know that you’re not a psychiatrist, but you’re an intelligent and sensible person. What general impression did you get of her nature, her state of mind?”
After a while Karlgren said: “I’m not sure how I should answer that question. I saw her twice soon after she was admitted, but she was in such wretched shape that I didn’t make any real contact with her. Then I visited her about a week ago, at the request of Helena Endrin.”
“Why did Helena ask you to visit her?”
“Salander is starting to recover. She mainly just lies there staring at the ceiling. Dr Endrin wanted me to look in on her.”
“And what happened?”
“I introduced myself. We chatted for a couple of minutes. I asked how she was feeling and whether she felt the need to have someone to talk to. She said that she didn’t. I asked if I could help her with anything. She asked me to smuggle in a pack of cigarettes.”
“Was she angry, or hostile?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. She was calm, but she kept her distance. I considered her request for cigarettes more of a joke than a serious need. I asked if she wanted something to read, whether I could bring her books of any sort. At first she said no, but later she asked if I had any scientific journals that dealt with genetics and brain research.”
“With what?”
“Genetics.”
“Genetics?”
“Yes. I told her that there were some popular science books on the subject in our library. She wasn’t interested in those. She said she’d read books on the subject before, and she named some standard works that I’d never heard of. She was more interested in pure research in the field.”
“Good grief.”
“I said that we probably didn’t have any more advanced books in the patient library – we have more Philip Marlowe than scientific literature – but that I’d see what I could dig up.”
“And did you?”
“I went upstairs and borrowed some copies of Nature magazine and The New England Journal of Medicine. She was pleased and thanked me for taking the trouble.”
“But those journals contain mostly scholarly papers and pure research.”
“She reads them with obvious interest.”
Jonasson sat speechless for a moment.
“And how would you rate her mental state?”
“Withdrawn. She hasn’t discussed anything of a personal nature with me.”
“Do you have the sense that she’s mentally ill? Manic depressive or paranoid?”
“No, no, not at all. If I thought that, I’d