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 suddenly 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. Wehave 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 that Zalachenko had to smile, though 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 a man explain to a nurse right outsideher door that he had to see Herr Karl Axel Bodin on an urgent matter. She had heard him offering his ID, but no words were exchanged that gave her any clue as to who he was or what sort of ID he had.
The nurse had asked him to wait while she went to see whether Herr Bodin was awake. Salander concluded that his ID, whatever it said, must have been persuasive.
She heard the nurse go down the corridor to the left. It took her seventeen steps to reach the room, and the male visitor took fourteen steps to cover the same distance. That gave an average of fifteen and a half steps. She estimated the length of a step at twenty-four inches, which multiplied by fifteen and a half told her that Zalachenko was in a room about thirty feet down the corridor to the left. She estimated that the width of her room was about fifteen feet, which should mean that Zalachenko’s room was two doors down from hers.
According to the green numerals on the digital clock on her bedside cabinet, the visit lasted precisely nine minutes.
Zalachenko lay awake for a long time after the man who called himself Jonas Sandberg had left. He assumed that it was not his real name; in his experience, Swedish amateur spies had a real obsession with using false names even
Zalachenko suddenly 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. Wehave 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 that Zalachenko had to smile, though 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 a man explain to a nurse right outsideher door that he had to see Herr Karl Axel Bodin on an urgent matter. She had heard him offering his ID, but no words were exchanged that gave her any clue as to who he was or what sort of ID he had.
The nurse had asked him to wait while she went to see whether Herr Bodin was awake. Salander concluded that his ID, whatever it said, must have been persuasive.
She heard the nurse go down the corridor to the left. It took her seventeen steps to reach the room, and the male visitor took fourteen steps to cover the same distance. That gave an average of fifteen and a half steps. She estimated the length of a step at twenty-four inches, which multiplied by fifteen and a half told her that Zalachenko was in a room about thirty feet down the corridor to the left. She estimated that the width of her room was about fifteen feet, which should mean that Zalachenko’s room was two doors down from hers.
According to the green numerals on the digital clock on her bedside cabinet, the visit lasted precisely nine minutes.
Zalachenko lay awake for a long time after the man who called himself Jonas Sandberg had left. He assumed that it was not his real name; in his experience, Swedish amateur spies had a real obsession with using false names even
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