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Elderly, polite, and a murderer, Erlander thought.
“Yes, he did go to the reception desk,” he confirmed. “He did talk to the nurse and he left the flowers at the desk, at her instruction. But you didn’t see that?”
“No. I have no recollection of any of that.”
Erlander had no more questions. Frustration was gnawing at him. He had had the feeling before and had trained himself to interpret it as an alarm triggered by instinct. Something was eluding him, something that was not right.
The murderer had been identified as Evert Gullberg, a former accountant and sometime business consultant and tax lawyer. A man in advanced old age. A man against whom Säpo had lately initiated a preliminary investigation because he was a nutter who wrote threatening letters to public figures.
Erlander knew from long experience that there were plenty of nutters out there, some pathologically obsessed ones who stalked celebrities and looked for love by hiding in woods near their villas. When their love was not reciprocated – as why would it be? – it could quickly turn to violent hatred. There were stalkers who travelled from Germany or Italy to follow a 21-year-old lead singer in a pop band from gig to gig, and who then got upset because she would not drop everything to start a relationship with them. There were bloody-minded individuals who harped on and on about real or imaginary injustices and who sometimes turned to threatening behaviour. There were psychopaths and conspiracy theorists, nutters who had the gift to read messages hidden from the normal world.
There were plenty of examples of these fools taking the leap from fantasy to action. Was not the assassination of A
But Inspector Erlander did not like the idea that a mentally ill accountant, or whatever he was, could wander into a hospital with a bunch of flowers in one hand and a pistol in the other. Or that he could, for God’s sake, execute someone who was the object of a police investigation – his investigation. A man whose name in the public register was Karl Axel Bodin but whose real name, according to Blomkvist, was Zalachenko. A bastard defected Soviet Russian agent and professional gangster.
At the very least Zalachenko was a witness; but in the worst case he was involved up to his neck in a series of murders. Erlander had been allowed to conduct two brief interviews with Zalachenko, and at no time during either had he been swayed by the man’s protest ations of i
His murderer had shown interest also in Salander, or at least in her lawyer. He had tried to get into her room.
And then he had attempted suicide. According to the doctors, he had probably succeeded, even if his body had not yet absorbed the message that it was time to shut down. It was highly unlikely that Evert Gullberg would ever be brought before a court.
Erlander did not like the situation, not for a moment. But he had no proof that Gullberg’s shots had been anything other than what they seemed. So he had decided to play it safe. He looked at Gia
“I’ve decided that Salander should be moved to a different room. There’s a room in the co
“Do you think she’s in danger?”
“I know of nothing to indicate that she is. But I want to play it safe.”
Salander listened attentively to the conversation between her lawyer and her adversary, a member of the police. She was impressed that Gia
Otherwise she had had a monstrous headache ever since Gia
Gia
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 Li
“If I have the energy,” Gia
They agreed that Gia
Gia
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.