prefer not to have fall into the wrong hands.
He turned on his mobile and saw that the battery was low, so he plugged in the charger. He made a call to his sister, Advokat Giannini.
“Hi, Annika.”
“What did you have to do with the policeman’s murder last night?” she asked him at once.
He told her succinctly what had happened.
“So Salander is in intensive care.”
“Correct, and we won’t know the extent or severity of her injuries until she regains consciousness, but now she’s really going to need a lawyer.”
Giannini thought for a moment. “Do you think she’d want me for her lawyer?”
“Probably she wouldn’t want any lawyer at all. She isn’t the type to ask anyone for help.”
“Mikael . . . I’ve said this before: it sounds like she might need a criminal lawyer. Let me look at the documentation you have.”
“Talk to Erika and ask her for a copy.”
As soon as Blomkvist hung up, he called Berger himself. She did not answer her mobile, so he tried her number at the
Millennium
offices. Henry Cortez answered.
“Erika’s out somewhere,” he said.
Blomkvist briefly explained what had happened and asked Cortez to pass the information to Erika.
“I will. What do you want us to do?” Cortez said.
“Nothing today,” Blomkvist said. “I have to get some sleep. I’ll be back in Stockholm tomorrow if nothing else comes up.
Millennium
will have an opportunity to present its version of the story in the next issue, but that’s almost a month away.”
He flipped his mobile shut and crawled into bed. He was asleep within thirty seconds.
Assistant County Police Chief Carina Spångberg tapped her pen against her glass of water and asked for quiet. Nine people were seated around the conference table in her office at police headquarters. Three women and six men: the head of the violent crimes division and his assistant head; three criminal inspectors, including Erlander; the Göteborg police public information officer; preliminary investigation leader Agneta Jervas from the prosecutor’s office; and Inspectors Modig and Holmberg from the Stockholm police. They were included as a sign of goodwill and to demonstrate that Göteborg wished to cooperate with their colleagues from the capital. Possibly also to show them how a real police investigation should be run.
Spångberg, who was frequently the lone woman in a male landscape, had a reputation for not wasting time on formalities or mere courtesies. She explained that the county police chief was at the Europol conference in Madrid, that he had cut short his trip as soon as he learned that one of his police officers had been murdered, but that he was not expected back before late that night. Then she turned directly to the head of the violent crimes division, Anders Pehrzon, and asked him to brief the assembled company.
“It’s been about ten hours since our colleague was murdered on Nossebrovägen.We know the name of the killer, Ronald Niedermann, but we still don’t have a picture of him.”
“In Stockholm we have a photograph of him that’s about twenty years old. Paolo Roberto got it through a boxing club in Germany, but it’s almost unusable,” Holmberg said.
“All right. The patrol car that Niedermann is thought to have driven away was found in Alingsås this morning, as you all know. It was parked on a side street a quarter of a mile from the railway station. We haven’t had a report yet of any car thefts in the area this morning.”
“What’s the status of the search?”
“We’re keeping an eye on all trains arriving in Stockholm and Malmö. There is a nationwide APB out and we’ve alerted the police in Norway and Denmark. Right now we have about thirty officers working directly on the investigation, and of course the whole force is keeping their eyes peeled.”
“No leads?”
“No, nothing yet. But someone with Niedermann’s distinctive appearance is not going to go unnoticed for long.”
“Does anyone