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"Your very last editorial. Write it whenever you like. It almost certainly won't be published before the trial, whenever that might be."
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea. What do you think it should be about?"
"Morality," Blomkvist said. "And the story of why one of our colleagues was murdered because the government didn't do its job fifteen years ago."
Berger knew exactly what kind of editorial he wanted. She had been at the helm when Svensson was murdered, after all. She suddenly felt in a much better mood.
"OK," she said. "My last editorial."
CHAPTER 4
Saturday, April 9-Sunday, April 10
By 1:00 on Saturday afternoon, Prosecutor Fransson in Sodertalje had finished her deliberations. The burial ground in the woods in Nykvarn was a miserable mess, and the violent crimes division had racked up a huge amount of overtime since Wednesday, when Paolo Roberto had fought his boxing match with Niedermann in the warehouse there. They were dealing with at least three homicides, the bodies found buried on the property, along with the kidnapping and assault of Salander's friend Miriam Wu, and arson to top it all off.
The incident in Stallarholmen was connected with the discoveries at Nykvarn, and was actually the purview of the Strangnas police district in Sodermanland county. Carl-Magnus Lundin of the Svavelsjo Motorcycle Club was a key player in the whole thing, but he was in the hospital in Sodertalje with one foot in a cast and his jaw wired shut. Accordingly, all of these crimes came under county police jurisdiction, which meant that Stockholm would have the last word.
On Friday the court hearing was held. Lundin was formally charged in connection with Nykvarn. It had eventually been established that the warehouse was owned by the Medimport Company, which in turn was owned by a fifty-two-year-old cousin of Lundin who lived in Puerto Banus, Spain. She had no criminal record.
Fransson closed the folder that held all the preliminary investigation papers. There would need to be another hundred pages of detailed work before they were ready to go to trial. But right now she had to make decisions on several matters. She looked up at her police colleagues.
"We have enough evidence to charge Lundin with participating in the kidnapping of Miriam Wu. Paolo Roberto has identified him as the man who drove the van. I'm also going to charge him with probable involvement in arson. We'll wait to charge him with the murders of the three individuals we dug up on the property, at least until each of them has been identified."
The officers nodded. That was what they had been expecting.
"What'll we do about Sonny Nieminen?"
Fransson leafed through to the section on Nieminen in the papers on her desk.
"This is a man with an impressive criminal history. Robbery, possession of illegal weapons, assault, manslaughter, and drug crime. He was arrested with Lundin at Stallarholmen. I'm convinced that he's involved, but we don't have the evidence to persuade a court."
"He says he's never been to the Nykvarn warehouse and that he just happened to be out with Lundin on a motorcycle ride," said the detective responsible for Stallarholmen on behalf of the Sodertalje police. "He claims he had no idea what Lundin was up to in Stallarholmen."
Fransson wondered whether she could somehow arrange to hand the entire business over to Prosecutor Ekstrom in Stockholm.
"Nieminen refuses to say anything about what happened," the detective went on, "but he vehemently denies being involved in any crime."
"You'd think he and Lundin were the victims themselves," Fransson said, drumming her fingertips in annoyance. "Lisbeth Salander," she added, her voice scored with scepticism. "We're talking about a girl who looks as if she's barely entered puberty and who's less than five feet tall. She doesn't look strong enough to take on either Nieminen or Lundin, let alone both of them."
"Unless she was armed. A pistol would compensate for her physique."
"But that doesn't quite fit with our reconstruction of what happened."
"No. She used Mace and kicked Lundin in the balls and face with such aggression that she crushed one of his testicles and then broke his jaw. The shot in Lundin's foot must have happened after she kicked him. But I can't swallow the scenario that says she was the one who was armed."
"The lab has identified the weapon used on Lundin. It's a Polish P-83 Wanad using Makarov ammo. It was found in Gosseberga outside Goteborg, and it has Salander's prints on it. We can pretty much assume that she took the pistol with her to Gosseberga."
"Sure. But the serial number shows that the pistol was stolen four years ago in the robbery of a gun shop in Orebro. The thieves were eventually caught, but they had ditched the gun. It was a local thug with a drug problem who hung out around Svavelsjo MC. I'd much rather place the pistol with either Lundin or Nieminen."
"It could be as simple as Lundin carrying the pistol and Salander disarming him. Then a shot was fired accidentally that hit him in the foot. I mean, it can't have been her intention to kill him, since he's still alive."
"Or else she shot him in the foot out of sheer sadism. Who knows? But how did she deal with Nieminen? He has no visible injuries."
"He does have one, or rather two: small burn marks on his chest."
"What sort of burns?"
"I'm guessing a Taser."
"So Salander was supposedly armed with a Taser, a Mace canister, and a pistol. How much would all that stuff weigh? No, I'm quite sure that either Lundin or Nieminen was carrying the gun, and she took it from him. We're not going to be sure how Lundin got himself shot until one of the parties involved starts talking."
"All right."
"As things now stand, Lundin has been charged for the reasons I mentioned earlier. But we don't have a damned thing on Nieminen. I'm thinking of turning him loose this afternoon."
Nieminen was in a vile mood when he left the cells at Sodertalje police station. His mouth was dry, so his first stop was a corner shop, where he bought a Pepsi. He guzzled it down on the spot. He bought a pack of Lucky Strikes and a tin of Goteborgs Rape snuff. He flipped open his mobile and checked the battery, then dialled the number of Hans-Ake Waltari, thirty-three years old and number three in Svavelsjo MC's hierarchy. It rang four times before Waltari picked up.
"Nieminen. I'm out."
"Congrats."
"Where are you?"
"Nykoping."
"What the fuck are you doing in Nykoping?"
"We decided to lay low when you and Magge were busted--until we knew the lay of the land."
"So now you know the lay of the land. Where is everybody?"
Waltari told him where the other five members of Svavelsjo MC were located. The news neither pleased Nieminen nor made him any calmer.
"So who the fuck is minding the store while all of you hide away like a bunch of pussies?"
"That's not fair. You and Magge take off on some fucking job we don't know shit about, and all of a sudden you're mixed up in a shoot-out with that fucking slut the cops are after, Magge gets shot, and you're busted. Then they start digging up bodies at our warehouse in Nykvarn."
"So?"
"So? So we were starting to wonder if maybe you and Magge were hiding something from the rest of us."
"And what the fuck would that be? We're the ones who took the job for the sake of the club."
"Well, no-one ever told me that the warehouse was doubling as a woodland cemetery. Who were those stiffs?"
Nieminen had a vicious retort on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself. Waltari might be an idiot, but this was no time to start an argument. The important thing right now was to consolidate their forces. After stonewalling his way through five police interrogations, it was not a good idea to start boasting that he actually knew something on a mobile less than 200 yards from a police station.
"Forget the bodies," he said. "I don't know anything about that. But Magge is in deep shit. He's going to be in the slammer for a while, and while he's gone, I'm running the club."
"OK. What happens now?" Walt
ari said.
"Who's keeping an eye on the property?"
"Benny stayed at the clubhouse to hold the fort. They searched the place the day you were arrested. They didn't find anything."
"Benny Karlsson?" Nieminen yelled. "Benny K.'s hardly dry behind the ears."
"Take it easy. He's with that blond fucker you and Magge always hang out with."
Sonny froze. He glanced around and walked away from the door of the corner shop.
"What did you say?" he asked in a low voice.
