The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest

"That's O.K.," said Lisbeth.



"What are you celebrating?"



"Nothing. I just feel like getting drunk."



Giannini looked at her sceptically and took a seat.



"Do you often feel that way?"



"I drank myself stupid after I was released, but I have no tendency to alcoholism. It just occurred to me that for the first time in my life I have a legal right to get drunk here in Sweden."



Giannini ordered a Campari.



"O.K. Do you want to drink alone," she said, "or would you like some company?"



"Preferably alone. But if you don't talk too much you can sit with me. I take it you don't feel like coming home with me and having sex."



"I beg your pardon?" Giannini said.



"No, I didn't think so. You're one of those insanely heterosexual people."



Giannini suddenly looked amused.



"That's the first time in my life that one of my clients has proposed sex."



"Are you interested?"



"No, not in the least, sorry. But thanks for the offer."



"So what was it you wanted, counsellor?"



"Two things. Either I quit as your lawyer here and now or you start answering your telephone when I call. We've already had this discussion, when you were released."



Salander looked at Giannini.



"I've been trying to get hold of you for a week. I've called, I've sent letters, I've emailed."



"I've been away."



"In fact you've been impossible to get hold of for most of the autumn. This just isn't working. I said I would represent you in all negotiations with the government. There are formalities that have to be taken care of. Papers to be signed. Questions to be answered. I have to be able to reach you, and I have no wish to be made to feel like an idiot because I don't know where the hell you are."



"I was away again for two weeks. I came home yesterday and called you as soon as I knew you were looking for me."



"That's not good enough. You have to keep me informed of where you are and get in touch at least once a week until all the issues about compensation and such are resolved."



"I don't give a shit about compensation. I just want the government to leave me alone."



"But the government isn't going to leave you alone, no matter how much you may want it to. Your acquittal has set in motion a long chain of consequences. It's not just about you. Teleborian is going to be charged for what he did to you. You're going to have to testify. Ekstrom is the subject of an investigation for dereliction of duty, and he may even be charged too if it turns out that he deliberately disregarded his duty at the behest of the Section."



Salander raised her eyebrows. For a moment she looked interested.



"I don't think it's going to come to an indictment. He was led up the garden path by the Section and in fact he had nothing to do with them. But as recently as last week a prosecutor initiated a preliminary investigation against the guardianship agency. It involves several reports being sent to the Parliamentary Ombudsman, as well as a report to the Ministry of Justice."



"I didn't report anyone."



"No. But it's obvious that there has been gross dereliction of duty. You're not the only person affected."



Salander shrugged. "This has nothing to do with me. But I promise to be in closer contact with you. These last two weeks have been an exception. I've been working."



Giannini did not look as though she believed her. "What are you working on?"



"Consulting."



"I see," she said. "The other thing is that the inventory of the estate is now ready."



"Inventory of what estate?"



"Your father's. The state's legal representative contacted me since nobody seemed to know how to get in touch with you. You and your sister are the sole heirs."



Salander looked at Giannini blankly. Then she caught the waitress's eye and pointed at her glass.



"I don't want any inheritance from my father. Do whatever the hell you want with it."



"Wrong. You can do what you want with the inheritance. My job is to see to it that you have the opportunity to do so."



"I don't want a single ore from that pig."



"Then give the money to Greenpeace or something."



"I don't give a shit about whales."



Giannini's voice suddenly softened. "Lisbeth, if you're going to be a legally responsible citizen, then you're going to have to start behaving like one. I don't give a damn what you do with your money. Just sign here that you received it, and then you can get drunk in peace."



Salander glanced at her and then looked down at the table. Annika assumed this was some kind of conciliatory gesture that perhaps corresponded to an apology in Salander's limited register of expressions.



"What kind of figures are we talking about?"



"They're not insignificant. Your father had about 300,000 kronor in shares. The property in Gosseberga would sell for around 1.5 million  -  there's a little woodland included. And there are three other properties."



"What sort of properties?"



"It seems that he invested a significant amount of money. There's nothing of enormous value, but he owns a small building in Udderalla with six apartments, and they bring in some income. But the property is not in good shape. He didn't bother with upkeep and the apartments have even been up before the rental board. You won't get rich, but you'd get a good price if you sold it. He also owns a summer cabin in Småland that's worth around 250,000 kronor. Plus he owns a dilapidated industrial site outside Norrtalje."



"Why in the world did he buy all this shit?"



"I have no idea. But the estate could bring in over four million kronor after taxes etc., but..."



"But what?"



"The inheritance has to be divided equally between you and your sister. The problem is that nobody knows where your sister is."



Salander looked at Giannini in silence.



"Well?"



"Well what?"



"Where is your sister?"



"I have no idea. I haven't seen her for ten years."



"Her file is classified, but I found out that she is listed as out of the country."



"I see," Salander said, showing little interest.



Giannini sighed in exasperation.



"I would suggest that we liquidate all the assets and deposit half the proceeds in the bank until your sister can be found. I can initiate the negotiations if you give me the go-ahead."



Salander shrugged. "I don't want anything to do with his money."



"I understand that. But the balance sheet still has to be sorted out. It's part of your responsibility as a citizen."



"Sell the crap, then. Put half in the bank and send the rest to whoever you like."



Giannini stared at her. She had understood that Salander had money stashed away, but she had not realized that her client was so well off that she could ignore an inheritance that might amount to a million kronor or more. What is more, she had no idea where Salander had got her money, or how much was involved. On the other hand she was keen to finalize the bureaucratic procedure.



"Lisbeth, please... could you read through the estate inventory and give me the green light so that we can get this matter resolved?"



Salander grumbled for a moment, but finally she acquiesced and stuffed the folder into her shoulder bag. She promised to read through it and send instructions as to what she wanted Giannini to do. Then she went back to her beer. Giannini kept her company for an hour, drinking mostly mineral water.



It was not until several days later, when Giannini telephoned to remind her about the estate inventory, that Salander took out the crumpled papers. She sat at the kitchen table, smoothed out the documents, and read through them.



The inventory covered several pages. There was a detailed list of all kinds of junk  -  the china in the kitchen cupboards in Gosseberga, clothing, cameras and other personal effects. Zalachenko had not left behind much of real value, and not one of the objects had the slightest sentimental value for Salander. She decided that her attitude had not changed since she met with Giannini at the theatre bar. Sell the crap and give the money away. Or something. She was positive that she did not want a single ore of her father's wealth, but she also was pretty sure that Zalachenko's real assets were hidden where no tax inspector would look for them.



Then she opened the title deeds for the property in Norrtalje.



It was an industrial site of three buildings totalling twenty thousand square metres in the vicinity of Skederid, between Norrtalje and Rimbo.



The estate assessor had apparently paid a cursory visit, and noted that it was an old brickworks that had been more or less empty and abandoned since it was shut down in the '60s, apart from a period in the '70s when it had been used to store timber. He noted that the buildings were in "extremely poor condition" and could not in all likelihood be renovated for any other activity. The term "poor condition" was also used to describe the "north building," which had in fact been destroyed by fire and collapsed. Some repairs, he wrote, had been made to the "main building".



What gave Salander a jolt was the site's history. Zalachenko had acquired the property for a song on 12 March, 1984, but the signatory on the purchase documents was Agneta Sofia Salander.



So Salander's mother had in fact been the owner of the property. Yet in 1987 her ownership had ceased. Zalachenko had bought her out for 2,000 kronor. After that the property had stood unused for fifteen years. The inventory showed that on 17 September, 2003, K.A.B. Import A.B. had hired the builders NorrBygg Inc. to do renovations which included repairs to the floor and roof, as well as improvements to the water and electrical systems. Repair work had gone on for two months, until the end of November, and then discontinued. NorrBygg had sent an invoice which had been paid.



Of all the assets in her father's estate, this was the only surprising entry. Salander was puzzled. Ownership of the industrial site made sense if her father had wanted to give the impression that K.A.B. Import was carrying on legitimate activities or owned certain assets. It also made sense that he had used her mother as a front in the purchase and had then for a pittance bought back the property.



But why in heaven's name would he spend almost 440,000 kronor to renovate a ramshackle building, which according to the assessor was still not being used for anything in 2005?



She could not understand it, but was not going to waste time wondering. She closed the folder and called Giannini.



"I've read the inventory. What I said still holds. Sell the shit and do whatever you like with the money. I want nothing from him."



"Very well. I'll see to it that half the revenue is deposited in an account for your sister, and I'll suggest some suitable recipients for the rest."



"Right," Salander said and hung up without further discussion.



She sat in her window seat, lit a cigarette, and looked out towards Saltsjon.



Salander spent the next week helping Armansky with an urgent matter. She had to help track down and identify a person suspected of being hired to kidnap a child in a custody battle resulting from a Swedish woman divorcing her Lebanese husband. Salander's job amounted to checking the email of the person who was presumed to have hired the kidnapper. Milton Security's role was discontinued when the parties reached a legal solution.



On December 18, the Sunday before Christmas, Salander woke at 6.00 and remembered that she had to buy a Christmas present for Palmgren. For a moment she wondered whether there was anyone else she should buy presents for  -  Giannini perhaps. She got up and took a shower in no particular hurry, and ate a breakfast of toast with cheese and marmalade and a coffee.



She had nothing special planned for the day and spent a while clearing papers and magazines from her desk. Then her gaze fell on the folder with the estate inventory. She opened it and reread the page about the title registration for the site in Norrtalje. She sighed. O.K. I have to find out what the hell he had going on there.



She put on warm clothes and boots. It was 8.30 when she drove her burgundy Honda out of the garage beneath Fiskargatan 9. It was icy cold but beautiful, sunshine and a pastel-blue sky. She took the road via Slussen and Klarabergsleden and wound her way on to the E18 going north, heading for Norrtalje. She was in no hurry. At 10.00 she turned into an O.K. petrol station and shop a few miles outside Skederid to ask the way to the old brickworks. No sooner had she parked than she realized that she did not even need to ask.



She was on a hillside with a good view across the valley on the other side of the road. To the left towards Norrtalje she could see a paint warehouse, some sort of builder's yard, and another yard with bulldozers. To the right, at the edge of the industrial area, about four hundred metres from the road was a dismal brick building with a crumbling chimney-stack. The factory stood like a last outpost of the industrial area, somewhat isolated beyond a road and a narrow stream. She surveyed the building thoughtfully and asked herself what on earth had possessed her to drive all the way up to Norrtalje.



She turned and glanced at the O.K. station, where a long-distance truck and trailer with the emblem of the International Road Transport Union had just pulled in. She remembered that she was on the main road from the ferry terminal at Kapellskar, through which a good deal of the freight traffic between Sweden and the Baltic countries passed.



She started the car and drove out on to the road towards the old brickworks. She parked in the middle of the yard and got out. It was below freezing outside, and she put on a black knitted cap and leather gloves.