The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest Page 0,248

her gaze. "I don't want to discuss Mikael with you."

"Right," Giannini said. She pulled into the kerb just before the junction with Erstagatan. "Is this O.K.?"

"Yes."

They sat in silence for a moment. Salander made no move to open the door. Then Giannini turned off the engine.

"What happens now?" Salander said at last.

"What happens now is that as from today you are no longer under guardianship. You can live your life however you want. Even though we won in the district court, there's still a whole mass of red tape to get through. There will be reports on accountability within the guardianship agency and the question of compensation and things like that. And the criminal investigation will continue."

"I don't want any compensation. I want to be left in peace."

"I understand. But what you want won't play much of a role here. This process is beyond your control. I suggest that you get yourself a lawyer to represent you."

"Don't you want to go on being my lawyer?"

Giannini rubbed her eyes. After all the stress of the day she felt utterly drained. She wanted to go home and have a shower. She wanted her husband to massage her back.

"I don't know. You don't trust me. And I don't trust you. I have no desire to be drawn into a long process during which I encounter nothing but frustrating silence when I make a suggestion or want to discuss something."

Salander said nothing for a long moment. "I... I'm not good at relationships. But I do trust you."

It sounded almost like an apology.

"That may be. And it needn't be my problem if you're bad at relationships. But it does become my problem if I have to represent you."

Silence.

"Would you want me to go on being your lawyer?"

Salander nodded. Giannini sighed.

"I live at Fiskargatan 9. Above Mosebacke Torg. Could you drive me there?"

Giannini looked at her client and then she started the engine. She let Salander direct her to the address. They stopped short of the building.

"O.K.," Giannini said. "We'll give it a try. Here are my conditions. I agree to represent you. When I need to get hold of you I want you to answer. When I need to know what you want me to do, I want clear answers. If I call you and tell you that you have to talk to a policeman or a prosecutor or anything else that has to do with the criminal investigation, then I have already decided that it's necessary. You will have to turn up at the appointed place, on time, and not make a fuss about it. Can you live with that?"

"I can."

"And if you start playing up, I stop being your lawyer. Understood?"

Salander nodded.

"One more thing. I don't want to get involved in a big drama between you and my brother. If you have a problem with him, you'll have to work it out. But, for the record, he's not your enemy."

"I know. I'll deal with it. But I need some time."

"What do you plan to do now?"

"I don't know. You can reach me on email. I promise to reply as soon as I can, but I might not be checking it every day - "

"You won't become a slave just because you have a lawyer. O.K., that's enough for the time being. Out you get. I'm dead tired and I want to go home and sleep."

Salander opened the door and got out. She paused as she was about to close the car door. She looked as though she wanted to say something but could not find the words. For a moment she appeared to Giannini almost vulnerable.

"That's alright, Lisbeth," Giannini said. "Go and get some sleep. And stay out of trouble for a while."

Salander stood at the curb and watched Giannini drive away until her tail lights disappeared around the corner.

"Thanks," she said at last.

CHAPTER 29

SATURDAY, 16.VII - FRIDAY, 7.X

Salander found her Palm Tungsten T3 on the hall table. Next to it were her car keys and the shoulder bag she had lost when Lundin attacked her outside the door to her apartment building on Lundagatan. She also found both opened and unopened post that had been collected from her P.O. Box on Hornsgatan. Mikael Blomkvist.

She took a slow tour through the furnished part of her apartment. She found traces of him everywhere. He had slept in her bed and worked at her desk. He had used her printer, and in the wastepaper basket she found drafts of the manuscript