The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest Page 0,84

you feeling today?"

"O.K.," she said.

He checked her chart and saw that she was free of her fever. She had got used to his visits, which came a couple of times a week. Of all the people who touched her and poked at her, he was the only one in whom she felt a measure of trust. She never felt that he was giving her strange looks. He visited her room, chatted a while, and examined her to check on her progress. He did not ask any questions about Niedermann or Zalachenko, or whether she was off her rocker or why the police kept her locked up. He seemed to be interested only in how her muscles were working, how the healing in her brain was progressing, and how she felt in general.

Besides, he had - literally - rootled around in her brain. Someone who rummaged around in your brain had to be treated with respect. To her surprise she found the visits of Dr Jonasson pleasant, despite the fact that he poked at her and fussed over her fever chart.

"Do you mind if I check?"

He made his usual examination, looking at her pupils, listening to her breathing, taking her pulse, her blood pressure, and checking how she swallowed.

"How am I doing?"

"You're on the road to recovery. But you have to work harder on the exercises. And you're picking at the scab on your head. You need to stop that." He paused. "May I ask a personal question?"

She looked at him. He waited until she nodded.

"That dragon tattoo... Why did you get it?"

"You didn't see it before?"

He smiled all of a sudden.

"I mean I've glanced at it, but when you were uncovered I was pretty busy stopping the bleeding and extracting bullets and so on."

"Why do you ask?"

"Out of curiosity, nothing more."

Salander thought for a while. Then she looked at him.

"I got it for reasons that I don't want to discuss."

"Forget I asked."

"Do you want to see it?"

He looked surprised. "Sure. Why not?"

She turned her back and pulled the hospital gown off her shoulder. She sat so that the light from the window fell on her back. He looked at her dragon. It was beautiful and well done, a work of art.

After a while she turned her head.

"Satisfied?"

"It's beautiful. But it must have hurt like hell."

"Yes," she said. "It hurt."

Jonasson left Salander's room somewhat confused. He was satisfied with the progress of her physical rehabilitation. But he could not work out this strange girl. He did not need a master's degree in psychology to know that she was not doing very well emotionally. The tone she used with him was polite, but riddled with suspicion. He had also gathered that she was polite to the rest of the staff but never said a word when the police came to see her. She was locked up inside her shell and kept her distance from those around her.

The police had locked her in her hospital room, and a prosecutor intended to charge her with attempted murder and grievous bodily harm. He was amazed that such a small, thin girl had the physical strength for this sort of violent criminality, especially when the violence was directed at full-grown men.

He had asked about her dragon tattoo, hoping to find a personal topic he could discuss with her. He was not particularly interested in why she had decorated herself in such a way, but he supposed that since she had chosen such a striking tattoo, it must have a special meaning for her. He thought simply that it might be a way to start a conversation.

His visits to her were outside his schedule, since Dr Endrin was assigned to her case. But Jonasson was head of the trauma unit, and he was proud of what had been achieved that night when Salander was brought into A.&E. He had made the right decision, electing to remove the bullet. As far as he could see she had no complications in the form of memory lapses, diminished bodily function, or other handicaps from the injury. If she continued to heal at the same pace, she would leave hospital with a scar on her scalp, but with no other visible damage. Scars on her soul were another matter.

Returning to his office he discovered a man in a dark suit leaning against the wall outside his door. He had a thick head of hair and a well-groomed beard.

"Dr Jonasson?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Peter Teleborian. I'm the head physician