The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest (74 page)

“We were compelled to force-feed her on several occasions.”

“And why was that?”

“Because she refused to eat, of course.”

Giannini turned to her client.

“Lisbeth, is it true that you refused to eat at St. Stefan’s?”

“Yes.”

“And why was that?”

“Because that bastard was mixing psychotropic drugs into my food.”

“I see. So Dr. Teleborian wanted to give you medicine. Why didn’t you want to take it?”

“I didn’t like the medicine I was being given. It made me sluggish. I couldn’t think, and I was sedated for most of the time I was awake. And the bastard refused to tell me what the drugs contained.”

“So you refused to take the medicine?”

“Yes. Then he began putting the crap in my food instead. So I stopped eating. Every time something had been put in my food, I stopped eating for five days.”

“So you had to go hungry.”

“Not always. Several of the attendants smuggled sandwiches in to me on various occasions. One in particular gave me food late at night. That happened quite often.”

“So you think that the nursing staff at St. Stefan’s saw that you were hungry and gave you food so that you would not have to starve?”

“That was during the period when I was battling with this bastard over psychotropic drugs.”

“Tell us what happened.”

“He tried to drug me. I refused to take his medicine. He started putting it in my food. I refused to eat. He started force-feeding me. I began vomiting up the food.”

“So there was a completely rational reason why you refused the food.”

“Yes.”

“It was not because you didn’t want food?”

“No. I was often hungry.”

“And since you left St. Stefan’s, do you eat regularly?”

“I eat when I’m hungry.”

“Would it be correct to say that a conflict arose between you and Dr. Teleborian?”

“You could say that.”

“You were sent to St. Stefan’s because you had thrown gasoline at your father and set him on fire.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because he abused my mother.”

“Did you ever explain that to anyone?”

“Yes.”

“And who was that?”

“I told the police who interviewed me, the social workers, the doctors, a pastor, and that bastard.”

“By ‘that bastard’ you are referring to . . . ?”

“That man.” She pointed at Dr. Teleborian.

“Why do you call him a bastard?”

“When I first arrived at St. Stefan’s I tried to explain to him what had happened.”

“And what did Dr. Teleborian say?”

“He didn’t want to listen to me. He claimed that I was fantasizing. And as punishment I was to be strapped down until I stopped fantasizing. And then he tried to force-feed me psychotropic drugs.”

“This is nonsense,” Teleborian said.

“Is that why you won’t speak to him?”

“I haven’t said a word to the bastard since the night I turned thirteen. I was strapped to the bed. It was my birthday present to myself.”

Giannini turned to Teleborian. “This sounds as if the reason my client refused to eat was that she did not want the psychotropic drugs you were forcing upon her.”

“It’s possible that she views it that way.”

“And how do you view it?”

“I had a patient who was abnormally difficult. I maintain that her behaviour showed that she was a danger to herself, but this might be a question of interpretation. However, she was violent and exhibited psychotic
behaviour. There is no doubt that she was dangerous to others. She came to St. Stefan’s after she tried to murder her father.”

“We’ll get to that later. For 381 of those days you kept her in restraints. Could it have been that you used strapping as a way to punish my client when she didn’t do as you said?”

“That is utter nonsense.”

“Is it? I notice that according to the records the majority of the strapping occurred during the first year . . . 320 of 381 instances. Why was the strapping discontinued?”

“I suppose the patient changed her behaviour and became less agitated.”

“Is it not true that your measures were considered unnecessarily brutal by other members of the staff?”

“How do you mean?”

“Is it not true that the staff lodged complaints against the force-feeding of Lisbeth Salander, among other things?”

“Inevitably people will arrive at differing evaluations. This is nothing unusual. But it became a burden to force-feed her because she resisted so violently—”

“Because she refused to take psychotropic drugs which made her listless and passive. She had no problem eating when she was not being drugged. Wouldn’t that have been a more reasonable method of treatment than resorting to forcible measures?”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Fru Giannini, I am actually a physician. I suspect that my medical expertise is rather more extensive than yours. It is my job to determine what medical treatments should be employed.”

“It’s true, I’m not a physician,
Doctor
Teleborian. However, I am not entirely lacking in expertise. Besides my qualifications as a lawyer I was also trained as a psychologist at Stockholm University. This is necessary background training in my profession.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the courtroom. Both Ekström and Teleborian stared in astonishment at Giannini. She continued inexorably.

“Is it not correct that your methods of treating my client eventually resulted in serious disagreements between you and your superior, Dr. Johannes Caldin, head physician at the time?”

“No, that is not correct.”

“Dr. Caldin passed away several years ago and cannot give testimony. But here in court we have someone who met Dr. Caldin on several occasions. Namely, my assistant counsel, Holger Palmgren.”

She turned to him.

“Can you tell us how that came about?”

Palmgren cleared his throat. He still suffered from the after-effects of his stroke and had to concentrate to pronounce the words.

“I was appointed as trustee for Lisbeth Salander after her mother was so severely beaten by Lisbeth’s father that she was disabled and could no longer take care of her daughters. She suffered permanent brain damage and repeated brain haemorrhages.”

“You’re speaking of Alexander Zalachenko, I presume.” Ekström was leaning forward attentively.

“That’s correct,” Palmgren said.

Ekström said: “I would ask you to remember that we are now on a subject which is highly classified.”

“It’s hardly a secret that Alexander Zalachenko persistently abused Lisbeth’s mother,” Giannini said.

Teleborian raised his hand.

“The matter is probably not quite as self-evident as Fru Giannini is presenting it.”

“What do you mean by that?” Giannini said.

“There is no doubt that Lisbeth Salander witnessed a family tragedy . . . that something triggered a serious beating in 1991. But there is no documentation to suggest that this was a situation that went on for many years, as Fru Giannini claims. It could have been an isolated incident or a quarrel that got out of hand. If truth be told, there is not even any documentation to point towards Herr Zalachenko as Lisbeth’s mother’s aggressor. We have been informed that she was a prostitute, so there could have been a number of other possible perpetrators.”

Giannini looked in astonishment at Teleborian. She seemed to be speechless for a moment. Then her eyes bored into him.

“Could you expand on that?” she said.

“What I mean is that in practice we have only Lisbeth Salander’s assertions to go on.”

“And?”

“First of all, there were two sisters. Twins, in fact. Camilla Salander has never made any such claims; indeed, she has denied that such a thing occurred. And if there was abuse to the extent your client maintains, then it would naturally have been noted in social welfare reports and so forth.”

“Is there an interview with Camilla Salander that we might examine?”

“Interview?”

“Do you have any documentation to show that Camilla Salander was even asked about what occurred at their home?”

Salander squirmed in her seat at the mention of her sister. She glanced at Giannini.

“I presume that the social welfare agency filed a report—”

“You have just stated that Camilla Salander never made any assertions that Alexander Zalachenko abused their mother, that on the contrary she denied it. That was a categorical statement. Where did you get that information?”

Teleborian sat in silence for several seconds. Giannini could see his eyes change when he realized he had made a mistake. He could anticipate what it was that she wanted to introduce, but there was no way to avoid the question.

“I seem to remember that it appeared in the police report,” he said at last.

“You ‘seem to remember.’ I myself have searched high and low for police reports about the incident on Lundagatan during which Alexander Zalachenko was severely burned. The only ones available are the brief reports written by the officers at the scene.”

“That’s possible—”

“So I would very much like to know how it is that you were able to read a police report that is not available to the defence.”

“I can’t answer that,” Teleborian said. “I was shown the report in 1991 when I wrote a forensic psychiatric report on your client after the attempted murder of her father.”

“Was Prosecutor Ekström shown this report?”

Ekström squirmed. He stroked his goatee. By now he knew that he had underestimated Advokat Giannini. However, he had no reason to lie.

“Yes, I’ve seen it.”

“Why wasn’t the defence given access to this material?”

“I didn’t consider it of interest to the trial.”

“Could you please tell me how you were allowed to see this report? When I asked the police, I was told only that no such report exists.”

“The report was written by the Security Police. It’s classified.”

“So Säpo wrote a report on a case involving aggravated assault on a woman and decided to make the report classified.”

“It was because of the perpetrator, Alexander Zalachenko. He was a political refugee.”

“Who wrote the report?”

Silence.

“I don’t hear anything. What name was on the title page?”

“It was written by Gunnar Björck from the immigration division of SIS.”

“Thank you. Is that the same Gunnar Björck who my client claims worked with
Doctor
Teleborian to fabricate the forensic psychiatric report about her in 1991?”

“I assume it is.”

Giannini turned her attention back to Teleborian.

“In 1991 you committed Lisbeth Salander to the secure ward of St. Stefan’s children’s psychiatric clinic—”

“That’s not correct.”

“Is it not?”

“No. Lisbeth Salander was
sentenced
to the secure psychiatric ward. This was the outcome of an entirely routine legal action in a district court. We’re talking about a seriously disturbed minor. That was not my own decision—”

“In 1991 a district court decided to lock up Lisbeth Salander in a children’s psychiatric clinic. Why did the district court make that decision?”

“The district court made a careful assessment of your client’s actions and mental condition—she had tried to murder her father with a gasoline bomb, after all. This is not an activity that a normal teenager would engage in, whether they are tattooed or not.” Teleborian gave her a polite smile.

“And what did the district court base their judgement on? If I’ve understood correctly, they had only one forensic medical assessment to go on. It was written by yourself and a policeman by the name of Gunnar Björck.”

“This is about Fröken Salander’s conspiracy theories, Fru Giannini. Here I would have to—”

“Excuse me, but I haven’t asked a question yet,” Giannini said and turned once again to Palmgren. “Holger, we were talking about your meeting Dr. Teleborian’s superior, Dr. Caldin.”

“Yes. In my capacity as trustee for Lisbeth Salander. At that stage I had met her only very briefly. Like everyone else, I got the impression that she had a serious mental illness. But since it was my job, I undertook to research her general state of health.”

“And what did Dr. Caldin say?”

“She was Dr. Teleborian’s patient, and Dr. Caldin had not paid her any particular attention except in routine assessments and the like. It wasn’t
until she had been there for more than a year that I began to discuss how she could be rehabilitated back into society. I suggested a foster family. I don’t know exactly what went on internally at St. Stefan’s, but after about a year Dr. Caldin began to take an interest in her.”

“How did that manifest itself?”

“I discovered that he had arrived at an opinion that differed from Dr. Teleborian’s,” Palmgren said. “He told me once that he had decided to change the type of care she was receiving. I did not understand until later that he was referring to the strap restraints. Dr. Caldin had decided that she should not be restrained. He didn’t think there was any reason for it.”

“So he went against Dr. Teleborian’s directives?”

Ekström interrupted. “Objection. That’s hearsay.”

“No,” Palmgren said. “Not entirely. I asked for a report on how Lisbeth Salander was supposed to re-enter society. Dr. Caldin wrote that report. I still have it today.”

He handed a document to Giannini.

“Can you tell us what it says?”

“It’s a letter from Dr. Caldin to me dated October 1992, which is when Lisbeth had been at St. Stefan’s for nineteen months. Here Dr. Caldin expressly writes, I quote, ‘My decision for the patient not to be restrained or force-fed has also produced the noticeable effect that she is now calm. There is no need for psychotropic drugs. However, the patient is extremely withdrawn and uncommunicative and needs continued supportive therapies.’ End quote.”

“So he
expressly writes
that it
was
his decision,” Giannini said.

“That is correct. It was also Dr. Caldin himself who decided that Lisbeth should be able to re-enter society by being placed with a foster family.”

Salander nodded. She remembered Dr. Caldin the same way she remembered every detail of her stay at St. Stefan’s. She had refused to talk to Dr. Caldin. He was a “crazy-doctor,” another man in a white coat who wanted to root around in her emotions. But he had been friendly and good-natured. She had sat in his office and listened to him when he explained things to her.