Blomkvist had always wondered why the loudspeakers in the district court were so faint, discreet almost. He could hardly make out the words of the announcement that the trial vs Lisbeth Salander would begin in courtroom 5 at 10.00. But he had arrived in plenty of time and positioned himself to wait right by the entrance to the courtroom. He was one of the first to be let in. He chose a seat in the public gallery on the left-hand side of the room, where he would have the best view of the defence table. The seats filled up fast. Media interest had steadily increased in the weeks leading up to the trial, and over the past week Prosecutor Ekström had been interviewed daily.

Lisbeth Salander was charged with assault and grievous bodily harm in the case of Carl-Magnus Lundin; with unlawful threats, attempted murder and grievous bodily harm in the case of Karl Axel Bodin, alias Alexander Zalachenko, now deceased; with two counts of breaking and entering – the first at the summer cabin of the deceased lawyer Nils Erik Bjurman in Stallarholmen, the second at Bjurman’s home on Odenplan; with the theft of a vehicle – a Harley-Davidson owned by one Sonny Nieminen of Svavelsjö M.C.; with three counts of possession of illegal weapons – a canister of Mace, a taser and a Polish P-83 Wanad, all found in Gosseberga; with the theft of or withholding of evidence – the formulation was imprecise but it referred to the documentation she had found in Bjurman’s summer cabin; and with a number of further misdemeanours. In all, sixteen charges had been filed against Lisbeth Salander.

Ekström had been busy.

He had also leaked information indicating that Salander’s mental state was cause for alarm. He cited first the forensic psychiatric report by Dr Jesper H. Löderman that had been compiled at the time of her eighteenth birthday, and second, a report which, in accordance with a decision by the district court at a preliminary hearing, had been written by Dr Peter Teleborian. Since the mentally ill girl had, true to form, refused categorically to speak to psychiatrists, the analysis was made on the basis of “observations” carried out while she was detained at Kronoberg prison in Stockholm during the month before her trial. Teleborian, who had many years of experience with the patient, had determined that Salander was suffering from a serious mental disturbance and employed words such as psychopathy, pathological narcissism, paranoid schizophrenia, and similar.

The press had also reported that seven police interviews had been conducted with Salander. At each of these interviews the defendant had declined even to say good morning to those who were leading the interrogation. The first few interviews had been conducted by the Göteborg police, the remainder had taken place at police headquarters in Stockholm. The tape recordings of the interview protocol revealed that the police had used every means of persuasion and repeated questioning, but had not received the favour of a single reply.

She had not even bothered to clear her throat.

Occasionally Advokat Giannini’s voice could be heard on the tapes, at such points as she realized that her client evidently was not going to answer any questions. The charges against Salander were accordingly based exclusively on forensic evidence and on whatever facts the police investigation had been able to determine.

Salander’s silence had at times placed her defence lawyer in an awkward position, since she was compelled to be almost as silent as her client. What Giannini and Salander discussed in private was confidential.

Ekström made no secret of the fact that his primary objective was secure psychiatric care for the defendant; of secondary interest to him was a substantial prison sentence. The normal process was the reverse, but he believed that in her case there were such transparent mental disturbances and such an unequivocal forensic psychiatric assessment that he was left with no alternative. It was highly unusual for a court to decide against a forensic psychiatric assessment.

He also believed that Salander’s declaration of incompetence should be rescinded. In an interview he had explained with a concerned expression that in Sweden there were a number of sociopaths with such grave mental disturbances that they presented a danger to themselves as well as to others, and modern medicine could offer no alternative to keeping these individuals safely locked up. He cited the case of a violent girl, Anette, who in the ’70s had been a frequent focus of attention in the media, and who thirty years on was still in a secure psychiatric institution. Every endeavour to ease the restrictions had resulted in her launching reckless and violent attacks on relatives and carers, or in attempts to injure herself. Ekström was of the view that Salander suffered from a similar form of psychopathic disturbance.

Media interest had also increased for the simple reason that Salander’s defence lawyer, Advokat Giannini, had made not a single statement to the press. She had refused all requests to be interviewed so that the media were, as they many times put it, “unable to have an opportunity to present the views of the other side of the case”. Journalists were therefore in a difficult situation: the prosecution kept on shovelling out information while the defence, uncharacteristically, gave not the slightest hint of Salander’s reaction to the charges against her, nor of what strategy the defence might employ.

This state of affairs was commented on by the legal expert engaged to follow the trial in one of the evening newspapers. The expert had stated in his column that Advokat Giannini was a respected women’s rights lawyer, but that she had absolutely no experience in criminal law outside this case. He concluded that she was unsuitable for the purpose of defending Salander. From his sister Blomkvist had also learned that several distinguished lawyers had offered their services. Giannini had, on behalf of her client, courteously turned down every such proposal.

As he waited for the trial to begin, Blomkvist glanced around at the other spectators. He caught sight of Armansky sitting near the exit and their eyes met for a moment.

Ekström had a large stack of papers on his table. He greeted several journalists.

Giannini sat at her table opposite Ekström. She had her head down and was sorting through her papers. Blomkvist thought that his sister looked a bit tense. Stage fright, he supposed.

Then the judge, assessor and lay assessors entered the courtroom. Judge Jörgen Iversen was a white-haired, 57-year-old man with a gaunt face and a spring in his step. Blomkvist had researched Iversen’s background and found that he was an exacting judge of long experience who had presided over many high-profile cases.

Finally Salander was brought into the courtroom.

Even though Blomkvist was used to Salander’s penchant for shocking clothing, he was amazed that his sister had allowed her to turn up to the courtroom in a black leather miniskirt with frayed seams and a black top – with the legend I am annoyed – which barely covered her many tattoos. She had ten piercings in her ears and rings through her lower lip and left eyebrow. Her head was covered in three months’ worth of uneven stubble after her surgery. She wore grey lipstick and heavily darkened eyebrows, and had applied more black mascara than Blomkvist had ever seen her wear. In the days when he and Salander had spent time together, she had shown almost no interest in make-up.

She looked a bit vulgar, to put it mildly. It was almost a Goth look. She reminded him of a vampire in some pop-art movie from the ’60s. Blomkvist was aware of some of the reporters in the press gallery catching their breath in astonishment or smiling broadly. They were at last getting a look at the scandal-ridden young woman they had written so much about, and she was certainly living up to all their expectations.