The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest Read Free Page A

Book: The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest Read Free
Author: Stieg Larsson
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could be arrested and handcuffed just like that: he was a maniacal killer, for God’s sake. When Blomkvist’s objections were ignored by Paulsson, the exhaustion of the day made him reckless. He told Paulsson he was an incompetent fool and yelled at him that the officers should fucking forget about untying Niedermann until they had called for backup. As a result of this outburst, he was handcuffed and pushed into the back seat of Paulsson’s car. Cursing, he watched as the policemen drove off in their patrol car. The only glimmer of light in the darkness was that Salander had been carried to the helicopter, which was even now disappearing over the treetops in the direction of Göteborg. Blomkvist felt utterly helpless: he could only hope that she would be given the very best care. She was going to need it, or she would die.
    Jonasson made two deep incisions all the way down to the cranium and peeled back the skin around the entry wound. He used clamps to secure the opening. An OR nurse inserted a suction tube to remove any blood. Then came the awkward part, when he had to use a drill to enlarge the hole in the skull. The procedure was excruciatingly slow.
    Finally he had a hole big enough to gain access to Salander’s brain. Withinfinite care he inserted a probe into the brain and enlarged the wound channel by a few millimetres. Then he inserted a thinner probe and located the bullet. From the X-ray he could see that the bullet had turned and was lying at an angle of forty-five degrees to the entry channel. He used the probe cautiously to prise at the edge of the bullet, and after a few unsuccessful attempts he managed to lift it very slightly so that he could turn it in the right direction.
    Finally he inserted narrow forceps with serrated jaws. He gripped the base of the bullet, got a good hold on it, then pulled the forceps straight out. The bullet emerged with almost no resistance. He held it up to the light for a few seconds and saw that it appeared intact; then he dropped it into a bowl.
    “Swab,” he said, and his request was instantly met.
    He glanced at the ECG, which showed that his patient still had regular heart activity.
    “Forceps.”
    He pulled down the powerful magnifying glass hanging overhead and focused on the exposed area.
    “Careful,” Ellis said.
    Over the next forty-five minutes Jonasson picked out no fewer than thirty-two tiny bone chips from around the entry wound. The smallest of these chips could scarcely be seen with the naked eye.
    As Blomkvist tried in frustration to manoeuvre his mobile out of the breast pocket of his jacket—it proved to be an impossible task with his hands cuffed behind his back, nor was it clear to him how he was going to be able to use it—several more vehicles containing both uniformed officers and technical personnel arrived at the Gosseberga farm. They were detailed by Paulsson to secure forensic evidence in the woodshed and to do a thorough examination of the farmhouse, from which several weapons had already been confiscated. By now resigned to his futility, Blomkvist had observed their comings and goings from his vantage point in Paulsson’s vehicle.
    An hour passed before it dawned on Paulsson that his officers had not yet returned from their mission to retrieve Niedermann. He had Blomkvist brought into the kitchen, where he was required once more to provide precise directions to the spot.
    Blomkvist closed his eyes.
    He was still in the kitchen with Paulsson when the armed response team sent to relieve the first two officers reported back. One had been founddead with a broken neck. The other was still alive, but he had been savagely beaten. The men had been discovered near a MOOSE CROSSING sign by the side of the road. Their service weapons and the marked police car were gone.
    Inspector Paulsson had started out with a relatively manageable situation: now he had a murdered policeman and an armed killer on the run.
    “Imbecile,” Blomkvist said

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