The presenter of She at T.V.4 was the only journalist who knew what the story was all about. Her hour-long broadcast became a classic, and some months later she won the award for Best T. V. News Story of the Year.

Modig got Salander away from police headquarters by very simply taking her and Giannini down to the garage and driving them to Giannini’s office on Kungholm’s Kyrkoplan. There they switched to Giannini’s car. When Modig had driven away, Giannini headed for Södermalm. As they passed the parliament building she broke the silence.

“Where to?” she said.

Salander thought for a few seconds.

“You can drop me somewhere on Lundagatan.”

“Miriam isn’t there.”

Salander looked at her.

“She went to France quite soon after she came out of hospital. She’s staying with her parents if you want to get hold of her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked. She said she needed some space. This morning Mikael gave me these and said you’d probably like to have them back.”

She handed her a set of keys. Salander took it and said: “Thanks. Could you drop me somewhere on Folkungagatan instead?”

“You don’t even want to tell me where you live?”

“Later. Right now I want to be left in peace.”

“O.K.”

Giannini had switched on her mobile when they left police headquarters. It started beeping as they were passing Slussen. She looked at the display.

“It’s Mikael. He’s called every ten minutes for the past couple of hours.”

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Tell me… Could I ask you a personal question?”

“Yes.”

“What did Mikael do to you that you hate him so much? I mean, if it weren’t for him, you’d probably be back on a secure ward tonight.”

“I don’t hate Mikael. He hasn’t done anything to me. I just don’t want to see him right now.”

Giannini glanced across at her client. “I don’t mean to pry, but you fell for him, didn’t you?”

Salander looked out of the window and did not answer.

“My brother is completely irresponsible when it comes to relationships. He screws his way through life and doesn’t seem to grasp how much it can hurt those women who think of him as more than a casual affair.”

Salander met 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.

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 of The Section along with discarded notes.

He had bought a litre of milk, bread, cheese, caviar and a jumbo pack of Billy’s Pan Pizza and put them in the fridge.

On the kitchen table she found a small white envelope with her name on it. It was a note from him. The message was brief. His mobile number. That was all.

She knew that the ball was in her court. He was not going to get in touch with her. He had finished the story, given back the keys to her apartment, and he would not call her. If she wanted something then she could call him. Bloody pig-headed bastard.

She put on a pot of coffee, made four open sandwiches, and went to sit in her window seat to look out towards Djurgården. She lit a cigarette and brooded.

It was all over, and yet now her life felt more claustrophobic than ever.

Miriam Wu had gone to France. It was my fault that you almost died. She had shuddered at the thought of having to see Mimmi, but had decided that that would be her first stop when she was released. But she had gone to France .

All of a sudden she was in debt to people.

Palmgren. Armansky. She ought to contact them to say thank you. Paolo Roberto. And Plague and Trinity. Even those damned police officers, Bublanski and Modig, who had so obviously been in her corner. She did not like feeling beholden to anyone. She felt like a chess piece in a game she could not control.