She sent
evil thoughts to Herr Bjurman, but then she bit the bullet and called her
guardian to explain that she needed money for an unexpected expense. Bjurman’s
secretary said that he had no time to see her that day. Salander replied that
it would take the man twenty seconds to write out a cheque for 10,000 kronor.
She was told to be at his office at 7:30 that evening.
--
Bjurman came round the desk to show her the
statement of her bank account – which she knew down to the last öre, although
it was no longer in her disposal. He stood behind her. Suddenly he was
massaging the back of her neck, and he let one hand slide from her left
shoulder across her breasts. He put his hand over her right breast and left it
there. When she did not seem to object, he squeezed her breast. Salander did
not move. She could feel his breath on her neck as she studied the letter
opener on his desk; she could reach it with her free hand.
But she did nothing. If there was one
lesson Holger Palmgren had taught her over the years, it was that impulsive
actions led to trouble, and trouble could have unpleasant consequences. She
never did anything without first weighing the consequences.
The initial sexual assault – which in legal
terms would be defined as sexual molestation and the exploitation of an
individual in a position of dependence, and could in theory get Bjurman up to
two years in prison – lasted only a few seconds. But it was enough to
irrevocably cross a boundary. For Salander it was a display of strength by an
enemy force – an indication that aside from their carefully defined legal
relationship, she was at the mercy of his discretion and defenceless. When
their eyes met a few seconds later, his lips were slightly parted and she could
read the lust on his face. Salander’s own face betrayed no emotions at all.
Bjurman moved back to his side of the desk
and sat on his comfortable leather chair.
“I can’t hand out money to you whenever you
like,” he said. “Why do you need such an expensive computer? There are plenty
of cheaper models that you can use for playing computer games.”
“I want to have control of my own money
like before.”
Bjurman gave her a pitying look.
“We’ll have to see how things go. First you
need to learn to be more sociable and get along with people.”
Bjurman’s smile might have been more
subdued if he could have read her thoughts behind the expressionless eyes.
“I think you and I are going to be good
friends,” he said. “We have to be able to trust each other.”
When she did not reply he said: “You’re a
grown woman now, Lisbeth.”
She nodded.
“Come here,” he said and held out his hand.
Salander fixed her gaze on the letter
opener for several seconds before she stood up and went over to him.
Consequences. He took her hand and pressed it to his crotch. She could feel his
genitals through the dark gabardine trousers.
“If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to
you.”
He put his other hand around her neck and
pulled her down to her knees with her face in front of his crotch.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he
said as he lowered his zip. He smelled as if he had just washed himself with
soap and water.
Salander turned her face away and tried to
get up, but he held her in a tight grip. In terms of physical strength, she was
no match for him; she weighed 90 pounds to his 210. He held her head with both
hands and turned her face so their eyes met.
“If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to
you,” he repeated. “If you make trouble, I can put you away in an institution
for the rest of your life. Would you like that?”
She said nothing.
“Would you like that?” he said again.
She shook her head.
He waited until she lowered her eyes, in
what he regarded as submission. Then he pulled her closer. Salander opened her
lips and took him in her mouth. He kept his grip on her neck and pulled her
fiercely towards him. She felt like gagging the whole ten minutes he took to
bump and grind; when finally he came, he was holding her so tight she could
hardly breathe.
He showed her the bathroom in his office.
Salander was shaking all over as she wiped her face and tried to rub off the
spots on her sweater. She chewed some of his toothpaste to get rid of the
taste. When she went back to his office, he was sitting impassively behind his
desk, studying some papers.
“Sit down, Lisbeth,” he told her without
looking up. She sat down. Finally he looked at her and smiled.
“You’re grown-up now, aren’t you, Lisbeth?”
She nodded.
“Then you also need to be able to play
grown-up games,” he said. He used a tone of voice as if he were speaking to a
child. She did not reply. A small frown appeared on his brow.
“I don’t think it would be a good idea for
you to tell anyone about our games. Think about it – who would believe you?
There are documents stating that you’re non compos mentis. It would be your
word against mine. Whose word do you think would carry more weight?”
He sighed when still she did not speak. He
was annoyed at the way she just sat there in silence, looking at him – but he
controlled himself.
“We’re going to be good friends, you and
I,” he said. “I think you were smart to come and see me today. You can always
come to me.”
“I need 10,000 kronor for my computer,” she
said, precisely, as if she were continuing the conversation they were having
before the interruption.
Bjurman raised his eyebrows. Hard-nosed
bitch. She really is fucking retarded. He handed her the cheque he had written
when she was in the bathroom. This is better than a whore. She gets paid with
her own money. He gave her an arrogant smile. Salander took the cheque and
left.
--
The plan began to go wrong almost from the
start.
Bjurman was wearing a bathrobe when he
opened the door to his apartment. He was cross at her arriving late and
motioned her brusquely inside. She was wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt,
and the obligatory leather jacket. She wore black boots and a small rucksack
with a strap across her chest.
“Haven’t you even learned to tell the
time?” Bjurman said. Salander did not reply. She looked around. The apartment
looked much as she had expected after studying the building plans in the
archives of the City Zoning Office. The light-coloured furniture was birch and
beech-wood.
“Come on,” Bjurman said in a friendlier
tone. He put his arm around her shoulders and led her down a hall into the
apartment’s interior. No small talk. He opened the door to the bedroom. There
was no doubt as to what services Salander was expected to perform.
She took a quick look around. Bachelor
furnishings. A double bed with a high bedstead of stainless steel. A low chest
of drawers that also functioned as a bedside table. Bedside lamps with muted
lighting. A wardrobe with a mirror along one side. A cane chair and a small
desk in the corner next to the door. He took her by the hand and led her to the
bed.
“Tell me what you need money for this time.
More computer accessories?”
“Food,” she said.
“Of course. How stupid of me. You missed
our last meeting.” He placed his hand under her chin and lifted her face so
their eyes met. “How are you?”
She shrugged.
“Have you thought about what I said last
time?”
“About what?”
“Lisbeth, don’t act any more stupid than
you are. I want us to be good friends and to help each other out.”
She said nothing. Advokat Bjurman resisted
an impulse to give her a slap – to put some life into her.
“Did you like our grown-up game from last
time?”
“No.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Lisbeth, don’t be foolish.”
“I need money to buy food.”
“But that’s what we talked about last time.
If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you. But if you’re just going to cause
trouble…” His grip on her chin tightened and she twisted away.
“I want my money. What do you want me to
do?”
“You know what I want.” He grabbed her
shoulder and pulled her towards the bed.
“Wait,” Salander said hastily. She gave him
a resigned look and then nodded curtly. She took off her rucksack and leather
jacket with the rivets and looked around. She put her jacket on the chair, set
her rucksack on the round table, and took several hesitant steps to the bed.
Then she stopped, as if she had cold feet. Bjurman came closer.
“Wait,” she said once more, in a tone as if
to say that she was trying to talk sense into him. “I don’t want to have to
suck your dick every time I need money.”
The expression on Bjurman’s face suddenly
changed. He slapped her hard. Salander opened her eyes wide, but before she
could react, he grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her on to the bed. The
violence caught her by surprise. When she tried to turn over, he pressed her
down on the bed and straddled her.
Like the time before, she was no match for
him in terms of physical strength. Her only chance of fighting back was if she
could hurt him by scratching his eyes or using some sort of weapon. But her
planned scenario had already gone to hell. Shit, she thought when he ripped off
her T-shirt. She realised with terrifying clarity that she was out of her
depth.
She heard him open the dresser drawer next
to the bed and caught the clanking sound of metal. At first she did not
understand what was happening; then she saw the handcuffs close around her
wrist. He pulled up her arm, placed the handcuffs around one of the bedposts,
and locked her other hand. It did not take him long to pull off her boots and
jeans. Then he took off her knickers and held them in his hand.
“You have to learn to trust me, Lisbeth,”
he said. “I’m going to teach you how this grown-up game is played. If you don’t
treat me well, you have to be punished. When you’re nice to me, we’ll be
friends.”
He sat astride her again.
“So you don’t like anal sex,” he said.
Salander opened her mouth to scream. He
grabbed her hair and stuffed the knickers in her mouth. She felt him putting
something around her ankles, spread her legs apart and tie them so that she was
lying there completely vulnerable. She heard him moving around the room but she
could not see through the T-shirt around her face. It took him several minutes.
She could hardly breathe. Then she felt an excruciating pain as he forced
something up her anus.
--
Salander was allowed to put on her clothes.
It was 4:00 on Saturday morning. She picked up her leather jacket and rucksack
and hobbled to the front door, where he was waiting for her, showered and
neatly dressed. He gave her a cheque for 2,500 kronor.
“I’ll drive you home,” he said, and opened
the door.
She crossed the threshold, out of the
apartment, and turned to face him. Her body looked fragile and her face was
swollen from crying, and he almost recoiled when he met her eyes. Never in his
life had he seen such naked, smouldering hatred. Salander looked just as
deranged as her casebook indicated.
“No,” she said, so quietly that he barely
heard the word. “I can get home on my own.”
He put a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. His grip on her shoulder
tightened.
“Remember what we agreed. You’ll come back
here next Saturday.”
She nodded again. Cowed. He let her go.
--
Salander spent the week in bed with pain in
her abdomen, bleeding from her rectum, and less visible wounds that would take
longer to heal. What she had gone through was very different from the first
rape in his office; it was no longer a matter of coercion and degradation. This
was systematic brutality.
She realised much too late that she had
utterly misjudged Bjurman.
She had assumed he was on a power trip and
liked to dominate, not that he was an all-out sadist. He had kept her in
handcuffs half the night. Several times she believed he meant to kill her, and
at one point he had pressed a pillow over her face until she thought she was
going to pass out.
She did not cry.
Apart from the tears of pure physical pain
she shed not a single tear. When she left the apartment she made her way with
difficulty to the taxi stand at Odenplan. With difficulty she climbed the
stairs to her own apartment. She showered and wiped the blood from her
genitals. Then she drank a pint of water with two Rohypnol and stumbled to her
bed and pulled the duvet over her head.
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