grabbed his scrotum and pulled until his face contorted in pain. “Have you got any
good ideas?” she repeated. He shook his head.
“Good. I’m going to be pretty fucking mad at you if you ever have any ideas in the
future.”
She leaned back and stubbed her cigarette out on the carpet. “This is what’s going
to happen. Next week, as soon as you manage to shit out that oversized rubber
plug in your arse, you’re going to inform my bank that I—and I alone—have access
to my account. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Bjurman nodded.
“Good boy. You will never ever contact me again. In the future we will meet only if I
decide it’s necessary. You’re under a restraining order to stay away from me.” He
nodded repeatedly. She doesn’t intend to kill me.
“If you ever try to contact me again, copies of this DVD will wind up in every
newsroom in Stockholm. Do you understand?”
He nodded. I have to get hold of that video.
“Once a year you will turn in your report on my welfare to the Guardianship
Agency. You will report that my life is completely normal, that I have a steady job,
that I’m supporting myself, and that you don’t think there is anything abnormal
about my behaviour. OK?”
He nodded.
“Each month you will prepare a report about your non-existent meetings with me.
You will describe in detail how positive I am and how well things are going for me.
You will post a copy to me. Do you understand?” He nodded again. Salander
noticed absent-mindedly the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
“In a year or so, let’s say two, you will initiate negotiations in the district court to
have my declaration of incompetence rescinded. You will use your faked reports
from our meetings as the basis for your proposal. You will find a shrink who will
swear under oath that I am completely normal. You’re going to have to make an
effort. You will do precisely everything in your power to ensure that I am declared
competent.”
He nodded.