It is estimated that about six hundred women fought during the American Civil War.They disguise themselves as men and join the army.In this regard, has Hollywood missed an important chapter in cultural history, or is this history too difficult to deal with ideologically?Historians have often struggled to study women who did not observe gender divides, yet no other issue has drawn that divide more clearly than armed combat. (Women’s participation in traditional Swedish elk hunting remains controversial to this day.) But throughout the ages, there have been many stories of female warriors and heroines, the most famous of which have gone down in history as warrior queens, rulers and leaders.They were forced to play Churchill, Stalin or Roosevelt: Semiramis from Nineveh who founded the Assyrian Empire, and Budi who led the British in one of the bloodiest campaigns against the Roman occupying forces cards, are just two examples.Next to Westminster Bridge on the Thames, directly opposite Big Ben, a memorial statue of Boudica was also erected.Don't forget to say hello to her if you pass by.

Having said that, history doesn't say much about ordinary female soldiers who carry guns, belong to the army, and play the same role as men on the battlefield.In fact, there is almost no war without the participation of female soldiers. Five minutes before the helicopter was scheduled to land, the nurse woke Dr. Jonathan up.It was almost half past one in the morning. "What's the matter?" he asked confusedly. "Rescue helicopter coming soon. Two casualties. A wounded male and a young female. Female with gunshot wounds." "Okay," Jonathan said weakly. Although he slept for half an hour, he didn't feel quite awake.It was an exhausting night working the night shift in the emergency department at Sogernska Hospital in Gothenburg.

At half past twelve, the constant influx of people into the emergency room finally subsided.He circled around and inspected the patient's condition before returning to the doctor's dormitory to take a rest.He was on duty until six in the morning, and even if no one was in the ER, there was little time for sleep.But today he fell asleep as soon as the lights were turned off. Jonathan saw lightning out on the sea.He knew the helicopter was coming.Suddenly a heavy downpour hit the window, and the storm had quietly invaded Gothenburg. He heard the sound of the helicopter and watched it angle to the landing pad in intermittent high winds.At one point he held his breath nervously as the driver seemed to be losing control.Then the helicopter disappeared from his view, only the sound of the engine slowing down before landing.He took a quick sip of his tea, then put down his cup.

Jonathan rushed to join them in the emergency admission area.Another doctor on duty, Katharina Holm, took care of the patient who was wheeled in first—an elderly man with a bandaged head and apparently badly wounded face.Another woman with gunshot wounds was left in Jonathan's care.He made a quick visual inspection: the injured appeared to be a young girl, dirty and bloody, and badly injured.He lifted the blankets that the rescuers had wrapped around her and found that the hip and shoulder wounds were taped with electrical tape, which he thought was clever, since the tape would keep bacteria out and stop the bleeding.A bullet entered from the outside of her buttocks, penetrating directly into the musculature.Then he gently lifted the girl's shoulders to confirm the location of the wound on the back where the bullet penetrated.There was no shot wound, which meant the bullet was still in her shoulder.He just hoped it didn't go through the lungs, and since there was no blood in the woman's mouth, he believed that the lungs probably didn't hurt.

"Take an X-ray," he said to a nearby nurse.Just saying this is enough. He then cut the bandages that the paramedics had wrapped around her head, stunned to see another shot into the wound.The woman was shot in the head and there were no ejection wounds. Dr. Jonathan was stunned for a moment, looking down at the girl, frustrated.He often describes his job as a goalkeeper.Every day, people come to his workplace, and although they have different situations, they all have the same purpose: to ask for help.Maybe it's the old woman who had a sudden heart attack in the Norstan shopping center, maybe it's the fourteen-year-old boy whose left lung was pierced by a screwdriver, maybe it's the girl who danced for eighteen hours straight after taking drugs, and finally fell down with a bruised nose and a swollen face .Some of them were accidentally injured in the workplace, some suffered from domestic violence; some were children who were attacked by dogs in Vasa Square, and some were dexterous men who originally wanted to use a chainsaw to saw a few boards, but cut them inexplicably. to the wrist bone.

Dr. Jonathan is thus the gatekeeper between patients and undertakers.His task is to decide what to do.If the decision is wrong, the patient may die, or may be disabled for life after waking up.Most of the time he was right, though, because most of the wounded had one obvious problem.A punctured lung or a bump from a car accident are unique, identifiable, and manageable problems.Survival depends on the severity of the injury and Dr. Jonathan's skill. But he hated two injuries the most.One is severe burns, because no matter what measures are taken, the injured can hardly escape the painful consequences of life.The other is brain trauma.

The girl on the gurney could have survived with a piece of lead in her hip or a piece of lead in her shoulder, but a piece of lead stuck in her head is a completely different level of trauma.Just as he was thinking about it, he suddenly heard what the nurse seemed to say. "Sorry, I didn't pay attention just now." "is her." "What's the meaning?" "It's Liz Salander, the girl who has been hunted by the police for the past few weeks because of the triple murder in Stockholm." Jonathan looked at the unconscious face of the wounded man again, and immediately realized that the nurse was right.For weeks, people all over Sweden—him included—had seen her passport photo on the news billboards outside every newsstand.Now that the murderer himself has been shot, it can be regarded as a well-deserved punishment.

But that's not the point of his concern.His job is to save the sick, whether she's a triple murderer, a Nobel Prize winner, or both. Then came the eruption of efficient chaos that is found in every emergency room around the world.The staff on duty with Dr. Jonathan set about the assigned tasks.Salander's clothes were cut open, a nurse measured her blood pressure, 100/70, and a doctor put a stethoscope on her chest. Her heartbeat was unexpectedly regular, but her breathing was not normal. Jonathan classified Salander's situation as critical without hesitation.The wounds on her shoulders and hips were covered with tourniquets, or even some kind of electrical tape on someone's inspiration, and they could be dealt with later.What matters now is her head.Jonathan ordered a tomographic scan with the new sophisticated scanner CT recently purchased by the hospital.

Dr. Anders Jonasson, with blond hair and blue eyes, is from Umeå in northern Sweden. He has worked in Sogenska and Oriental Hospital for 20 years, successively as a researcher, pathologist and emergency room physician.One achievement that surprised his peers and honored the rest of the medical staff who worked with him was that he swore not to let any of the patients he received while on duty die, and miraculously, he did maintain zero mortality.Of course, some patients still die, but always from subsequent treatment or from causes completely unrelated to his treatment. His medical ideas are sometimes a bit out of the ordinary.He believes that doctors often draw conclusions that they cannot verify, which means that they give up too easily, or spend too much time in the emergency phase to study the patient's problem in order to determine the ideal treatment method.This is of course the correct procedure, the problem is that while the doctor is still thinking about it, the patient is probably going to die.

But Jonathan has never received a wounded person who was shot in the brain, and he probably needs a brain surgeon.He knows all the theoretical knowledge that needs to be cut into the brain, but he doesn't consider himself a brain surgeon at all.Although I felt powerless, I suddenly realized that I might be lucky.Before washing his hands and changing into a surgical gown, he called in Nurse Nicander. "At the Karolinska Hospital in Stockholm, there is an American physician from Boston named Frank Ellis who happens to be in Gothenburg tonight, staying at the Elite Park Avenue Hotel, and he has just published the results of a brain study. Speech. He and I are on good terms. Can you get me the phone number?"

While Jonathan was still waiting for the X-ray results, Nikander returned with a phone number from the Elite Park Avenue Hotel.Jonathan dialed the phone, but the hotel's night counter staff insisted on refusing to wake up the tenants so late. Jonathan had to use some strong words to emphasize the seriousness of the situation before the call finally got through. "Morning, Frank." Jonathan said immediately when someone finally answered the phone. "I'm Jonathan. Would you like to come to Sogernska to help with brain surgery?" "Are you fooling me?" Dr. Frank Ellis has lived in Sweden for many years and speaks Swedish fluently (though still with an American accent), but whenever Jonathan speaks Swedish to him, he always uses native language answer. "Ellis, I'm sorry to miss your lecture but wish you could teach me in private. Here's a young girl shot in the head, the bullet just above her left ear. I desperately need someone's advice other than yours I couldn't think of a better candidate." "So serious?" Ellis sat up, stepped off the edge of the bed, and rubbed his eyes. "The patient is in his twenties, and he only has injection wounds, but no injection wounds." "Is she still alive?" "Weak but regular pulse, less regular breathing, blood pressure 100/70. Also shot each in the shoulder and hip, but I know what to do with both." "Sounds promising," Ellis said. "possible?" "If someone is shot in the head and survives, it means there is hope." "I see... Ellis, can you help me?" "Jonathan, I'm partying with a group of friends tonight. I don't go to bed until one o'clock. The alcohol level must be alarming." "I'm the one who makes the decisions and performs the surgery. I just need someone to see if I've done anything wrong. When it comes to assessing brain damage, even a drunk Professor Ellis is several times better than me." "Okay, I'll go, but you owe me a favor." "I will call a taxi to wait for you outside the hotel lobby. The driver will know where to get you off. Nurse Nicander will pick you up and take care of everything for you." Ellis had jet-black hair with a few gray strands and a dark beard that came out in the evening.He is a bit like an actor in the TV series "Spring in the Emergency Room".From that muscular body, it can be seen that he hits the gym several hours a week.He pushed his glasses, scratched the back of his neck, and stared at every corner of the wounded Salander's brain on the computer screen. Ellis loves life in Sweden.He first came here as an exchange scholar for two years in the late 1970s, and then came and went frequently, until one day the Karolinska Hospital in Stockholm offered him a permanent job.At that time, he was already famous internationally. Fourteen years ago, he and Jonathan met at a symposium in Stockholm and discovered that they were both fans of fly fishing.They kept in touch and went fishing in Norway and elsewhere, but never worked together. "I'm sorry for calling you like this, but..." "It's okay." Ellis waved his hand indifferently. "Only next time you go fishing you'll buy me a bottle of Cragmore." "Well, I'm happy to pay that price." "A few years ago, I had a patient in Boston—I wrote about the case in the New England Journal of Medicine. The girl was about the same age as your patient, and she was walking into a college campus when someone took a crossbow Shoot her, the arrow enters from the outer edge of the left eyebrow, directly penetrates her head, and exits near the center of the nape of the neck." "She's not dead?" "She came to the hospital as if she was fine. We cut the shaft of the arrow and scanned her head. The arrow went straight through her brain and by any measure she should have been dead, or at least comatose from the trauma. .” "How is she?" "She was conscious throughout. Of course she was terrified, but not irrational at all. Her only problem was an arrow in her skull." "What did you do in the end?" "As for me, I took the pliers, pulled out the arrow, and bandaged the wound. That's about it." "She survived and told what happened?" "She was clearly in serious condition, but the fact was she was able to go home the same day. I rarely see a healthier patient." Jonathan wondered if Ellis was playing tricks on him. "However," continued Ellis, "I also had a forty-two-year-old patient in Stockholm a few years ago who felt ill as soon as he hit his head on the window sill and called an ambulance to the emergency department. When I arrived, he was dead. Unresponsive. He had only a small lump and very slight bruises but never regained consciousness and died after nine days in ICU. To this day I do not know the cause of his death. The autopsy report says it was accidental It caused cerebral hemorrhage, but none of us are satisfied with such a judgment, because the amount of bleeding is minimal, and it is in a part that should not be affected. But his liver, kidney, heart, and lungs have lost their functions one by one. I am old The bigger it gets, the more it feels like playing Russian roulette. I don't think we'll ever learn how the brain really works." He tapped the screen with his pen, "What are you going to do?" "I wish you had told me." "Let me hear your diagnosis." "Well, first, it appears to be a small-caliber bullet that, after entering the temple, lodged in the brain about four centimeters deep, against the lateral ventricle. There was bleeding over there." "Where are you going to start?" "To paraphrase you, take the pliers and remove the bullet the way it came in." "Good idea. I'll use the thinnest pliers you have." "It's that simple?" "What else can I do? If you leave the bullet in, she may live to be a hundred years old, and it may be risky, and it may cause epilepsy, migraine, etc. The last thing I recommend is to do it in her head. Drill the hole to drain the blood, wait a year for the wound to heal before operating. The bullet is not near a major blood vessel, so I would suggest you clip it out... but..." "But what?" "I'm not too worried about the bullet. It's a good sign that she's still alive. It means that she can survive the process of taking out the bullet. The real problem is here." He pointed to the screen. "There are large and small bone fragments around the injection wound. I can see at least a dozen fragments several millimeters long, some of which are embedded in the brain tissue. If you are not careful, she may die." "Is that the part of the brain associated with numbers and math?" Jonathan asked. Ellis shrugged. "Nonsense. I don't know what these special gray cells are for. You just have to do your best. You do the surgery and I'll watch after you." Michael Blomkvist looked up at the clock. It was just past three in the morning.Because my hands were handcuffed, I felt more and more uncomfortable, so I closed my eyes for a while.He's exhausted, but he's fueled by adrenaline.He opened his eyes again and gave the policeman a hard look.Inspector Thomas Ballsson had a look of shock on his face.They were now sitting at a table in a white farmhouse called Gosseberga, not far from Nosserbrooke.Blomkvist had first heard of this place less than twelve hours ago. Regarding the tragedy that happened here, he did not deny it. "Idiot!" Blomkvist yelled. "Listen to me..." "Idiot!" Blomkvist swore again. "I'm warning you, he's really dangerous. I told you you had to treat him like a live grenade. He killed at least three people with his bare hands and was as big as a tank. And you thought he was a drunk on a weekend night. Han, just send a few country policemen to catch him!" Blomkvist closed his eyes again, wondering what might happen tonight. He found Salander just after midnight, saw she was seriously injured, and called the police and rescuers. The only thing that went well was that he convinced them to send a helicopter and take the girl to Sogenska Hospital.He described in detail how she had been wounded and shot in the head, and a smart guy on the rescue team understood. Even so, it took more than half an hour for the Cougar, dispatched by Sevey Helicopter Air Force, to arrive at the farmhouse.Blomkvist had already driven the two cars out of the barn and turned on their headlights to illuminate the landing area in the field in front of the house. The helicopter crew and two medical staff dealt with it in a professional manner and in accordance with established procedures.One of the paramedics was in charge of Salander, and another was in charge of Alexander Zarachenko, better known locally as Karl Axo Potting.Zarachenko is Salander's father and her natural enemy.He originally intended to kill her, but failed.When Blomkvist found him in the woodshed on the farm, he had a deep gash on his face - probably from an axe - and a badly wounded leg, though Blomkvist did not Bother to check. While waiting for the helicopter, he did what he could to save Salander.He took a clean sheet from the closet and cut it to make a bandage.The blood from the wound on her head had congealed, and he didn't know whether to wear a bandage, but in the end he just let the cloth loosely cover his head, mainly to prevent the wound from being exposed to bacteria or dust.However, he stopped the bleeding from the wound on her hip and shoulder in the simplest way.He found a roll of electrical tape in the house and used that to seal the wound.Medical staff said that in terms of their experience, this is a new dressing method.In addition, he used a wet towel to wipe the dust off Salander's face as much as possible. He didn't go back to the woodshed to take care of Zarachenko. To be honest, he didn't care about the man at all, but he still contacted Erika Baye, the editor-in-chief of "Millennium" magazine, and told her about the current situation. "Are you all right?" Erica asked him. "I'm fine." Blomkvist replied, "The real danger is Liz." "Poor kid," Erica said. "I read Bjork's report to the NSA tonight. What should I do?" "I don't have the energy to think about that right now," Blomkvist said.The matter of the secret police had to wait until the next day. He sat on the floor next to the bench and kept an eye on Salander while he talked to Erica.He had taken off her shoes and trousers to bandage the wound on her buttocks earlier, when his hand accidentally touched the pocket of the trousers that had been thrown by the bench, and there seemed to be something inside.Take it out and see that it is a Palm T3 handheld computer. He frowned and stared intently at the handheld computer for a long time, until he heard the helicopter approaching, he quickly stuffed it into the inner pocket of his jacket, and then searched all of Salander's pockets.He also found a set of keys to Moselback's apartment and an Irene Neisser passport, which he also quickly put in the outside pocket of his laptop bag. Minutes after the helicopter landed, Tortensen and Ingmarsen of the Trullhattan Police Department arrived in the first patrol car, followed by Inspector Paulsson, who was also in immediate control.Blomkvist began to explain the ins and outs to him, but it soon became apparent that Ballsson was a pompous, rigid instructor-type figure.Blomkvist talked for a long time, but Paulsson didn't seem to listen to a word. It wasn't until he arrived that things really went wrong. He seemed to understand only one thing: the seriously injured girl lying on the floor next to the kitchen bench and being cared for by the medical staff was Salander, the triple murder suspect.And most importantly he had to arrest someone.Regardless of the busyness of the medical staff, Paulsson asked three times if he could arrest the girl immediately, and finally forced the medical staff to stand up and shout, telling the damned Paulsson not to interfere with the rescue. Only then did Paulsson turn his attention to the wounded man in the woodshed, and Blomkvist heard him radio that Salander was apparently trying to kill again. At this time, Blomkvist was extremely angry that Paulsson ignored his words. He couldn't help but yelled at him to call Inspector Boblanski in Stockholm immediately. He even took out his mobile phone and offered to Called for him, but Paulsson didn't care. Blomkvist then made two mistakes. First, he patiently but firmly explained that the Stockholm murderer was Ronald Needleman, a man as big as a heavily armed robot and suffering from a condition called congenital analgesia, who was sitting in the Go to the ditch off the Northbrook Highway and be tied under a traffic sign.Blomkvist gave Paulsson the exact location of Niedermann and urged that a squad armed with automatic weapons be dispatched to arrest him.Paulsson finally asked Niederman how he got into the ditch, and Blomkvist admitted without thinking that he had kept his gun pointed at him, and finally trapped him there. "Assault with a deadly weapon." This was Paulson's first reaction. At this point, Blomkvist should have discovered that Paulsson was dangerously stupid, he should have called Boblanski himself to ask him to come forward and explain a little, Paulsson was clearly in the fog.Instead of doing so, he made a second mistake: he voluntarily handed over the weapon in his jacket pocket, the Kurt 19 he had found in Salander's apartment in Stockholm earlier that day. - Government pistols.This was the weapon he used to subdue Niederman—the process of subduing that giant was not easy. Balson took a look, and soon arrested Blomkvist for possessing illegal weapons, and then ordered two police officers, Tortensen and Ingmarsen, to drive to the Northbrook Highway to verify Blomkvist's Whether the words are true, see if there is a man tied up under the "Beware of Elk" sign in the ditch beside the road.If it's true, handcuff the man and bring him to Gosseberga Farm. Blomkvist immediately objected, pointing out that Niedermann is not someone who can be easily arrested with handcuffs: "He is a murderer, for God's sake!" Ignore it, the exhaustion accumulated for a day finally made him unable to bear to call Paulson an incompetent idiot, and shouted that Tortensen and Ingmarson should ask for support first, otherwise they must not give the fucking Ned Man untied.After the outburst, he was handcuffed and put in the back of Paulson's police car, only to curse while watching Tottensen and Ingmarsen drive off in the patrol car.The only glimmer of light seen in the darkness was that Salander was being lifted into the helicopter, disappeared over the treetops, and flew towards Gothenburg.Blomkvist felt helpless and could only hope for the best for her.This is what she needs, or she will die. Jonathan made two deep cuts down to the skull, then parted the skin surrounding the wound.He clamped the opening, and an operating room nurse inserted a suction tube to drain the blood.Then came the tricky part. He had to use a drill to enlarge the hole in the skull, and the process was extremely slow. Finally he drilled a hole big enough to get into Salander's brain.He carefully inserted the probe into the brain, widening the path of the wound by a few millimeters, and then inserted a thinner probe to confirm the location of the bullet.From the X-ray film, it can be seen that the bullet has turned and made a forty-five-degree angle with the path of injection.He cautiously used the probe to pry the edge of the bullet, and after a few failed attempts he finally lifted it slightly enough to turn in the right direction. Finally, he reached into the narrow serrated pliers and clamped the bottom of the bullet. After firmly clamping it, he pulled out the pliers directly, and the bullet came out almost without hindrance.He held the bullet up to the light and looked at it for a few seconds, and found that it seemed to be intact, so he threw it into the bowl. "Cotton swabs." The nurse immediately carried out his request. He glanced at the electrocardiogram, and the patient's heartbeat was still regular. "pliers." He pulled down the high-power magnifying glass on the top of his head and aimed at the exposed part. "Be careful," Ellis reminded. Over the next forty-five minutes, Jonathan picked out no fewer than thirty-two small bone fragments from around the injection wound, the smallest of which were barely visible to the naked eye. Blomkvist tried every means to get his phone out of his jacket breast pocket—an impossible task because his hands were handcuffed behind his back, and he wouldn't know how to use it if he did.During this period, several vehicles with police officers and technicians arrived at Gosseberga Farm.Balsson assigned them to safeguard the forensic evidence in the woodshed and to search the farmhouse thoroughly—from which some weapons had been seized before.At this moment, Blomkvist knew that he couldn't help at all, so he resigned himself to his fate and sat in the Balson police car, taking advantage of the favorable location to watch other people coming and going. An hour later, Paulsson suddenly remembered that Tortensen and Ingmarsen, who had been ordered to bring Niedermann back, hadn't returned yet, so he ordered Blomkvist to be brought to the kitchen and asked him to detail the location again. Blomkvist closed his eyes. He was still in the kitchen with Paulsson when the armed response team sent to replace Tortensen and Ingmarson returned.They found Ingmarson dead with a broken neck and Tottenson alive but beaten.They were found near a "Beware of Elk" sign on the side of the road, and the police guns and police cars were gone. The situation that Paulsson faced at the beginning was still under control, but now a police officer is dead, and a murderer with a gun is still at large. "Idiot!" Blomkvist cursed again. "Insulting the police won't help." "That's true, but I'm going to report you for negligence, you just wait and see. You'll be boarded all over the country as the dumbest policeman in Sweden before I settle the score with you. news billboard." Thinking that he would become a public laughingstock, Inspector Paulsson finally reacted, showing concern. "What do you suggest?" "Not a suggestion, but an urging that you call Inspector Boblanski in Stockholm. Call now. I have his number in my breast pocket cell phone." Inspector Modi was awakened by the ringing of the mobile phone on the other side of the bedroom, and found out that it was only four o'clock in the morning, and he couldn't help being shocked.She looked at her husband, he was still snoring peacefully, even if the flames of war raged, they might not be able to wake him up.She staggered out of bed, removed the phone from the charger, and fumbled to press the call button. Jan Boblanski, she thought, who else? "Truerhättan is already in a mess." Her boss didn't waste time greeting or apologizing, and said straight to the point: "The X2000 train to Gothenburg leaves at 5:10, take a taxi." "What happened?" "Blomkvist found Salander, Niedermann, and Zarachenko, but they were arrested for insulting the police, resisting arrest, and possessing illegal weapons. Salander was shot in the head and sent to So Gernska Zarachenko was there too, with an ax on the head. Niedermann fled and killed a policeman tonight." Maud blinked, realizing at the same time how tired he was.She really wanted to crawl back into bed and take a month off. "5:10 x 2000 train, got it. What do you want me to do?" "Meet Jelke Holmberg at Central Station. You're going to the Trulhättan Police Station and find an Inspector Thomas Ballsson. He seems to be responsible for most of the situation tonight. Bronwe Sturt said he was an Olympic-level chump." "Have you spoken to Blomkvist?" "He appears to be arrested and handcuffed. I had a hard time convincing Paulsson to speak to him. I'm going to Headquarters now, and I'll try to understand the situation. Cell phone to keep in touch." Maud looked at the time again.After hailing a taxi, I headed to the bathroom to take a shower, brush my teeth, brush my hair, and put on black trousers, a black T-shirt, and a gray jacket.She put the police gun in her shoulder bag and picked out a dark red leather jacket.Then shake the husband to a certain level of sobriety, explain to him where I am going, and he will be responsible for taking care of the children after dawn.When she walked out the gate, the taxi had just arrived at the gate. She didn't have to look for her colleague Holmber.She figured he was in the dining car, and she found him there, buying her coffee and a sandwich.They sat in silence for five minutes, eating breakfast to themselves.Finally Holmber pushed the coffee cup aside. "Maybe I should switch fields and get a little bit of other training," he said. It was just after four o'clock in the morning when Inspector Max Erlander of the Violent Crime Unit of the Gothenburg Police came to Gosseberga to take over the investigation from the overburdened Paulsson.Erlander is short, slightly fat, in his fifties, with gray hair.The first thing he did was uncuff Blomkvist, hand him a roll, and pour him coffee from a thermos.They sat in the living room and talked secretly. "I talked to Boblanski," Erlander said. "Bubble and I have known each other for years, and we're both sorry that Paulsson treated you so childishly." "He got a policeman killed tonight," Blomkvist said. Erlander said: "I personally know Constable Ingmarsen. He served in Gothenburg before he transferred to Truerhättan, and he has a three-year-old daughter at home." "I regret that I tried to warn him." "I heard. You seem to be very tough, that's why you were handcuffed. You broke the Wennerstrom incident last year. Bob Lanski said you were a shameless bastard reporter and a crazy private Detective, but you should know exactly what you're talking about. Could you explain it to me first, so I can understand the whole situation?" "What happened tonight is actually the culmination of two murders, the first involving two friends of mine in Anskied, Dag Svensson and Mia Johansson, and the other murder and I don't know... a lawyer named Bierman, who is also Salander's guardian." Erlander took notes, occasionally stopping for a sip of coffee. "You must know that the police have been looking for Salander since Easter. She is a suspect in these three murders. First of all, you have to understand that not only did she not commit these murders, but she was responsible for the whole thing from beginning to end." They're all victims." "I have nothing to do with the Anskeed case, but judging from the relevant media reports, it's really hard to believe that Salander is 100% innocent." "But that's what it is. She's innocent, it's that simple. The murderer was Niedermann, the same guy who killed the policeman tonight. He's one of Pottin's men." "You mean the one with the ax in the head, the Potin who's at the Sogenska Hospital now?" "The ax is no longer on his head. I guess it was Salander who cut him. His real name is Alexander Zarachenko, and he is Salander's father. He was a professional assassin of the Russian Military Intelligence. He defected during the decade, was absorbed by the Swedish Security Service until the fall of the Soviet Union, and has been running his own criminal organization ever since." Erland looked at the man in front of him.His face was glistening with sweat, but he looked frozen and worn out.So far, his words seem to make sense, although Paulsson - whose opinion has little influence on Erlander - has warned him that Blomkvist is full of nonsense about Russian spies and German hitmen. , it is not uncommon to see such people in Swedish police service.Blomkvist's story was clearly far-fetched to such an extent that Paulsson decided to ignore all of his claims.But a policeman had died, and another had been badly wounded on the Northbrook Highway, so Erland was willing to listen.But there was still a trace of suspicion in his voice. "Okay, Russian agent." Blomkvist smiled feebly, knowing that his story sounded weird. "It's a former Russian spy. I can prove everything I say." "Go on." "Zarachenko was a top spy in the seventies, and the NSA gave him asylum after he defected. He became a gangster as he got older. As far as I know, after the fall of the Soviet Union, this was not the case." "it is good." "As I said, I don't know exactly what happened tonight. Anyway, Salander tracked down her father whom she hadn't seen for fifteen years. Zarachenko beat her mother so viciously that she was hospitalized for most of her life. He also tried to kill Salander, and planned the murder of Dag and Mia with the help of Niederman. In addition, Salander's friend Miriam Wu was kidnapped, and he was also behind the scenes. You should have heard that Paul Roberto was in Nick Miriam narrowly escaped death in that Wynne boxing match." "If Salander hit her father with an axe, she wouldn't be really innocent." "She was shot three times, and I think she acted in self-defense. I'm thinking..." "what?" "She was covered in dust and mud, her hair was like a large dry clod, and her clothes were covered with sand. She may have been buried alive at night. Niederman obviously has the habit of burying people alive. Two burial holes were found on land belonging to the Sulfur Lake Motorcycle Club outside of Nick Vine." "Actually, there were three, and one was found last night. But if Salander was shot and buried alive, how could she crawl out and swing around with an ax?" "No matter what happens here tonight, you have to understand that Salander has extraordinary resilience. I have been trying to persuade Paulson to send a police dog team..." "They've already set off." "That's good." "Bolsson arrested you for abusing the police..." “这点我要抗议，我只说他是白痴和无能的笨蛋，就眼下的情况看来，这两个称号都不算离谱。” “嗯，的确不是完全不正确。不过你还持有非法武器。” “我不该主动将武器交给他。关于这点我得先和律师谈谈，现在不想多说。” “好吧，那件事先到此为止，我们还有更重要的事要讨论。你对那个尼德曼了解多少？” “他是个杀人犯，而且有点不对劲。他身高两米多，壮得像坦克，你去问问和他打过拳的罗贝多就知道了。他患有一种名为先天性痛觉缺失的病，也就是说他神经突触内的传导物质运作失常，所以没有痛觉。他是德国人，在汉堡出生，十几岁加入平头族帮派。如今他逃亡在外，可能对任何人造成严重威胁。” “你知道他可能去哪里吗？” “不知道，我只知道我把他绑得牢牢的，要逮捕他易如反掌，偏偏被特鲁尔海坦那个笨蛋给搞砸了。” 约纳森脱下沾血的橡胶手套，丢进回收桶。一名手术房护士正在包扎莎兰德的臀部伤口。手术进行了三个小时。他看着女孩受伤、剃了头发，目前已缠上绷带的头。 一份柔情油然而生——他对手术后的病人经常产生这种情愫。据报纸报道，她是个病态杀人狂，但在他眼中，她更像一只受伤的麻雀。 “你是个出色的外科医生。”埃利斯开心地看着他说。 “我请你吃早餐好吗？” “这里吃得到煎饼加果酱吗？” “有松饼。”约纳森说：“在我家。我先打电话回家通知老婆一声，我们再去搭出租车。”他停顿了一下，看看时钟。“我想还是不要打电话比较好。” 安妮卡·贾尼尼忽然惊醒，看看时间是清晨五点五十八分……八点约了第一个当事人开会。她转头一看，安利科还睡得很熟，八点以前恐怕不会醒。她用力眨了几下眼睛，下床按下咖啡壶之后才去冲澡，然后穿上黑色长裤、白色高领衫和暗红色夹克。她用两片吐司夹干酪、橙酱和一片鳄梨做成三明治当早餐，拿着到客厅吃，刚好来得及看六点半的新闻。她喝了一口咖啡，正张嘴要咬三明治时，听到了头条新闻。 一名警员被杀，另一名受重伤。昨晚发生的惨剧，三尸命案嫌犯莉丝·莎兰德终于落网。 起初她完全听不懂。是莎兰德杀了一名警察？新闻内容并不完整，但她逐渐拼凑出警方正在追捕一名涉嫌杀人的男子。已经通令全国留意一名三十多岁的男子，但并未公布姓名。莎兰德本身受伤严重，正在哥德堡的索格恩斯卡医院接受治疗。 安妮卡转到其他频道，仍无法进一步了解情况，便拿起手机拨给哥哥布隆维斯特，却直接转到语音信箱。她内心闪过一丝恐惧。哥哥前往哥德堡时打了电话给她，说他正在追踪莎兰德和一个名叫尼德曼的杀人犯。 当天色渐亮，一个敏锐的警员在柴房后面的地上发现血迹。警犬追踪血迹来到农舍东北方约四百码处一个林间空地，空地上挖了一道窄沟。 布隆维斯特与埃兰德巡官一同前去，两人神情严肃地检视现场。沟内与四周显然留下更多血迹。 他们发现一个变形的烟盒，似乎曾被拿来当勺子用。埃兰德将烟盒放进证物袋，贴上标签，另外也给沾血的土块采样。一名穿着制服的警察前来报告，在坑洞不远处有一根烟蒂，是没有滤嘴的宝马烟。这也同样放进证物袋，贴上标签封存。布隆维斯特记得曾在札拉千科家厨房的长台面上看到一包宝马香烟。 埃兰德抬头瞄了一眼阴霾的乌云。当晚稍早蹂躏过哥德堡的暴风雨，显然已移向诺瑟布鲁地区以南，下雨只是迟早的事。他指示一名下属去找防水布，将坑洞与邻近四周全盖起来。 “我想你猜得没错。”走回农舍时，埃兰德对布隆维斯特说：“血液分析结果应该能证明莎兰德曾被埋在这里，我开始觉得那个香烟盒上应该有她的指纹。她被枪杀后埋在此地，却不知为何竟能存活逃生，还能……” “还能回到农场拿斧头劈札拉千科的头。”布隆维斯特替他把话说完：“她可真是喜怒无常的坏脾气。” “但她到底怎么应付尼德曼的？” 布隆维斯特耸耸肩。关于这点，他也和埃兰德一样困惑。