I have a source who provides me with some info on what's going on--bronze

In fact I had a third copy that I was going to give to Armansky. I made several copies of that one and have tucked them away in safe places. Our opponents - who include several high-powered figures and certain psychiatrists - are of course also preparing for the trial together with Prosecutor Ekstram. I have a source who provides me with some info. on what's going on, but I suspect that you might have a better chance of finding out the relevant information. This is urgent. The prosecutor is going to try to get you locked up in the psychiatric ward.
Assisting him he has your old friend Peter Teleborian. Annika won't be able to go out and do a media campaign in the same way that the prosecution, leaking information as they see fit. Her hands are tied. But I'm not lumbered with that sort of restriction. I write whatever I want - and I also have an entire magazine at my disposal. Two important details are still needed:First of all, I want to have something that shows that Prosecutor Ekstram is today working with Teleborian in some inappropriate manner, and that the objective once more is to confine you to a nuthouse. I want to be able to go on any talk show on T.V. and present documentation that annihilates the prosecution's game.To wage a media war I must be able to appear in public to discuss things that you may consider your private business. Hiding behind the arras in this situation is a wildly overrated tactic in view of all that has been written about you since Easter. I have to be able to construct a completely new media image of you, even if that, in your opinion, means invading your privacy - preferably with your approval. Do you understand what I meana She opened the archive in [Idiotic_Table]. It contained twenty-six documents.
Wednesday, 18.v Figuerola got up at 5.00 on Wednesday morning and went for an unusually short run before she showered and dressed in black jeans, a white top, and a lightweight grey linen jacket. She made coffee and poured it into a thermos and then made sandwiches. She also strapped on a shoulder holster and took her Sig Sauer from the gun cabinet. Just after 6.00 she drove her white Saab 9-5 to Vittangigatan in Vallingby. Martensson's apartment was on the top floor of a three-storey building in the suburbs. The day before, she had assembled everything that could be found out about him in the public archives. He was unmarried, but that did not mean that he might not be living with someone. He had no black marks in police records, no great fortune, and did not seem to lead a fast life. He very seldom called in sick.

Who is involved And very specifically--bronze statue

"Then I'll have to start by thanking you for coming to me with this matter as soon as you did. I don't usually agree to this sort of unscheduled meeting, but the minister here said that you were a prudent person, and that something serious must have happened if you wanted to see me outside all normal channels." Edklinth exhaled a little. Whatever happened, the wrath of the Prime Minister was not going to come down on him. "Now we just have to decide how we're going to handle it. Do you have any suggestions?" "Perhaps," Edklinth said tentatively. He was silent for so long that Figuerola cleared her throat. "May I say something?"
"Please do," the P.M. said. "If it's true that the government doesn't know about this operation, then it's illegal. The person responsible in such a case is the criminal civil servant - or civil servants - who overstepped his authority. If we can verify all the claims Blomkvist is making, it means that a group of officers within S.I.S. have been devoting themselves to criminal activity for a long time. The problem would then unfold in two parts."
"How do you mean?" "First we have to ask the question: how could this have been possible? Who is responsible? How did such a conspiracy develop within the framework of an established police organization? I myself work for S.I.S., and I'm proud of it. How can this have gone on for so long? How could this activity have been both concealed and financed?" "Go on," the P.M. said. "Whole books will probably be written about this first part. It's clear that there must have been financing, at least several million kronor annually I'd say. I looked over the budget of the Security Police and found nothing resembling an allocation for the Zalachenko club. But, as you know, there are a number of hidden funds controlled by the chief of Secretariat and chief of Budget that I have no access to."
The Prime Minister nodded grimly. Why did Spo always have to be such a nightmare to administer? "The second part is: who is involved And very specifically, which individuals should be arrested? From my standpoint, all these questions depend on the decision you make in the next few minutes," she said to the P.M. Edklinth was holding his breath. If he could have kicked Figuerola in the shin he would have done so. She had cut through all the rhetoric and intimated that the Prime Minister himself was responsible. He had considered coming to the same conclusion, but not before a long and diplomatic circumlocution. "What decision do you think I should make?"
"I believe we have common interests. I've worked at Constitutional Protection for three years. I consider this office of central importance to Swedish democracy. The Security Police has worked satisfactorily within the framework of the constitution in recent years. Naturally I don't want the scandal to affect S.I.S. For us it's important to bear in mind that this is a case of criminal activity perpetrated by a small number of individuals."

The Scottish King made a jest of his scruples--bronze statue

 King James the Fourth of Scotland, who was no friend to King Henry, and had no reason to be (for King Henry had bribed his Scotch lords to betray him more than once; but had never succeeded in his plots), gave him a great reception, called him his cousin, and gave him in marriage the Lady Catherine Gordon, a beautiful and charming creature related to the royal house of Stuart.
Alarmed by this successful reappearance of the Pretender, the King still undermined, and bought, and bribed, and kept his doings and Perkin Warbeck's story in the dark, when he might, one would imagine, have rendered the matter clear to all England. But, for all this bribing of the Scotch lords at the Scotch King's Court, he could not procure the Pretender to be delivered up to him. James, though not very particular in many respects, would not betray him; and the ever-busy Duchess of Burgundy so provided him with arms, and good soldiers, and with money besides, that he had soon a little army of fifteen hundred men of various nations. With these, and aided by the Scottish King in person, he crossed the border into England, and made a proclamation to the people, in which he called the King 'Henry Tudor;' offered large rewards to any who should take or distress him; and announced himself as King Richard the Fourth come to receive the homage of his faithful subjects. His faithful subjects, however, cared nothing for him, and hated his faithful troops: who, being of different nations, quarrelled also among themselves. Worse than this, if worse were possible, they began to plunder the country; upon which the White Rose said, that he would rather lose his rights, than gain them through the miseries of the English people. The Scottish King made a jest of his scruples; but they and their whole force went back again without fighting a battle.
The worst consequence of this attempt was, that a rising took place among the people of Cornwall, who considered themselves too heavily taxed to meet the charges of the expected war. Stimulated by Flammock, a lawyer, and Joseph, a blacksmith, and joined by Lord Audley and some other country gentlemen, they marched on all the way to Deptford Bridge, where they fought a battle with the King's army. They were defeated - though the Cornish men fought with great bravery - and the lord was beheaded, and the lawyer and the blacksmith were hanged, drawn, and quartered. The rest were pardoned. The King, who believed every man to be as avaricious as himself, and thought that money could settle anything, allowed them to make bargains for their liberty with the soldiers who had taken them.
Perkin Warbeck, doomed to wander up and down, and never to find rest anywhere - a sad fate: almost a sufficient punishment for an imposture, which he seems in time to have half believed himself - lost his Scottish refuge through a truce being made between the two Kings; and found himself, once more, without a country before him in which he could lay his head.

He wanted to know what was behind that--china bronze sculpture

It was now only a question of the exact proportions in which you had to join them. To find that out, he, Baldini, would have to run experiments for several days, a horrible task, almost worse than the basic identification of the parts, for it meant you had to measure and weigh and record and all the while pay damn close attention, because the least bit of inattention-a tremble of the pipette, a mistake in counting drops-could ruin the whole thing. And every botched attempt was dreadfully expensive. Every ruined mixture was worth a small fortune....
He wanted to test this mannikin, wanted to ask him about the exact formula for Amor and Psyche. If he knew it, to the drop and dram, then he was obviously an impostor who had somehow pinched the recipe from Pelissier in order to gain access and get a position with him, Baldini. But if he came close, then he was a genius of scent and as such provoked Baldini's professional interest. Not that Baldini would jeopardize his firm decision to give up his business! This perfume by Pelissier was itself not the important thing to him. Even if the fellow could deliver it to him by the gallon, Baldini would not dream of scenting Count Verhamont's Spanish hides with it, but... But he had not been a perfumer his life long, had not concerned himself his life long with the blending of scents, to have lost all professional passions from oae moment to the next. Right now he was interested in finding out the formula for this damned perfume, and beyond that, in studying the gifts of this mysterious boy, who had parsed a scent right off his forehead. He wanted to know what was behind that. He was quite simply curious.
"You have, it appears, a fine nose, young man," he said, once Grenouille had ceased his wheezings; and he stepped back into the workshop, carefully setting the candlestick on the worktable, "without doubt, a fine nose, but..."
"I have the best nose in Paris, Maitre Baldini," Grenouille interrupted with a rasp. "I know all the odors in the world, all of them, only I don't know the names of some of them, but I can learn the names. The odors that have names, there aren't many of those, there are only a few thousand. I'll learn them all, I'll never forget the name of that balm, storax, the balm is called storax, it's called storax..."
"Silence!" shouted Baldini. "Do not interrupt me when I'm speaking! You are impertinent and insolent. No one knows a thousand odors by name. Even I don't know a thousand of them by name, at best a few hundred, for there aren't more than a few hundred in our business, all the rest aren't odors, they are simply stenches."

In the heat it pricks like crazy and they all go mad and fight like hell--bronze

And Farooq, 'You think there'll be war?' Ayooba snorts. 'What else? How not a war? Hasn't Bhutto sahib promised every peasant one acre of land? So where it'll come from? For so much soil, we must conquer Punjab and Bengal! Just wait only; after the election, when People's Party has won - then Ka-pow! Ka-blooey!'
Farooq is troubled: 'Those Indians have Sikh troops, man. With so-long beards and hair, in the heat it pricks like crazy and they all go mad and fight like hell ...!'
Ayooba gurgles with amusement. 'Vegetarians, I swear, yaar ... how are they going to beat beefy types like us?' But Farooq is long and stringy.
Shaheed Dar whispers, 'But what did he mean: man-dog?' ... Morning. In a hut with a blackboard, Brigadier Iskandar polishes knuckles on lapels while one Sgt-Mjr Najmuddin briefs new recruits. Question-and-answer format; Najmuddin provides both queries and replies. No interruptions are to be tolerated. While above the blackboard the garlanded portraits of President Yahya and Mutasim the Martyr stare sternly down. And through the (closed) windows, the persistent barking of dogs... Najmuddin's inquiries and responses are also barked. What are you here for? - Training. In what field? - Pursuit-and-capture. How will you work? - In canine units of three persons and one dog. What unusual features? - Absence of officer personnel, necessity of taking own decisions, concomitant requirement for high Islamic sense of self-discipline and responsibility.
Purpose of units? - To root out undesirable elements. Nature of such elements? - Sneaky, well-disguised, could-be-anyone. Known intentions of same? - To be abhorred: destruction of family life, murder of God, expropriation of landowners, abolition of film-censorship. To what ends? - Annihilation of the State, anarchy, foreign domination. Accentuating causes of concern? - Forthcoming elections; and subsequently, civilian rule. (Political prisoners have been are being freed. All types of hooligans are abroad.) Precise duties of units? -To obey unquestioningly; to seek unflaggingly; to arrest remorselessly.
Mode of procedure? - Covert; efficient; quick. Legal basis of such detentions? - Defence of Pakistan Rules, permitting the pick-up of undesirables, who may be held incommunicado for a period of six months. Footnote: a renewable period of six months. Any questions? - No. Good. You are CUTIA Unit 22. She-dog badges will be sewn to lapels. The acronym CUTIA, of course, means bitch.
And the man-dog?

I should have bought myself a son and hired a nurse--china bronze sculpture statue

After that, on the first of every month, my father and Mr Catrack and many of the city's most respectable men queued up outside Dr Sharabi's mottled-glass surgery door, went in, and emerged with the little pink chitties of alcoholism. But the permitted ration was too small for my father's needs; and so he began to send his servants along, too, and gardeners, bearers, drivers (we had a motor-car now, a 1946 Rover with running-boards, just like William Methwold's), even old Musa and Mary Pereira, brought my father back more and more pink chitties, which he took to Vijay Stores opposite the circumcising barbershop .in Gowalia Tank Road and exchanged for the brown paper bags of alcoholism, inside which were the chinking green bottles, full of djinn. And whisky, too: Ahmed Sinai blurred the edges of himself by drinking the green bottles and red labels of his servants. The poor, having little else to peddle, sold their identities on little pieces of pink paper; and my father turned them into liquid and drank them down.
At six o'clock every evening, Ahmed Sinai entered the world of the djinns; and every morning, his eyes red, his head throbbing with the fatigue of his night-long battle, he came unshaven to the breakfast table; and with the passage of the years, the good mood of the time before he shaved was replaced by the irritable exhaustion of his war with the bottled spirits.
After breakfast, he went downstairs. He had set aside two rooms on the ground floor for his office, because his sense of direction was as bad as ever, and he didn't relish the notion of getting lost in Bombay on the way to work; even he could find his way down a flight of stairs. Blurred at the edges, my father did his property deals; and his growing anger at my mother's preoccupation with her child found a new outlet behind his office door - Ahmed Sinai began to flirt with his secretaries.
After nights in which his quarrel with bottles would sometimes erupt in harsh language - 'What a wife I found! I should have bought myself a son and hired a nurse - what difference?" And then tears, and Amina, 'Oh, janum - don't torture me!' which, in turn, provoked, 'Torture my foot! You think it's torture for a man to ask his wife for attention? God save me from stupid women!' - my father limped downstairs to make googly eyes at Colaba girls. And after a while Amina began to notice how his secretaries never lasted long, how they left suddenly, flouncing down our drive without any notice; and you must judge whether she chose to be blind, or whether she took it as a punishment, but she did nothing about it, continuing to devote her time to me; her only act of recognition was to give the girls a collective name. 'Those Anglos,' she said to Mary, revealing a touch of snobbery, 'with their funny names, Fernanda and Alonso and all, and surnames, my God! Sulaca and Colaco and I don't know what. What should I care about them? Cheap type females. I call them all his Coca-Cola girls - that's what they all sound like.'

Nor did Jamie limit her good deeds to people--china bronze sculpture statue

 Not only did she go to vacation Bible school every August, but she would read the Bible during lunch break at school. In my mind that just wasn't normal, even if she was the minister's daughter. No matter how you sliced it, reading Paul's letters to the Ephesians wasn't nearly as much fun as flirting, if you know what I mean.
But Jamie didn't stop there. Because of all her Bible reading, or maybe because of Hegbert's influence, Jamie believed it was important to help others, and helping others is exactly what she did. I knew she volunteered at the orphanage in Morehead City, but for her that simply wasn't enough. She was always in charge of one fund-raiser or another, helping everyone from the Boy Scouts to the Indian Princesses, and I know that when she was fourteen, she spent part of her summer painting the outside of an elderly neighbor's house. Jamie was the kind of girl who would pull weeds in someone's garden without being asked or stop traffic to help little kids cross the road.
She'd save her allowance to buy a new basketball for the orphans, or she'd turn around and drop the money into the church basket on Sunday. She was, in other words, the kind of girl who made the rest of us look bad, and whenever she glanced my way, I couldn't help but feel guilty, even though I hadn't done anything wrong.
Nor did Jamie limit her good deeds to people. If she ever came across a wounded animal, for instance, she'd try to help it, too. Opossums, squirrels, dogs, cats, frogs . . . it didn't matter to her. Dr. Rawlings, the vet, knew her by sight, and he'd shake his head whenever he saw her walking up to the door carrying a cardboard box with yet another critter inside. He'd take off his eyeglasses and wipe them with his handkerchief while Jamie explained how she'd found the poor creature and what had happened to it. "He was hit by a car, Dr. Rawlings. I think it was in the Lord's plan to have me find him and try to save him. You'll help me, won't you?" With Jamie, everything was in the Lord's plan.
That was another thing. She always mentioned the Lord's plan whenever you talked to her, no matter what the subject.  The baseball game's rained out? Must be the Lord's plan to prevent something worse from happening.
A surprise trigonometry quiz that everyone in class fails?  Must be in the Lord's plan to give us challenges. Anyway, you get the picture.  Then, of course, there was the whole Hegbert situation, and this didn't help her at all. Being the minister's daughter couldn't have been easy, but she made it seem as if it were the most natural thing in the world and that she was lucky to have been blessed in that way.