A Death in Sweden(14)

Of course, he didn’t know what Fillon had been running from, or what kind of person he’d been. Maybe he’d been one of life’s natural loners, maybe he’d been a keen hunter or birdwatcher, or had possessed some other interest to explain the move. Or maybe he’d just been afraid enough to put up with it.

There was a woman waiting for Dan as he left the plane. She was in casual clothes, pretty and fair, a sporty leanness about her, almost too Scandinavian. He’d hoped she was there to meet him as soon as he’d spotted her, and it felt like a lucky break when she met his gaze and smiled, saying, “Welcome to Lule?, Mr. Hendricks.”

She knew his name, which felt like it mattered somehow, and he stepped aside from the other exiting passengers and said, “Thanks, and call me Dan.”

She shook his hand, saying, “Inger Bengtsson, from the Security Service. I know Patrick White quite well. Please, follow me.”

They started walking. She had the sing-song voice that he was used to from Swedes speaking English, but also a brusque matter-of-fact quality that he liked.

“Are you based here, Inger?”

“No, I flew up from Stockholm, on an earlier flight.”

“I thought you had an office in Ume?, covering the north.”

“We do.” She smiled, making clear she didn’t see a need to explain herself. He liked her more for that.

Once outside, she pointed to a uniformed policeman standing next to a patrol car and as they reached him, she said, “This is Per Forsberg, from the local police—he drove down to collect us. This is Dan.”

Dan couldn’t help smiling to himself as he shook hands with the policeman, because she’d introduced him as Dan, not David Porter. That’s what he got for relying on Patrick White to arrange his alias.

Per put Dan’s case in the car next to Inger’s and they drove out of the airport.

Dan and Inger were sitting in the back and as he looked out of the window he said, “Is it far?”

“I think about forty-five minutes, maybe a little more—I’ve never been there before now.” He began to wonder if her brusqueness might not be as friendly as he’d first imagined, fearing perhaps that she and her colleagues even resented whatever pressure Patrick had brought to bear in order to have them babysit Dan on this trip. But she gave a smile now and said, “What about you? I guess you must have been to Sweden before, but have you ever been this far north?”

“Actually, this is my first time in Sweden.”

He studied her reaction, trying to judge whether or not she knew he was lying, but she only smiled warmly and said, “It’s your loss.”

“I’m sure. And I should have come here before. I think my dad’s great-grandfather was Swedish.”

“I didn’t know that. Your dad’s American?”

“Was.”

“Of course, sorry. And you’re a dual national, US and UK.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

She wasn’t interested in playing games, though, and seemed genuinely curious as she said, “Which do you feel most, American or English?”

“Oh, equal parts of neither. I’ve never really lived in either country for very long, spent my childhood in Bermuda, Switzerland, Hong Kong, attended international schools. I don’t belong anywhere in particular.”

She nodded, looking intrigued by his description, then said, “Maybe this man we’re going to investigate, maybe he was the same. It seems he lived here a long time and no one missed him. Even now, no one wants to claim him.”

Dan hadn’t thought of that. The guy’s body was lying in a morgue, probably destined for a final resting place even more unmarked and unloved than his own would be one day.

But now Per tuned into the conversation, looking in the rearview as he said, “The people from the village want to bury him, if no one else claims the body. He saved that girl’s life.”

Dan nodded, once again reassessing their comparative places in the world. Whatever Jacques Fillon’s life had been like, he’d at least ended it with something good, a selfless act of heroism. From the report he’d read, the guy might have saved himself if he’d invested the same amount of effort, the same swift response. But he’d reached out to the nearest person and saved her instead.

They drove through R?ne?, a pretty little town lined with birch trees that caught the sunlight and gave the place a feel of spring rather than October.

“What a beautiful place.” Even as he said it though, he could imagine how younger people dreamed only of leaving it, and how easily he would go insane there, his own nomadic history leaving him incapable of ever being part of this kind of community.

As if hearing his thoughts, Inger said, “Yes, it’s quiet. There are no suitable hotels here and the village has nothing, but someone has provided us with a guest cabin they use in the summer for tourists. It should be fine for a couple of days and we can walk from there to the victim’s house, so we don’t need Per the whole time.”

Dan nodded, his mind jumping forward, imagining a couple of days in a cabin with Inger. Briefly, those thoughts were fanciful, noticing her slender frame and small breasts beneath her lambswool sweater, a ballet dancer’s physique.

It was fleeting, before the more practical reality hit home. It was possible they would be there for a couple of nights and he couldn’t imagine there would be much in the way of entertainment. He was used to shacking up in all kinds of places but rubbing along with another person was a different story. She seemed pleasant enough, but he could easily imagine them running out of things to say within an hour or so.