A Death in Sweden(16)

“Okay, thanks.” For want of something else to say, he added, “I’ll take a look at it later.”

What he was actually thinking as they climbed into the car and drove back onto the road was that this had been a half-life lived here, a half-life curtailed by that bus crash.

Yes, the man who hadn’t been Jacques Fillon had come here for a reason, escaped for a reason, was a person of interest to the CIA for any number of reasons, but this, the last twelve years, had not been a life. It had probably been as depressingly dull and limited as it looked on the surface.

The man had lived with barely any human interaction, no apparent connection with the outside world, and his days had been spent visiting a nearby town or tinkering with an old wreck of a bike. Dan didn’t want that to be the sum of it, but he knew all too well that it most likely was.

It disappointed him somehow, and also made him see that the coming weeks were more all or nothing than he’d first envisaged. They either freed themselves completely from the threat, or this was the best they could ever hope for.

Charlie had been the one talking about needing to get a life, and for the first time, Dan understood that siren call, because he knew that this, the existence carved out by the man who wasn’t Jacques Fillon, would never be enough. He wasn’t sure what he wanted exactly, but he knew it was the opposite of this.





Chapter Ten


They didn’t drive far along the road before turning off again into the same woods and along a narrow track to another house, bigger than the one they’d just been to. Per was about to continue beyond it on the track, but a lean grey-haired man came out onto the steps and waved them down.

They stopped and got out of the car and Per introduced them to Mr. Eklund, the owner of the cabin where they’d be staying. He said hello to Dan and welcomed him but didn’t seem confident speaking English and reverted into Swedish for an extended but friendly negotiation with Inger.

They left him with smiles then and drove another hundred yards to the cabin, which was in the same style but pretty much hidden from the main house.

As they were getting out of the car again, Inger said, “They’ve stocked up some essentials for us. Mr. and Mrs. Eklund wanted to know if we’d like to join them for dinner tonight or if we’d prefer them to bring dinner to us, if we have a lot of work to do.”

“What did you tell them?” He was hoping it was the latter, even though he doubted they’d have much work to do, doubting even that this visit would yield any serious clues as to who Jacques Fillon had been.

“I said we’d have a lot of work, and it would be better if they could bring dinner to us. I wouldn’t have said that, but I got the feeling it was what he wanted. I think they’re quite private people.”

“Yes,” said Per. “Private. We talked to them about Jack, but they’d spoken to him only very few times.”

He smiled then as he gestured towards the door, as if to show Dan that they weren’t unfriendly people up there, even those who liked to keep to themselves.

The cabin was a perfect summer retreat, a couple of bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen and a large room that served as a sitting and dining room. There were landscape paintings on the walls of the main room, and more in the bedrooms, all apparently by the same amateurish hand, probably one of the Eklunds.

There was no nonsense about choosing a room. Inger dropped a laptop bag on the dining table and took her small case into the nearest room, leaving it at the foot of the bed before going into the kitchen. Dan took his case into the other room, looked through the window into the woods, then came back into the main room.

Per was standing waiting for instructions.

Dan said, “Can I get you a coffee, Per?”

“No, thanks, I think maybe I should . . .”

Inger appeared in the kitchen doorway and said, “I think we’re okay now, unless you want the coffee.”

He looked as if he wanted to change his mind, but said, “I should be going, but call if you need me, and maybe I’ll drop by in the morning.”

Inger thanked him warmly, slipping into Swedish.

Dan said, “Yeah, thanks for everything, Per. See you tomorrow.”

Inger walked back out with him, leaving the door open. They stood chatting by the car then for a few minutes, their voices low. Inger’s back was to the door but Dan could see Per’s face which looked grave with whatever he was being told.

His own responses were short, his expression compliant. On one occasion he responded to what Inger was telling him by glancing back toward the cabin, a look that was hard to decipher, one of intrigue or concern. He noticed Dan standing there and looked away again quickly.

Were they talking about him? Was Inger explaining exactly who Dan was and how he made his living? The worst-case scenario was that Inger had flown up from Stockholm as much to investigate Dan as to find out about Jacques Fillon. He didn’t think Patrick would have knowingly put him in that situation, but the fact was, Dan had been to Sweden before and it was quite probable that the Swedes didn’t like what he’d been doing there.

A moment later Per got into the car and drove off and Inger came back, closing the door behind her. She walked into the kitchen without saying anything. He could hear the small domestic noises of spoons and cups being moved about, the only sounds now that Per’s car had faded back into the woods. The aroma of coffee drifted out.