“A big day because if we don’t find any leads, I have to move on. I’m not just doing this for me. I have a friend, the guy they tried to kill the other night, and I may be safe up here for the time being, but I can’t be sure he’s safe wherever he is.”
She looked shocked by the reminder that this was about a lot more for Dan than the identity of Jacques Fillon. And he’d needed that reminder himself. Even after a few hours, he could imagine being seduced by the peace of this place, one day slipping unnoticed into three or four. But all the time, even as he’d searched shelves of books or toyed with the now unattainable Inger Bengtsson, they were looking for him, and for Charlie, relentlessly narrowing the field, and unless something changed, they’d keep looking till they’d closed them down for good.
Chapter Thirteen
Whether it was the air or the quiet, or just a low-level exhaustion that had crept up on him these past weeks, he slept deep and sound, more soundly than he had in years.
When he woke it was because of a dream that tipped over into reality—his son was there in the room with him, shaking him awake, “Papa, Papa,” and in his dream state he didn’t see at first that it was Martinez’s son, not his own. And as his consciousness took hold he was weighed down all over again by the sadness of remembering.
He shook himself out of it and jumped out of bed. It was after nine and Inger was out, her bedroom door open, bed made. He showered, dressed, made himself some breakfast. She still wasn’t back by the time he’d finished, so he walked through the woods to Fillon’s house, thinking she might be there.
The guy in Stockholm had told him how much colder it would be up here, how dull at this time of year, but once again, there was a clear blue sky overhead, and a gentle warmth, albeit paper-thin.
Even before he stepped into the little clearing, he knew Inger wasn’t there. There was just something about the house that spoke of its emptiness. But there was nothing much to do until she got there, so he sat at the top of the wooden steps and waited, enjoying the peace and the feeling of time slipping away from him.
Within a few minutes, he was so embedded within the calm of the place that he almost didn’t want her to come, just wanted to sit there feeling the sun’s steady progress. Perhaps that was how easily it took hold, the ease with solitude that had surely governed Jacques Fillon’s existence.
Dan had been there twenty minutes or so before he heard a car and stirred himself, almost as if coming out of a shallow sleep. It approached along the road, then turned and drove more deliberately, somewhere off in the woods. It took Dan a little while to work out that it had driven up to their cabin.
He heard two car doors open, then the cabin door, the sounds travelling cleanly on the faultless acoustics of this northern air. He couldn’t help but imagine two of Brabham’s men, a scenario in which Inger had tipped them off, unlikely as it already seemed.
But he smiled then as he heard Per and Inger talking, their voices unmistakable. Their conversation sounded like a short negotiation and Inger seemed to give way before the two car doors shut again and the car pulled away.
Inger had no doubt wanted to walk through the woods to Fillon’s place, and Per had insisted on driving her, because Dan listened now as the car made its way slowly out onto the road, a short stretch at normal speed, then the same slower crawl to the clearing where he was waiting for them. Inger had probably been right, and would have been quicker walking.
She waved at him from quite a distance, then again as they got out of the car. Dan stayed where he was, sitting on the steps, while they all said hello to each other. Perhaps she hadn’t tipped off Brabham, but he was still curious about where she’d been and why she was acting so nervously.
As if answering his unspoken question, but a little too eagerly, she said, “I had some things I needed to do, so I called Per. You were still sleeping.”
He nodded, noncommittal, and said, “I slept really well.” He looked at Per and added, “You have good air up here.”
Per looked uncertain how to respond and said, “It’s the only air I know.”
“Then you’ll have to take my word for it.” He looked back to Inger. She seemed to be waiting for him to follow up on her excuse, asking what it was she’d been checking, but he said only, “Ready to get to work?”
“Sure.” She turned to Per, saying, “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime,” he said, and took that as his cue. They said goodbye to him and watched as he got in the car and drove off, Inger standing, Dan still on the step.
Once the car had disappeared from view, she turned to look at him, and Dan stared back for a second before he said, “Can I trust you, Inger?”
“Of course.”