A Death in Sweden by Kevin Wignall Page A

needed, was able to do it all without ever once appearing on the radar.”
    The day before, Dan had imagined this guy leading his half-life up here, traveling by bus and tinkering with his old motorbike, and he’d felt a mixture of fear and contempt at the thought of such an existence. Now, without knowing much more about him, he couldn’t help but admire him and wish he’d had the chance to meet him.
    Again, he thought about what might have happened had the man who wasn’t Jacques Fillon not died on that bus. What endgame had he been working towards, how much of the equipment in front of them was part of it?
    And at another level, thinking of the picture of Bill Brabham pinned to that board out there, Dan wondered how much of Redford’s plan he could resurrect himself, and what his chances might be of seeing it through. Dan and Jack Redford had never known each other, but fate had put them on converging paths and, even without knowing the history of it, Dan knew that he had no choice but to make this his investigation now.

Chapter Fifteen
    They spent the rest of the morning down in the shelter. Dan went through Redford’s recent Internet history in more detail and searched the computer for other files that might have been hidden away on it—though Redford seemed to have been quite old school in that respect, and had apparently printed most of the stuff that had interested him.
    That accounted for the filing cabinets. Inger started on them, working methodically through the drawers, and then Dan joined in too, though in truth, neither of them were entirely sure what they were looking for. Perhaps, if they were lucky, they would find something that at least pointed to the keystone, to the thing that lay at the center of all this endeavor.
    They walked back to the cabin for lunch, and as they sat eating, Inger said, “How long will you stay?”
    It was a complex question. As she’d already pointed out, there was too much material for them to go through in its entirety—Dan simply didn’t have that much time. But he had to go through enough of it to provide him with a next step. And he didn’t want to walk away from Redford’s archive and then find it out of reach.
    “Can we keep this between us?” She shrugged casually, but he sensed she’d misunderstood, and he added, “I mean, the shelter, the office, maybe even Redford’s identity—does anyone else need to know about it for the time being?”
    “Oh, I see.” She thought about it, and finally said, “I think I would have to tell one other person, my superior, but I’m pretty sure he’d be okay about keeping it quiet. He’s one of the reasons we’re helping—he and Patrick White are old friends. I think we might have to reveal Jack’s true identity, but we don’t have to talk about the shelter.”
    “Good. And thanks.”
    “Why do you want it so?”
    “Because of what you said. We won’t have time to go through it all, but it’s possible I’ll need to come back, if the trail runs cold, or . . . I don’t know.” She nodded, acknowledging the level of doubt that surrounded everything in his life right now. “So to answer your question, another stint this afternoon, again in the morning, and maybe fly out of Luleå late tomorrow afternoon.”
    “Oh.” She was surprised, but perhaps also disappointed. If he hadn’t known about her sexuality he’d have taken encouragement from that, which in his present state of mind seemed like just another example of how skewed his life had become. As it was, any disappointment was probably based on the fact that she simply enjoyed his company, and as a result he felt oddly touched by it.
    “There’s nothing else you need to see up here?”
    Dan shook his head and said, “Every single aspect of Jacques Fillon’s existence is under that garage. Everything else is just window dressing, a distraction. The house, the area, even the accident—they tell us nothing about him. He could have been living on