Free A Death in Sweden by Kevin Wignall Page B

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Chapter Twelve
    They said goodbye to Siri, then resumed their search. Inger went back upstairs, but joined him again after a little while and the two of them went methodically through the bookshelves, talking sporadically, their backs to each other.
    Dan said, “Siri seemed to be handling things pretty well.”
    “Incredibly so.” He was aware of her turning, and also turned to look across at her. She smiled a little as she said, “She reminds me of the way I was at that age.”
    Dan smiled and said, “I don’t see you all in black, somehow, not even as a teenager.”
    She shook her head, dismissing that, saying, “I mean, that wanting to escape. I’m sure that’s even part of her curiosity about Fillon.”
    He thought back to the way Inger had mentioned the quietness of Råneå and wondered if she’d been speaking from experience.
    “Did you grow up somewhere like this?”
    “Not quite. A small town, yes, but maybe only an hour from Stockholm. It was great actually, but you know, when you’re young . . . Didn’t you want to escape?”
    “Kind of, but the opposite way. I always wished I’d grown up in one place, knowing the same kids all the way from kindergarten. That’s being a teenager, I guess, always wanting what you haven’t got.” She nodded, but with a look that suggested he’d just given her a glimpse into who he was. She turned back to the shelves then and so did Dan. “You mentioned her grandparents?”
    “She’s an orphan. I think her parents died when she was still very small. So she lives with her grandparents.”
    “Jesus. They probably want to wrap her in cotton wool after this.”
    She didn’t respond and they worked on, but then she said, “Is your mother still alive?”
    “Yeah, but I don’t see her as much as I’d like. She lives in Bermuda. My sister lives there too, with her terrible husband and three kids. So they’re all busy—they get along okay without me.”
    “Why is her husband terrible?”
    “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. He’s a good husband and father, good son-in-law too. I just don’t like him very much. I think it’s mutual.”
    “You’re just not compatible?”
    “That’s it.”
    “And he’s a good father, husband, son-in-law . . .?”
    He laughed, liking the fact that she was comfortable enough to tease him, then said, “What about you, your parents still alive?”
    “Of course. And I also have one sister, but I like her husband and children.”
    “Point taken.” He’d reached the end of his shelf, and said, “I’m done.”
    “Me too, very soon.”
    He turned, looking out of the window. Beyond the reflection from the lights it already looked dark outside. He looked at Inger then, the snug beige jeans, the equally fitted sweater, the gentle flexing of her body as she reached up for a book, inspected it, put it back, took another, repeated the process.
    She finished and turned, and when she realized he’d been watching her she raised her eyebrows and said, “If you spent more time with your mother she’d tell you it’s rude to stare.”
    He smiled and said, “I wasn’t staring, I was watching, and I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry.”
    She nodded, a truce, but looked around the room with a sigh and said, “What next? We must be missing something.”
    “I noticed a small cabin at the back.”
    “It’s a sauna, I think.”
    “Okay, so I guess if he used it, not the best environment for hiding anything, but we’ll take a look in there, check the garage.”
    “Good, but in the morning, I think. The Eklunds should be bringing dinner soon.” Dan nodded but didn’t move, and then Inger said, “Can I ask you something?” He looked expectantly. “I was thinking about the kind of person he must have been, and you told me people are trying to kill you now, that they’ve killed people you know, so I wonder, could you live like this, the way Jacques Fillon did? Could you disappear?”
    “I’ve been asking