A Death in Sweden(51)

“It was a video cassette, but I converted it, not so difficult as you would think.” He handed the disk to Inger and said, “It’s yours now.”

“You have another copy?”

“On here,” he said, pointing at the computer which had already booted up. “And a copy of the disk with my . . . with my lawyer, in a box.” He sat down in front of the computer, and went through a few folders before clicking on a file. As soon as it opened though, he paused it, and said, “There is another file with three hours of the camera, but this just shows thirty minutes. It’s the key.”

They nodded and he pressed Play again and tilted the screen upwards so that both of them could see it without crouching down. There was no sound, and it was a static view, covering the entrance to the bank, but also obliquely, a portion of the other side of the street, including what Dan imagined was the entrance to the alley.

For a full minute the shot was completely empty, the timer in the corner steadily clicking away. They kept their eyes fixed on the screen, even Bergeron who knew what was coming, and then two people emerged across the street, moving with an urgent disunity from left to right across the frame.

The woman was Sabine Merel, immediately familiar as she turned to face the man, and unwittingly the camera, and appeared to shout something. He heard Inger catch her breath at the sight of that face, and imagined her immediately remembering the photographs she’d looked at with Sabine’s mother.

Sabine walked on then, as if the shouted comment had settled it, picking up her pace and moving ahead of the man, moving towards the entrance to the alley. She was certainly angry, perhaps afraid, but Dan doubted she could have had any idea that she was walking with such determination towards her own death.

She was almost at the alley entrance, a few seconds from being past it, when the man picked up his pace and ran to catch up with her. She turned, that same confused mix of anger and fear, one supplanting the other as he grabbed her arm and the two of them disappeared into the dark mouth of the alley.

There was only one problem, and as they looked at the picture, once more motionless and empty, Dan said, “We didn’t see his face.”

“Patience,” said Bergeron, and used the mouse to move along the bar. “This is nearly twenty minutes later.”

He pressed Play again. For a moment, there was nothing, then a slight shift in the density of the shadows and the man emerged back into view and walked quickly out of the alley and out of shot. They’d hardly registered him, but Bergeron paused it again, wound it back and pressed Play, and this time as the man emerged, he froze the image so that the gaunt face was there, clearly visible even from the other side of the street.

Inger said, “But . . .” And offered nothing more.

“Oh my God,” said Dan. He wasn’t sure if Inger had worked it out for herself, and the shock of it was still scrambling his own thoughts. “It’s not Brabham, it’s his son, Harry. Jesus!”

Bergeron span his chair around to look at Dan and said, “You know him?”

Dan shook his head, remembering now that Charlie had known him a little, that he’d talked about him being a decent kid. And this was why Redford had focused on the whole family, because Brabham was the danger, but it was his son who’d committed the murder.

“I don’t know him, but his name is Harry Brabham, and he’s now a United States congressman.”

Bergeron looked to Inger, as if wanting confirmation, and she nodded, but Dan could see she was lost in her own thoughts. This was a much bigger story than they’d ever imagined, but as if the knowledge of it hadn’t been dangerous enough, the existence of this recording made it even more so.

“What will you do?”

Dan didn’t respond directly, but he knew they needed safeguards now, that one disk wasn’t enough, and he said, “Would you be able to email that file to me?” Bergeron shrugged. Dan leaned over and wrote down the email address on a piece of paper sitting on the desk.

Bergeron turned back and spent a minute sending the email and for the whole time it took him, Inger and Dan simply watched him in silence, both of them still too shocked to think much beyond the present moment.

Bergeron said, “It’s done.”

Dan looked at the screen, checking the details, and said, “Thanks. And now, Monsieur Bergeron, I think it’s important that we leave you alone.”

He stood up and said, “It changes things, this tape?”

“It changes a lot of things. They don’t know we have it, they don’t know you have it, but it’s still not good for us to stay here too long.” He pointed at the screen, even though the image was no longer there. “That man’s father is a very powerful person in the CIA, and he wants me dead. They’re looking for me now, so the sooner we get away from here the better it is for all of us.”

Inger held up the disk too, saying, “And the sooner we get this to the right person the sooner Dan can walk a little safer.”

Bergeron smiled at her, and said, “Then I wish you good luck. And I’m happy. For fourteen years I was afraid to do the right thing, but now it’s done.”

Dan nodded, understanding why he’d concealed it all that time, an instinctive sense of needing to protect his family. That was undoubtedly what had driven Bill Brabham too, and he almost respected him for that, but the way he’d gone about it probably went some way toward explaining the actions of the son—it was what Jack Redford had been trying to prove all this time; that the Brabhams were a family who believed themselves untouchable.