A Death in Sweden(73)

“I knew Eliot years ago. Tom Crossley, I’m not familiar with. What’s his part in it?”

“They were friends. Carter thinks he might know more about Redford’s disappearance. I hope so, anyway. Like I said, the guy got under my skin in some way—don’t know why.”

“Don’t you? Isn’t it because you look at him and wonder if you’re looking at your own future?”

“Maybe.” They fell into a brief silence, the continuing sounds of the team going through the house around them, doing whatever it was they did in this kind of situation. “What about you? What’s your next move?”

“I carry on. As long as you’re not too hot to handle, I might even have some more work for you if you’re interested.”

Dan suddenly became aware of how strange it was to be talking in such a measured way, surrounded by the visceral wreckage of all this violence.

He stood and said, “We’ll have to see about that, but come on, let’s get out of here.” They made for the door and out onto the landing, looking down at the people coming and going in the hall below them. “By the way, one of the guys I cuffed over in Charlottenburg, a tech guy called Josh, he could be a real asset to you, and I think he’d willingly jump ship, if you make him an offer.”

“I’ll bear that in mind—what about the other guy?”

“The other guy would be a real asset too, but I’m less certain about her jumping ship.”

“I see.” They walked down the stairs, ignored by most of the people moving about, some of them in regular clothes, some of them in combats. “I do wish you hadn’t killed quite so many people. I had a feeling you would as soon as I told you about Charlie, but even so . . .”

“Yeah, and ironically, the guy who tortured Charlie wasn’t even here—he’d flown home for an operation on his leg.”

“The guy Charlie shot in the woods?”

“The same. One Alex Robinson. And I have to warn you, Patrick, whether or not I work for you again, whether or not I want to cross swords with Frank Canale, if I ever encounter Robinson, there’ll only be one outcome.”

He smiled at Dan and said, “Then let’s hope you don’t bump into him.”

They crossed the hall and out through the front doors, which were wide open. The grounds were still floodlit and the snow was falling heavier now. The various vehicles parked randomly in front of the house were already snow-capped.

Patrick looked around, and for a moment Dan thought he was about to say something about how beautiful it was, but he said, “Damn it, I came with Frank and it looks like he’s already gone. I’m not sure how I’ll get back.”

“I’ll drive you back. I stole one of their cars—it’s parked out on the street.”

“Oh. Well great, I appreciate that.” They walked along the drive, beyond the reach of the floodlights and out into the darker street. “The Swedes are very happy, by the way. I think I’ll be able to rely on their assistance again in the future, not that I envisage much call for it.”

Dan thought of Inger, wanted to call her, wanted to board a plane that night and land in Stockholm, become a new person. It would have to wait a few more days though, at the very least.

“I don’t suppose you much envisaged working with them this time.”

“How very true.” He walked for a few paces, before adding, “One thing I’ll say about Jack Redford, he really knew how to disappear.”

Dan nodded, again thinking of his own future, and of the day when he might need to do the same. For all he knew, that day was today, and with that thought he walked on with Patrick White, back into the snow and shadows.





Chapter Forty-four


Dan had expected to find Geneva similarly blanketed with snow, but though it was cold, the streets were dry and the sky was clear and blue. He called Tom Crossley first, speaking to a woman who told him he was expected, then headed over there.

It was a modern apartment building, in the middle of the city. The same woman answered the door, a woman who looked Southeast Asian, though he couldn’t be sure of the country. She smiled and showed him in to a sitting room where Crossley was playing with a very young child and a wooden train set on the floor.

It sent a wave of sadness through him, but he packed it away again and took in the view through the windows—despite being in the middle of quite a built-up area they had a great view over toward the lake and the mountains beyond. It was a nice place too, spacious, tidy, lots of clean lines.

Crossley glanced up, a guy in his fifties and looking it, his face lined, but also still looking incredibly fit, his arm and chest muscles still neatly defined under his T-shirt, his shaved head giving no indication of whether he was grey or bald. He smiled, and said, “Dan Hendricks?”

“That’s me. Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Crossley.”

“Tom, and I’m glad you came.” He jumped up in one fluid motion and said, “You’ve met Patty.” He looked at her then and said, “We’ll go in the study.”

“Drinks?”

He looked questioningly at Dan and Dan said, “I’m fine thanks.”

“We’ll be okay. Thanks, Patty.”

Patty nodded, and went and took Tom’s place with the child, talking in her own language—Vietnamese, he thought, now that he heard her speak.