A Death in Sweden(75)

“I was probably taking the picture.”

Jonny, the blonde guy was there, his face slightly flushed from the heat and probably the drink. Jack Redford was there too, and Dan was reinforcing this new image of him in his mind—this was how he looked. Then he noticed the woman sitting next to him, and felt a strange, almost tectonic dislocation in his thoughts.

He held it closer, staring at her features as he said, “Who’s the woman with Jack? That’s if she is with Jack?”

“Oh she’s with Jack, alright. Maria. Beautiful, huh?” Dan nodded without speaking. “They were inseparable. Met at the end of the first month we were there, just stayed together. I think he seriously contemplated settling down with her.”

Dan still couldn’t take his eyes off her, because he recognized this woman, and his voice sounded distant even to himself, as he said, “Why didn’t he?”

“You know how it is, in our business. Settling down isn’t such an easy thing to do.”

Dan looked up and said, “You seem to be doing okay.”

Tom grinned and said, “Yeah, at my age. Never thought it would happen but, man, I’m blessed.”

“Can I keep this photo?”

“Sure. I’ve got plenty and I hardly look at them anymore. Very few buddies left to sit and reminisce with.”

Dan nodded, understanding that, but his own mind was reeling away from him. These past weeks, he’d thought one thing after another about Jack Redford, and yet the man had managed in some way to elude him, just as he’d eluded everyone else, until the bus crash, until now.

When Dan had first gone up to what had then been Jacques Fillon’s place, he’d pictured his life as so limited, tinkering with a bike, riding the bus every day, and he’d almost despised him for it. He hadn’t understood then, about the hidden shelter, the quest to bring down Brabham, to get justice for a girl he’d never known and had no connection with, Sabine Merel.

But even when he had learned those things, he’d still only understood half of the man. Jack Redford. He’d acted heroically on the day he died, but in truth, the whole of the last twelve years had been an act of heroism, one little act every day when he’d boarded that bus. That was what Dan only really understood for the first time now as he looked at this photograph—even in hiding, Jack Redford had never stopped being a hero.





Epilogue


He spent two days in Stockholm with Inger. She’d suggested at first that he stay at her place, but for some reason, he’d checked into a hotel not far away instead, not wanting to crowd her. He needn’t have worried because he spent the whole time in her apartment anyway.

Two days, most of it seemingly spent in bed. When they went out it wasn’t far, to the café where he’d met her that day a few weeks before, or to local stores, the streets clear but cold and the day punctuated with snow flurries.

And for all the time he was with her he was dreaming what this life might be like, imagining himself taking an apartment nearby, or forgetting caution and moving in with her right away. That was the kind of life he dreamed about, where being cautious only applied to not taking things too fast in a relationship.

They flew up to Lule? on the third day, and within twenty minutes of take-off, the landscape below them was already snow-covered, as if bedding down for winter. The last time he’d taken this flight, he’d been warned that the north would be a lot colder but had found it remarkably benign—only now, looking down, did he believe that it could be so different.

Inger had talked about arranging a car, but she’d spoken to Per and he’d been insistent, so he was there to meet them at the airport and talked animatedly about the weather for much of the onward drive north. The deep snow visible all around them was apparently unusual even for them at this time of year.

He drove them directly to Siri’s house; a big wooden place, bigger than the one Redford had lived in, but closer to the quiet road, with a few other houses within view. Dan looked at those other houses as they pulled up—they all looked blank and lifeless and he wondered if people lived in them all year round, wondered, too, if any of the kids who’d died in the crash had lived there.

Siri’s grandparents came out onto the porch even as Per pulled up. They were grey but trim and upright, reminding him in some way of Mr. Eklund, the same rugged healthiness. Like Mr. Eklund, too, they waved as the three of them got out of the car, though they were not many feet away.

They stepped through the gate and as they walked up the path, the man said, “Welcome Mr. Hendricks, Miss Bengtsson. Hello, Per.”

Inger spoke back in Swedish, and Dan said, “Thank you for agreeing to see us Mr. Nystr?m.”

Per said quietly, “Doctor Nystr?m.”

Nystr?m laughed and said, “Yes, I’m still the local doctor, though I should retire soon.”

His wife made some dismissive but good-humored response in Swedish to that suggestion, then said, “I hope we’ll be able to help with your inquiries.”

“I’m hoping we’ll be able to help you.”

They showed them into a warm and welcoming kitchen where they sat around a heavy table and Mrs. Nystr?m served them coffee and some sort of home-made cookies. They’d only been sitting a few minutes when Siri walked in.

Dan stood, and then realized the formality of it made her uncomfortable so he sat again and she sat down opposite him.