Jack Grimwood - Moskva

‘That’s the official version,’ Tom had said.

The militsiya major had stared at him, shocked.

‘That’s the truth,’ he insisted.

‘The Moscow prosecutor cares so little about crime victims that he doesn’t even investigate arson, torture and murder?’

The major hesitated. ‘That building was used by deviants. Homosexuals,’ he added, in case Tom hadn’t understood his meaning. ‘I talked to the case officer, who objected to the prosecutor’s decision. It was suggested that his department has more pressing priorities.’

‘Who would suggest such a thing?’

‘The KGB,’ said Dennisov, abandoning all pretence of not listening. The militsiya major didn’t agree, but then he didn’t deny it either. He simply finished his vodka, thanked Tom for the flask and cut his evening short.

‘Lose me customers,’ Dennisov said, ‘why don’t you.’

Yelena sighed.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ Anna said.

‘Is your entourage downstairs?’

‘They let me out of my cage now and then.’

‘All alone?’

‘Moscow’s one of the safest cities in the world.’

‘Provided you’re not Russian. Then I imagine it’s different.’

‘Soviet,’ Anna Masterton corrected. ‘Provided you’re not Soviet. Even then it’s safer than London. Far safer than New York.’

‘If you believe their crime figures.’

‘Do you believe ours?’

‘Lady Masterton. What are you doing here?’

‘Anna, for God’s sake. I wanted to talk to you.’

‘About Alex?’ Tom asked.

Obviously, her expression said. What else?

‘You’d better come in then.’

‘Hallelujah… It’s smaller than I expected,’ she said, looking around.

‘There’s only one of me.’

‘So your family aren’t…?’ Something in Tom’s expression killed the rest of her question. In daylight, without full make-up, she looked older, more tired. There were lines beside her mouth, dark rings around her eyes. ‘My jewellery’s gone.’

‘Alex?’

‘Who else?’

‘Your jewellery box was locked?’

‘I keep the key in a Wedgwood pot on my dressing table.’ She caught Tom’s glance. ‘Yes, I know. But it’s a bloody embassy, for God’s sake. And what does a girl of fifteen need pearls for?’

‘To sell.’ Tom listed the reasons Alex might want money.

Drugs, drink, an abortion, blackmail, greed, a very long stay, somewhere very far away… Anna wasn’t keen on any of them. He was in the kitchen, putting two slices of black bread into his toaster, turning them round and grilling them again by the time she reached the end of her reasons why he was wrong.

‘Have you told Sir Edward?’

‘I daren’t.’

Nothing as strange as other people’s marriages. Nothing as strange as his, come to that. Tom decided to pass on asking why. If Anna wanted to tell him, she would.

‘I’m going to eat,’ he said. ‘Then take a shower. You sticking around long enough for that?’ He hadn’t meant it as a challenge but her look told him she took it as one. When he got back, she’d done the washing up.

‘In here,’ she called. She was in his living room, flicking through a week-old copy of Time. ‘Vesta curry?’ she said.

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘Even students don’t eat Vesta curry.’

‘I don’t like Pot Noodles.’

‘My daughter does…’

‘Does your husband at least know you’re here?’

Her gaze sharpened. ‘Have you any idea how that sounds?’

‘I’d have thought it was an obvious question.’

‘Which,’ she said flatly, ‘says more about you than the question.’

She’s probably right about that, Tom thought. ‘Unreconstructed’ was the word his daughter had used. Reaching into her bag, Anna Masterton pulled out a pack of B&H and flipped the lid.

‘You don’t mind?’

Tom gave her the cactus saucer as an ashtray.

Then he picked up something else he’d inherited from the previous occupant and shook the child’s toy, hearing tiny beads rattle inside a tatty plastic case as they cleared its grey screen. Twisting the wheels at the bottom of the Etch A Sketch, he wrote: You realize this place is bugged?

She nodded.

So they know you’re here.

‘I was followed. Obviously they know I’m here.’

You want them to know?

‘My daughter is missing,’ Anna said. Her matter-of-factness contradicted the hurt in her eyes. ‘She’s fifteen. Sixteen next week. Adrift in a strange city. I want her back. I will do anything to get her back.’

‘Did I tell you I tracked down David?’

‘Why the hell didn’t you say?’

‘That’s how I got the party address. The boy himself is a dead end. Canadian, not American, and their friendship is strictly platonic. He hasn’t seen her since before New Year. He has no idea where she is now. I’m sorry. This must be really hard.’

For a moment, he thought she’d slap him.

She had agate eyes, he noticed. Tiny speckles like flaws in stone caught the winter light. Her daughter had those eyes too.

‘It’s unbearable,’ she said finally. ‘If this was London, we’d have called the Met. We’d be getting hourly updates. Edward has friends at the Yard.’

The man probably had friends everywhere.

‘I know you don’t like him.’

‘He’s the ambassador. It doesn’t matter whether I like him.’

Anna sighed. ‘Do you mind if I make coffee?’

‘I’ll make it,’ Tom said.

‘I’ll help.’ Pushing herself out of her chair, she headed for the kitchen. Tom followed, stopping in the doorway while she filled the kettle, found his jar of Maxwell House, rinsed a soapy cup and left the tap running…

Tom’s hovering in the doorway had more to do with the extreme smallness of his kitchen than any wish to let Anna do the work.

Gesturing him in, she stepped so close he could feel her body heat and smell Dior and something altogether more animal beneath. For a second, possibilities flared and then died as she stepped back a little, looking rueful.

Whatever might have happened didn’t.

Leaning across her, Tom turned off the kettle, which had long since stopped being able to turn itself off, spooned instant coffee into the mugs and poured on boiling water. When he stood back, Anna reached round to turn off the tap.

‘Sir Edward’s not losing sleep over this?’ Tom asked.

‘I wouldn’t know.’ Looking suddenly embarrassed, she fell silent.

‘You have separate beds?’

‘Rooms,’ she said. ‘We have separate rooms.’

‘This is recent?’

Her glare asked what business that was of his, and Tom had no real answer. Except that something about Sir Edward’s reaction to Alex’s absence worried him. The man was too controlled, too buttoned down.

‘Yes,’ Anna said tightly. ‘This is recent.’

He almost asked how long things had been like that and caught himself in time. If he had to put money on it, he’d guess since Borodino. Since Anna returned to find her daughter missing. ‘Would you like a biscuit?’

When she shrugged, he opened a Tupperware box and took out a half-empty packet of Hobnobs, not bothering with a plate. ‘I thought you meant Russian biscuits,’ Anna said, helping herself.

‘Do you know if the KGB are already searching?’

Looking up, Anna opened her mouth…

‘I mean,’ Tom said, ‘I know Alex is embassy. But the Soviets must realize she’s missing. And she’s foreign. So that makes it a KGB matter, doesn’t it? Even if she ran off with a Russian boy, they’re hardly going to leave something like this to the local police. I imagine they’re looking already.’