Garry Abson - Motherland - A Gripping Crime Thriller Set in the Dark Heart of Putin's Russia

‘You still there?’ she asked.

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Who’s the expert criminalist on duty?’

‘Primakov, I think.’

‘Good. Ask him to come here and park around the back. Just Primakov, and tell him to wear normal clothes, none of those fancy white overalls he gets from those websites.’

‘Yes, boss,’ he said, and she couldn’t tell if he was irked or amused.

‘Thanks. I’ll wait here for him.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes, when you speak to Misha ask him to go to the Dixy. Tell him we’re out of toilet rolls and coffee.’

After an hour, she saw the top of the white van from the kitchen window before it disappeared into the courtyard. She left Zena’s apartment and undid the bolts of the hallway door that led to the rear yard, still wearing the latex gloves which by now were making her skin itch. She watched Leo Primakov climb out, taking a silver case with him. He wore pale-blue chinos and a dark denim shirt: the type of clothes she’d often tried to get Mikhail into, instead of the plain office shirts and jeans that he favoured. The other difference between Primakov and her husband was that Leo worked-out regularly and his clothes were snug in the right places, revealing every crevice and contour.

She shook her head to dismiss the unfaithful thoughts floating in her mind.

‘Leo!’ She waved at him. He raised his arm in acknowledgement, then stretched blue overshoes over expensive-looking boots.

Two weeks before, Primakov had lent her a pirated copy of ‘CSI: Crime Scene Investigation’ and had been evangelical about the scientific techniques the Americans used. She disagreed, finding them unrealistic, but she was impressed by the white overalls the police and forensic experts wore even if the menti she knew never wore them; her colleagues reminded her of nineteenth century surgeons who eschewed sterilised gowns in favour of gardening clothes.

As a concession to the programme, Primakov had ordered several sets of blue overshoes. He held a pair out for her.

‘No, I’m leaving. I was waiting to let you in.’

Primakov drew level with her. ‘What’s going on? Rogov didn’t tell me anything.’

She stepped aside to let him enter. ‘I want you to take a look at an apartment rented by a Swedish student. There’s money in the family so kidnapping is a possibility. She hasn’t been seen since Thursday night.’ She drew the bolts behind him. ‘There, now you know as much as I do.’

‘Two days?’

She shrugged and held up a hand, palm facing him. ‘It could be a waste of time, but let’s take it seriously for now and hope she doesn’t come back while you’re picking through her dirty underwear.’

They strolled to the open door of Zena’s apartment. ‘Anything interesting so far?’ Primakov asked.

‘There’s a table in the living room with two beer bottles; both have different lipstick marks… I think she had a drink with a girlfriend before going out, possibly the one who reported her missing. It’s very neat which makes me think she didn’t come home or else she would have cleared them away.’

‘I’ll try to get some comparison prints from her personal effects.’

She shrugged. ‘That makes sense.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Keep this quiet,’ she dropped her voice although there was no need. ‘There’s a lot of designer gear in her bedroom. Don’t let anyone in unless I authorise it. There’s a woman in the neighbouring apartment; she’s deaf. I told her I’m a friend of the family so she doesn’t know anything yet. I’d like to keep it that way until we know more. She thinks Zena has gone away; I’m guessing she was the one pushing her mail through the letterbox.

‘What about the rubbish bins?’

She smiled, and tugged on the handle of the back door. ‘I thought I’d leave that to you.’

Outside, her phone started playing Elvis Presley’s “You’re the devil in disguise”. She hurried along the yard then answered it. ‘Colonel Vasiliev?’

This was bad news. Vasiliev, the head of the city’s Criminal Investigations Directorate, wasn’t on duty until Monday and he didn’t do social calls. He was also close to retirement, preferring to delegate while he planned his next European vacation.

His voice had an icy tone, ‘Captain Ivanova, are you having a nice time over there?’

Her car was still parked outside Renata Shchyotkina’s apartment and she marched there, anxious to get away in case she was spotted by Zena’s elderly neighbour. ‘I was asked to look at something urgently.’

‘You were asked by Major Ivanov. Is he your direct supervisor?’

‘No, sir.’

‘So do you always do what your husband tells you?’

The traffic was noisy and she cupped a hand over her free ear. ‘No, sir.’

‘But in this instance you chose to.’

‘Yes, sir. I was in the neighbourhood. Mikhail heard the girl’s father is wealthy. If she has been kidnapped or killed it could have political consequences.

‘Well, what have you found out?’

‘Nothing yet, Colonel. As far as I can determine, there are several possibilities.’

A pedestrian crossing displayed five, then four, then three seconds in large green numbers. She jogged across it as the cars started to nudge their way over the line.

‘Then what do you think ?’ she heard him say.

She stood next to a chemist’s windowpane and pushed a palm against her ear to blot out the noise of the traffic. ‘If the friend is telling the truth then she had an accident that night, or something worse has happened.’

‘Thank you, Captain. Well, as you say, it might be political. I’ve already asked Sergeant Rogov to check local hospitals and I understand Mikhail is trying to find the girl’s parents. In the meantime, I’d like you to speak with this Yulia, the one who reported her missing.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘See what you can find out by midday then we’ll regroup. If there is no obvious criminal element I intend to give it back to the local menti .’

She frowned. ‘May I ask who is leading the investigation?’

‘You are.’

She had expected to hear Mikhail’s name or that of the new major, Dostoynov, and almost asked him to repeat it. ‘Thank you, Colonel.’

‘I suggest you to speak to the girl’s family first – once Major Ivanov locates them.’

‘Yes, Colonel.’

He hung up.

She continued down the street, located her Volvo outside Renata Shchyotkina’s apartment, then climbed inside and called Mikhail. He answered after two rings. ‘Misha, you bastard, what have you done to me?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘How did Vasiliev find out I went to the girl’s apartment? I was supposed to be doing you a quiet favour.’

He chuckled. ‘The Colonel called in and spoke to Rogov. He wanted me to handle it but I said you were the best we had… also Swedes don’t usually speak Russian.’

So that was the answer, and it had nothing to do with her superior skills of detection.

The girl’s father needed regular updates with the person in charge of the investigation. Most of the men in headquarters spoke basic English at best, whereas she had studied it at the Leningrad Oblast Pedagogical Institute and was near fluent. Mikhail’s was good enough to establish contact with Zena’s parents but to conduct interviews and maintain a relationship, it had to be her.

She heard a clatter of plates and guessed Mikhail had made it as far as breakfast.

‘What did Vasiliev say?’ he asked.

‘Prove there’s a crime or he’ll give it to the locals… I guess he doesn’t want an open-ended missing persons case.’

‘What else?’

‘He told me to find the girl who reported Zena missing.’