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

‘Did you go back with him?’

‘No, I had work the next day and needed to sleep. The Metro was closed by then so I got a taxi home—’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes. And I just made it before they raised Liteyny Bridge. Another ten minutes and I’d have been stuck in Tsentralny for the night.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘Nothing.’ She sucked on the menthol cigarette. ‘I went to bed and was late getting to work the next day… yesterday.’

‘So why did you report her missing?’

‘I kept thinking about the bridges. Zena lives on Vasilyevsky Island and the Lieutenant Schmidt and the Palace are raised before the Liteyny. I was worried she hadn’t got home… she was really drunk too. I tried calling but her phone was ringing and ringing. I tried messaging, email… nothing.’

‘Was anyone else there who took an interest in her?’

Yulia flicked the ash from her Karelia into the ashtray. ‘There were some army boys on leave but they were doing their own thing.’ The frown returned. ‘There was a waiter who was being familiar. A charmer.’

‘I don’t want to be rude.’ Yulia extended the hand with the cigarette in an exaggerated stretch, ‘but is there much more of this? I need to shower and meet my friend.’

Natalya’s voice was brisk and businesslike, ‘When I’ve finished. Who was Zena seeing?’

‘You mean a boyfriend?’

‘Any sexual relationship. Did she have anything casual going on or maybe something long term?’

Yulia shook her head. ‘Zena was hopeless. She was shy until she got drunk, and then she made a fool of herself.’ She lifted her delicate shoulders in a shrug as if to say, “and that’s what got her into trouble.”

‘No one at all?’

‘No one. She wanted a boyfriend but had no confidence. It should have been easy for a girl like her.’

‘You mean with the kind of money she had?’

Yulia suppressed a sly smile. ‘Of course. But Zena wanted them to love her for herself.’ She shook her head quickly as if the idea had been absurd.

‘Is that wrong? Natalya asked.

‘Doesn’t everyone use what they have? Brains, body, looks, or money? You think I’m going to stay here forever?’ She pressed her lips together then glanced around the room to emphasise the point. ‘As soon as the right opportunity comes along I’ll be gone.’

‘Is that why you lied to her?’

‘What? I didn’t say anything.’ Natalya noticed the shift in tone. Yulia the boutique girl was losing her veneer.

‘You told her you were a student at the State University.’

‘I don’t remember that. Maybe she misunderstood.’

Natalya held up her iPhone. ‘You created a profile on VKontakte saying you were a student; you even posted pictures of the Smolny Convent campus. There are only four friends on your page but my guess is none of them are real. The server has a backup so don’t think of deleting anything. Now you want to tell me what you were up to?’

Yulia sneered, ‘Look around you. Do you think a girl like Zena would be interested in me if she knew I lived here and worked in a shop?’

‘Is that your answer?’

‘It’s the truth.’ The smile had gone, now Yulia looked offended. ‘I reported her missing, didn’t I?’

‘You did. Now I want you to explain why you refused to give your name and address at the station.’

‘Why? Because I didn’t want to get in trouble. Isn’t that what you do? You find someone you like for the crime and—’

‘Has a crime been committed here, Yulia?’

Yulia pointed at her with two fingers, the cigarette lodged between them. ‘See, that’s what I’m talking about. My father was a carpet wholesaler, he ended up in prison because a competitor wanted him out of business. He’s still there now, rotting away. The police, the judge, they all took their share. I won’t let you do that to me.’

There was one question left, and now Yulia was too angry to cooperate. At least it explained the hostility she had felt on the stairs.

‘There are people like that, but I’m not one of them.’ She looked at her notepad and flicked back to see what she’d written in Zena’s apartment; the word “ZAGS” had been circled. ‘I’m nearly finished.’

Yulia tilted her head back to finish the last of her Coke. ‘You promise you’ll find her?’

‘I can’t, but I’ll do my best. I promise you that.’

Yulia glared but there was less defiance now. ‘Ask me another one.’

‘OK, was Zena depressed? Did she say anything that made you worry about her?’

‘Maybe distracted sometimes… and a little lonely.’

‘Enough to take her own life?’

Yulia thought for a moment. ‘No, not the type.’

Natalya looked at the pad. ‘Can you tell me why Zena went to a ZAGS two weeks ago?’

‘I don’t know anything about it.’

‘She was too young to get married and, as you say, she didn’t have a boyfriend anyway. Also, it’s unlikely she went there to register a child or get a death certificate. Perhaps she was there to attend a wedding? It’s easy enough to verify.’

Yulia had smoked her cigarette down to the filter and the last piece of ash fell away as she stubbed it out. ‘I really don’t know.’

The silence grew as Natalya studied the girl’s face, convinced that for the first time in the interview she had seen a lie. Even Anton was a better liar and he was awful. Yulia was quiet, scared to embellish her answer and make it worse.

‘Thanks for the coffee, Yulia. One last question and then I’ll leave you alone.’

‘What?’

‘Can I look inside your wardrobe?’

The morning had nearly gone, and what did she have to show for it? Details of the clothing Zena Dahl was wearing; the name of the bar she had been drinking in; the approximate time she had left? All useful information for the local police but nothing to justify the continuing involvement of the Criminal Investigations Directorate. She jogged down the stairs, resting at the main entrance to catch her breath. According to her phone it was 11:35 a.m.; there was a little time left before she needed to report to Colonel Vasiliev and only one lead to follow up.

The sunshine had gone and the sky was grey when she parked on Ligovsky Prospekt. The street was busy with shoppers but she had no trouble finding the bar Yulia had described: the front was painted Tsar’s green, and a three-metre-wide sign above it displayed Cheka in the Latin alphabet with the lettering altered to resemble Cyrillic. On either side of the word were the obligatory red stars. She was about to knock on a camouflage-patterned metal door when it was opened by a man in a ridiculous vintage secret police uniform. He was tall, perhaps one metre eight-five, and already looked fatigued. The White Nights did that to most people: the parties; the car horns and revelry that went on into morning; the endless light gleaming through curtains and killing any notion of slumber. By September everyone was exhausted enough to sleep through the winter – maybe that was the intention.

‘We’re closed. Give it a few minutes.’

She held out her identification card. ‘Senior Detective Ivanova, Criminal Investigations Directorate.’

He stifled a yawn as he glanced at the card. ‘Can I help you, Captain?’

She checked the rank on his fake uniform. ‘I hope so… Sergeant.’

‘It’s only—’

‘Yes, I know.’

His red peaked cap tilted as he looked at her quizzically.

‘I assume you have this area under surveillance, Sergeant?’

‘Huh?’

She raised her eyes to the camera above the doorway.

He looked up too, then gave her a tired smile, warming to the theme. ‘Yes, Captain.’