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

She bristled, hearing Misha strip away her title. Not “Captain”, not “Senior Detective”, but “my wife”. All authority sucked away by the extractor fan she had left whirring in the kitchen.

Lagunov flashed a row of neat, small teeth and pulled out a business card. ‘Officially a lawyer, unofficially a fixer.’

She pocketed the card. ‘Tea?’

Lagunov sat in her mother’s throne chair then checked his watch. ‘Please… we have a little time.’

She poured a cup and handed it to him.

‘Forgive me,’ Lagunov said, addressing Mikhail, ‘but I’m here because of your messages. You think something has happened to Thorsten’s daughter?’

‘Mister Lagunov,’ she began, ‘Zena was last seen around one o’clock on Friday morning. Are you aware if Mister Dahl, or anyone else, has heard of her since then?’

The lawyer sipped his tea and looked thoughtful. ‘I have spoken with Thorsten briefly on the matter; he didn’t think so, but you are better speaking to him than me. We do appreciate your concern; is there any cause for it?’

Lagunov removed a wallet from his trouser pocket and placed it on the table as if it had been causing him some discomfort. From her position on his right she could see the notes’ section was at least a centimetre thick. ‘I mean she is an adult with her own mind. Is there a reason to believe something bad may have happened to her? You are both detectives in the Criminal Investigations Directorate. Has a crime been committed?’

‘Not to our knowledge.’ Mikhail got up and took an Ochakovo from the fridge. He remained on his feet and eyed the lawyer.

‘Then I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. As I said, we do appreciate your concern. Thorsten will thank you himself when you meet him, but the Swedes are more verbal than us when it comes to gratitude.’

As a bribe it wasn’t the most subtle she had witnessed, but did it really count as one when they were only doing their jobs? Last year, the end-of-term bottle of cognac she had given to Karpov, Anton’s old maths teacher, wasn’t just a gift for a hard-working professional, it opened the conversation and allowed an incongruous link to develop between Anton’s unwritten school report and the cost of winter tyres for Karpov’s new Subaru.

Her eyes flicked to the wallet and away – an indication that, if nothing more, she appreciated the offer. ‘Mister Lagunov, can you give me some background on Zena? Did you know Zena personally?’

‘We’ve only met on a few occasions.’ The lawyer sipped his tea. ‘I can tell you she came here a year ago to take an undergraduate degree in International Relations at the State University.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about security?’

She saw his sheepish expression and laughed with incredulity, letting her professional mask slip. ‘She’s the daughter of a billionaire, Mister Lagunov. What were you thinking?’

The lawyer’s anodyne features sharpened as his small teeth became rodent-like: ‘Don’t lecture me!’ he snapped. ‘You know what the Swedes are like – they never got the message that Socialism is dead. I warned him but Zena didn’t want to be locked away like a princess in a tower; she wanted to be a normal student.’

A normal student who walked around in designer clothes, she thought. It was as ridiculous as the fisherman’s jumper that Dahl wore to project his man-of-the-people image. ‘What about friends here?’

Lagunov straightened as he tried to get comfortable; it was a useless gesture. Torquemada might have abandoned the rack had he known of her mother’s throne chair. ‘There’s a student named Yulia; she mentioned her to Thorsten in passing. He doesn’t know her surname.’

‘Federova,’ she offered, ‘I’ve already spoken with her.’

‘That was quick work,’ there was a flash of intensity from the eyes then he became unremarkable again.

‘And has Mister Dahl heard anything at all from Zena?’ Lagunov had already told her the answer, but a kidnapper might have forced Dahl to keep quiet.

‘No.’

‘Is it possible he has but isn’t telling you?’

Lagunov frowned. ‘Possible, but not probable. I’ve worked with Thorsten for two decades and I like to think he trusts me.’

‘What about her mother or siblings?’

Lagunov shook his head. ‘If I may tell you this in strict confidence’ – he shuffled in the chair – ‘Zena was adopted.’

‘By Mister Dahl and his wife?’

‘Just Thorsten. He lived here in Piter for a few years and supported an orphanage nearby—’

‘Which one?’

His eyebrows came together. ‘It might have been Krasnoye Selo. To be honest it was so long ago, my memory is hazy.’

‘Wasn’t that unusual? A single man adopting a child?’

‘I was there. They were having an open day and the kids were wearing their best clothes and running around on the grass. They invited relatives of the children and well-meaning locals.’

‘To see if they would take on a child?’

‘Why not? Thorsten was a patron – back then there was a massive tax advantage in supporting charities – but he took it seriously. Becoming a father was the last thing on his mind… until Zena came along. She was a new arrival, barely eighteen months old and still wearing nappies. Too young to know she had two dead junkies for parents. The day she saw Thorsten she wouldn’t let go of his hand. The staff said she was inconsolable when he left. After that it became a joke each time he visited. Zena used to ride on his back and call him her lion. When he was planning to return to Sweden permanently, he discovered he couldn’t bear to leave her behind.’

He shrugged. ‘So that’s how they met. May I ask some questions of you, Detective Ivanova?’

‘Of course,’ she said, glad at least that he had reinstated her title.

‘Have you much experience of this type of thing?’

‘I spent fifteen years working violent crimes.’

His voice faltered, ‘Murder and abductions?’

‘A lot of murders; thirty to forty abductions. It’s quieter now than it used to be but it’s still not safe enough to leave a rich kid on her own.’

‘And you work with your husband in the same department?’

‘It’s commoner than you’d think; it’s only against regulations if he is my supervisor. Mikhail is assisting, but I have operational control of the investigation and report directly to the head of the Criminal Investigations Directorate.’

She watched Mikhail swig from the bottle of Ochakovo and pretend he wasn’t part of the conversation. ‘My husband has a law degree and will regard himself as a failure if he isn’t a colonel in ten years’ time, so there may be a crisis then but it’s not a concern now.’ It wasn’t exactly the truth – she was holding up Mikhail’s career and could feel his frustration, even if he didn’t voice it. Also, he was popular with the other officers and if Dostoynov did take over from Colonel Vasiliev she’d be blamed for allowing it to happen.

Lagunov felt in his pockets and Mikhail, reading the signs, pulled out a packet of his Sobranies and offered him one. ‘What have you found so far?’ the lawyer asked.

‘I’ll get an ashtray,’ she said, using the excuse to open the kitchen windows. She returned with a misshapen bowl of fired clay that Anton had made in pottery class and they could find no other discernible use for. ‘I’ll go into the details with Mister Dahl, but Zena left her apartment last Thursday with Yulia Federova and they became separated.’

‘Are you sure she hasn’t gone away somewhere?’

‘No, but there are indications that this didn’t happen. Perhaps she is staying with a boyfriend, but no girl I know leaves without taking a few essentials.’