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

As Mikhail parked, she observed it was 1:10 a.m. according to the clock in his Mercedes. Outside, the sun was lolling drunkenly over the horizon, and she could see silvery splashes on the streets where its dim light was reflected on puddles. She took the stairs before finding their apartment as dark as a coal bunker from the blackout curtains that Mikhail installed during the White Nights. She took off her shoes in the hallway and stepped on a half-full beer can that crushed under her foot; the cold liquid soaked her sock.

She peeled it off and held it gingerly in her hand. ‘Misha, you bastard.’

‘What have I done?’ he said, behind her.

She felt for the light switch. The can had spilled from a plastic bag filled with bottles, cans, and the contents of several ashtrays; next to it were three empty pizza boxes. It was cold enough to give her goose pimples and she felt behind the curtains and blinds to find the windows wide open; no doubt to clear the air of cigarette smoke before they got home.

While Mikhail stormed into Anton’s bedroom she went to the bathroom and rolled up the leg of her jeans.

‘You irresponsible little shit.’ She heard him shout as she directed the bath’s shower attachment at her beer-soaked foot.

There was a murmur from Anton then a yelp of indignation. She cleaned her teeth then went to their bedroom and closed the curtains before switching on the light. Mikhail came in and started pulling off his clothes, dropping them on the floor as he changed.

‘Your sister left a message with him.’ Mikhail, she noticed, was unable to say Anton’s name. ‘She’s working a night shift in the hospital. She said you can call any time.’

‘What happened?’

Mikhail fiddled with his belt buckle, his hands yanking at it. ‘What?’

‘The mess.’

He glared at his discarded shirt on the floor then realised she was talking about the beer bottles and pizza boxes. ‘Anton.’ He pulled the belt free and shrugged off his trousers.

She wanted to laugh at the incongruous sight of him being angry in his underwear and socks.

‘Your fault,’ he hissed.

‘Mine?’ her voice rose in pitch.

‘You left that note telling him we were going to the airport. He thought it meant we were going away and he decided to invite some friends around. Luckily they left for a club an hour ago.’

‘At least he tried to clean up.’

He glared at her again, then dropped his underwear to save his socks for last.

‘Did you check the bribe today?’

‘Because I feel like doing him a favour?’

She realised he was better left to himself. ‘Don’t worry about it, Misha. I’ll call Klavdiya.’

She undressed and pulled on a dressing gown before switching the light off. In the living room, she sat on the sofa and dialled her sister’s number from memory.

‘Claudia?’ she said, using the Germanic version of the name that her sister preferred.

‘Yes.’ Claudia sounded officious and she guessed there was someone close by.

‘You want me to call back?’

‘It’s fine. I’m giving a patient some water, they are going now.’

‘How’s life in Hannover?’

She heard the sigh. ‘Too many Russians. They hear of a nurse who can speak their mother tongue and all day they want me to tell them what the doctor is saying. I tell them to fuck off and learn German if they want to live here, but they don’t care. They all watch cable TV and speak Russian with their friends. There’s no incentive.’

‘Damned Russians.’ Natalya laughed. ‘How’s Papa?’

‘Old and cantankerous. He misses his Natashenka – so do I. When are we going to see you?’

She wondered how long it would take before Claudia brought up the subject. Living in Germany as children, they had both been given dual citizenship but she had relinquished hers to join the police. Despite the complaints, being an expatriate had made Claudia more Russian; returning to St. Petersburg had the opposite effect on her though. The mafia, the chauvinism, the bureaucracy, the incompetence; it made her despair. Spending her teenage years in Germany had turned her into an alien, a fifth columnist.

‘Natashenka?’

‘I’m still here. Can you wait a second?’

She crossed into the study and switched on the desktop computer. If Mikhail couldn’t be relied on, she would do it herself. It was late, but another day might be lost before she or Mikhail had another opportunity to check if Anton’s university bribe had been paid. That was another thing – bribes. What sane society was based on paying and receiving bribes? Newly qualified doctors couldn’t locate the body’s organs because they had bought their medical degree; children wanted to be tax officials and prosecutors when they grew up. There was even an app for a mobile phone that calculated the appropriate bribe to offer for a traffic violation. The whole damned thing was ridiculous.

‘How’s my favourite nephew?’ she asked.

‘He’s a little swine. Yesterday an AfD candidate came to our door canvassing for the local elections; Oskar dropped his trousers and did a shit on the hallway floor – right in front of him.’

Natalya laughed.

‘I was scrubbing the tiles all day and I can still smell it. Don’t ever have children.’

‘I’m not intending to.’

Claudia’s voice dropped, ‘Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘That’s alright, I’m not offended.’

‘How’s Mikhail?’

‘Usual. You should come over, we’ve got the space now.’

There was silence on the other end then an exchange in German. Natalya used the lull in the conversation to enter the Windows password on the computer, then she checked the ring file where Mikhail kept his bank details. She opened the webpage for the North-Western then typed in his account name and password.

‘Are you happy, Natalya?’

‘I’m tired. There’s a new case: a missing girl, I’ve been working on it all day.’

A page came up and she clicked on a button to show Mikhail’s transaction history. The balance showed 49,534 roubles, less than her monthly salary, and not enough for him to pay the bribe. There was a chance though that the Admissions Head had made a mistake and it had been paid some time ago.

‘I know you’d need to reapply for citizenship, but I have a friend at the kindergarten, one of the mothers, her husband is a Russian who joined the police. I can speak to her and find out how difficult it was.’

‘I’m nearly forty, Claudia – that’s too old to start again.’ On the screen she flicked through the last month of Mikhail’s transactions. She remembered the bribe had been for five thousand dollars. Since the economic sanctions, the exchange rate had nearly doubled, so she was expecting to find a transfer of approximately three hundred and twenty thousand roubles.

‘Nonsense,’ her sister said, ‘I’m sure they’ll take your experience into account.’

There was nothing in Mikhail’s account for a withdrawal of that size in May, then she remembered they had accompanied Anton to the university last September. He could have transferred the money any time since then and it might explain why Mikhail or the Admissions Head had forgotten about it.

‘Claudia, do you remember that wedding you went to in St. Petersburg, sometime in the summer of 2014? Mikhail and I were standing in front of the priest holding candles. I was the one dressed in white?’

Her sister grunted. ‘Well, I’m sure Misha could get a job too. He might have to learn German but, like I said, there are a lot who don’t and they get along fine.’

She had a point, Natalya thought; her circle of friends was becoming smaller as people packed their bags for America, Germany, Israel, and Britain. Mikhail was sure to be the last to go though, at heart he was a Russian cop who would never feel at home anywhere else.