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

After half an hour, the rest of the day shift appeared and she kept her head down, not wanting to engage in the joking and teasing that came with the job. She took out a notepad and made a list of her follow-up activities: the civil registration office, ZAGS, might tell her what Zena’s appointment with them had been about; the girl’s last movements, and possibly her assailant’s too, might be on the CCTV footage of the Krestovsky Island Metro; then there were the fingerprints on Zena’s Hermès handbag that Pavel Popovich would need a chase call on; finally, she had to finish the phone conversation with Thorsten Dahl and get him to mail over Zena’s dental records.

At ten minutes to nine, Rogov appeared and sat on the edge of her desk creasing the papers underneath. The smell of mouthwash on him was so strong he could have bathed in peppermint oil.

‘Did Misha find you last night?’

‘Being friendly now?’ He stretched a hand over his face and yawned into it. ‘Yeah, we went out for a little one. He’s gone home for a wash and change.’

She nodded. ‘Thanks.’

Rogov paused, agony corrugating his simple brow. ‘It’s not my place to say this, Natalya, but Misha’s a good man. You two need to talk.’

‘Yeah, you’re right, Rogov.’ She studied his stricken features. ‘It’s not your place to say it.’ She yanked her keyboard from underneath one of his buttocks. ‘Now get off my desk and do some work.’

At roll call in the Zheglov meeting room, she sat on one of the chairs placed against the wall and tuned out her thoughts to focus on Colonel Vasiliev as he addressed the Directorate’s detectives. ‘Captain Ivanova is working on the Dahl case. For those of you unfamiliar with it, Zena Dahl, a nineteen-year-old student from Sweden was last seen on Thursday night, and is believed to be the body discovered in the Maritime Victory Park.’

Vasiliev smoothed hair that required no smoothing. ‘Captain Ivanov, please provide an update to Major Dostoynov on your progress.’

This was new, she thought. Had the new major already succeeded in becoming Vasiliev’s replacement? She shifted in her chair feeling the eyes in the room on her. ‘Major, there are no suspects yet; however, a handbag was found at the scene and Expert Criminalist Popovich will report today with his analysis of the fingerprints. In addition, I will be following up on a number of leads.’

‘Do you need assistance?’ asked Dostoynov.

‘Yes, sir, I need a team to make street enquiries and to—’

‘Good, Captain.’ He looked to Colonel Vasiliev for approval. ‘You can keep Sergeant Rogov. The need for additional manpower will be reviewed this evening. In the meantime, your main priority is the identification.’

‘Yes, Major.’ Her tone was upbeat but she felt anything but optimistic. The Colonel had clearly spoken with the new major before the meeting and put him in charge of the case.

With roll call over she went to the equipment desk and took several deep breaths before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The corporal behind the counter handed her a breathalyzer and she blew into the nozzle, conscious that the bottle of Satrapezo she’d been drinking until midnight could deprive her of a departmental car as well as her Makarov. After visiting Yulia Federova she had kept the gun for the weekend – there was no rule requiring her to return the Makarov at the end of her shift – though all the menti generally checked in their weapons to avoid the wrath of senior management; there had been too many incidents involving off-duty policemen.

The corporal rotated a clipboard in her direction. ‘Please sign… and don’t drink so much next time, Captain. You were just under.’

She took her Makarov and the key then found Rogov, who was conspicuously absent from the equipment desk; she presumed because he was over the limit. At the car park she held out the fob at arm’s length and pressed the unlock button to find the vehicle assigned to her. Rogov read it as an invitation and raised his hand for the key. She shook her head and decided not to mention that the mouthwash he had been swilling would be enough to fail a breathalyzer test on its own. ‘We’ll split. I’ll drive first.’

‘OK, boss. Where are we going?’

She held her arm in a different direction and pressed the button on the fob again. This time, the indicators on a dark grey Nissan Primera flashed.

‘To ZAGS.’

‘I didn’t think you cared.’

As she climbed inside, she was hit by the smell of greasy food with the vinegar tang of vomit.

‘Zena went to one of their offices before she disappeared. I want to know which one.’

‘What about Dostoynov’s order?’

‘The one where we behave like a pair of Moscow Watchdogs and leave the detective work to someone else?’

‘That one,’ he smiled.

Had Rogov agreed to keep Dostoynov updated? She didn’t think so; Rogov was Mikhail’s man and – at least for the moment – that guaranteed her some loyalty too.

She started the engine and drove out of the car park, waving at the guard on the barrier. ‘You’re an insubordinate bastard, aren’t you, Rogov?’

‘Yeah,’ he nodded enthusiastically then paused to think and she could almost hear the machinery turning, ‘but I’m with you. I don’t want anyone else taking the credit.’

‘It won’t happen. Thorsten—’

‘Zena’s father, right?’

‘Yes. Misha and I met Dahl on his plane.’

‘I heard.’ Rogov scratched his chin.

‘Well, I’ve asked him for Zena’s dental records. We have a little time before they get here.’

‘Misha said Dahl couldn’t leave the airport because he didn’t have a visa.’ Rogov frowned, ‘But I heard he’s rich.’

‘Like an oligarch.’

‘So why did he lie?’ Rogov whistled through his teeth. ‘With the cabbage he’s got, Dahl could turn up naked at the Russian embassy and expect the ambassador to fix a visa to his puckered zhopa .’

It wasn’t a pleasant image of a bereaved father, but Rogov was right. At the junction to Suvorovsky she teased her phone from her jeans pocket then gestured with a finger for Rogov to be quiet while she called Mikhail.

He answered it immediately. ‘Tasha?’

‘How’s the head?’

He groaned. ‘Like there’s a wolf inside tearing at a reindeer.’

‘What do you know about this new major?’

‘Dostoynov? I have to share an office with him. He doesn’t fart or smoke but there’s still a sulphurous smell to him.’

‘Has Vasiliev anointed Dostoynov yet?’

‘No, but the colonel knows I don’t want the job.’

‘I’m sorry, Misha, it’s my fault. If it wasn’t for me—’

‘Yeah, well. Natasha, I’ve got a lot of work, and the grandfather of all hangovers. How can I help?’

‘I was reminiscing with Sergeant Rogov about the wonderful time we spent on Dahl’s Gulfstream.’

She could hear laughter in the background and wondered how busy Mikhail really was. ‘What about it?’

‘Do you think we were taken in? Rogov thinks Dahl lied about the visa and for once I think he might be right. Surely Dahl could have got one easily enough.’

‘Maybe he was scared to leave the airport. He was here in the nineties and you know what they say about the oligarchs?’

‘What?’

‘Never ask how they made their first million.’

‘Could be… thanks. Can you stay on the line?’

‘Because I’ve got nothing better to do?’

Natalya parked the Nissan then tapped Rogov on the shoulder and pointed out the red-orange building on the opposite street. With its stucco façade and pilasters the civil registration office had the appearance of a wedding cake. ‘Try this ZAGS first.’