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

‘Was it called Östermalm?’

She heard a rustle of paper,

‘Yeah, that’s it.’

‘Thanks Rogov.’

She hung up, then took a deep breath before tapping in the number for Axelsson’s mobile phone. She was surprised to hear it ring when the killer should have dumped it in the Malaya Neva.

When the call was answered she heard a fumbling noise in the background as if the phone had been hidden and hurriedly located. There was a hiss of static then the sound of traffic. She pressed her ear to the phone, listening intently. No one spoke.

She decided to break the impasse. ‘Hello?’ she said in English.

The line went dead.

She took the M10 to Pulkovo, abandoning her Volvo in the airport’s car park before emptying her personal account for a handful of krona at the currency exchange. The flight to Sweden was direct and it was still early evening when she arrived to a colder, brighter sun. She took the Arlanda Express into Stockholm then caught a taxi outside the train station. The driver took her across bridges and islands that reminded her of home then pointed to a number on his meter that was almost equal to all her converted money.

The building, like its owner, wasn’t as grand as she had expected. It was a narrow, four-storey house on the Strandvägen Boulevard in Östermalm that didn’t seem large enough to house six bedrooms. Outside Zena’s apartment there hadn’t been a single security camera and her father’s house was no different. After ringing the bell, she stepped back and waited.

A young woman with spiky blonde hair and a surprisingly formal black and white uniform opened the door. She appraised Natalya then spoke in English, ‘Yes, can I help?’

‘I want to speak to Thorsten.’

‘He’s not—’

She pushed her way inside, passing a metre-high model of a sailing ship in a glass cabinet.

‘Leave immediately or I will call the police,’ the maid demanded.

‘Where is he?’

A man in his fifties with slicked-back hair and a chef’s apron appeared at the end of the hallway; he blocked it off with his arms slightly raised, ready to intercept her if she tried to push past. ‘Please, you must leave.’

‘Thorsten!’ she yelled. ‘Where the hell are you?’

The maid picked up a phone from the hall table. ‘Do you want me to call the police or will you go now?’

‘I’ll stay. Your boss can explain how he stole a child from an orphanage.’

The girl gave a slight shrug and started dialling.

‘Gunvor, let her pass.’ She heard Dahl’s voice from a room to the left, ‘I know this lady. Show her in.’

The chef dropped his arms and walked along the hallway, stopping at an open door where blue silk curtains shimmered and a white china dining set was laid out on an oak table stained white. Dahl was standing inside the doorway, wearing his trademark jeans and a fisherman’s sweater; he looked more exhausted than when she’d seen him on his Gulfstream.

‘It’s alright, Gunvor. Maria, please leave us alone.’

The maid and chef walked away. Dahl was about to speak and she decided to get in first. ‘Did you have a good flight, Thorsten?’

‘Let’s go upstairs for some privacy.’ He opened a pair of teak doors to reveal a small lift.

She stepped inside, feeling awkward at being in such close proximity to Dahl. At the third floor she followed him through a reception room and out through a set of glass doors. She stepped onto a roof garden with immaculately trimmed grass dotted with small trees contained by earthenware pots; cast iron daisies were interwoven at the buildings edge to form a barrier.

‘I had this built for Zena when she first came here. She loved throwing paper planes from the roof.’

He pulled out a metal chair and she sat down by a black lacquered table with a Japanese motif. ‘Now, how can I help you, Captain Ivanova?’

‘I want to know why you’ve been hiding away in St. Petersburg with your security advisor, Felix Axelsson.’

She watched the muscles tighten in his jaw and he repeated the phrase that was already becoming worn: ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Of course you do, we found Axelsson’s name on your Gulfstream’s flight manifest.’’

‘I don’t know who you mean.’

‘Then can you explain how I traced his mobile phone to this address?’

‘He’s not here.’

‘Now we make some progress. I know he’s not here. Why do you have Axelsson’s phone, Thorsten?’

‘He left it here.’

‘Look I’ve just destroyed my bank account to see you. Believe it or not we’re on the same side.’

‘Captain… Natalya, you shouldn’t have come. I don’t want you getting involved.’

Now, he was trying to protect her, but from what?

‘I’m not moving, Thorsten, call the police if you want to but Sweden isn’t Russia, you can’t buy your way out of trouble here.’

‘Oh?’ He tilted his head. ‘I think you’d be surprised.’

‘You want to test me?’

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘A Russian detective questioning a Swedish citizen without any authorisation? Yes, I think I would be surprised. They’ll put you on the next flight to Pulkovo and your people will reprimand you.’

‘Don’t pretend to be a tough guy, Thorsten, you’re better than that. Let’s agree that we can both make life difficult for each other. Isn’t that called mutually assured destruction?’

‘No, it’s called me telling you what I can and you working out the rest for yourself. Agreed?’ He took the chair opposite her and stretched out his legs without waiting for an answer. ‘You know there are nice views of Djurgården from here.’

‘Never mind that. Start at the beginning.’

‘When?’

‘The day you met Zena.’

He snorted. ‘Why?’

‘Because all I’ve had from you and Lagunov are lies.’

He stared through the wrought ironwork at the scene below. She followed his gaze to see a family cycling along the harbour path: a mother, father, and two young boys. It made her stomach ache to watch them.

‘I’m sure Anatoly told you. I met Zena in an orphanage. She clung onto my leg. We were outside having a picnic.’

‘Was that the one in Lisy Nos?’

‘No, Krasnoye Selo.’

‘At least that part of your story matches his. What was her birth name?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘That’s not a problem. Show me a copy of the adoption certificate and we can clear it up?’

‘I don’t have it any more.’

‘Then where did you spend Christmas that year?’

‘Orthodox?’

‘Non-orthodox.’

‘I had a suite in the Astoria.’

‘With Zena?’

‘Of course.’

‘Lagunov said you spent it alone with him and his ex-wife. Thorsten, we can keep going like this but it doesn’t profit either of us and I know it’s not the truth.’

The doors to the balcony garden opened and the maid appeared with a teapot, cups and pastries.

‘Thank you, Maria.’

He waited until the maid pulled the glass doors behind her then laughed to himself. ‘They are checking up on us… I didn’t ask for tea. Nevertheless’ – he poured it into two cups – ‘it would be rude to refuse.’

‘I thought you were going to talk to me.’

‘No, I said I’d tell you what I can. I’ll give you this: Zena’s surname was Volkova and I didn’t spend that Christmas with her. Now don’t ask me any more on the subject.’

Dahl closed his eyes momentarily and seemed to struggle to open them; he was exhausted.

‘Then let’s jump to Felix Axelsson. Why did you involve him?’

‘When Anatoly told me the Russian police had reported Zena missing, I assumed she had been kidnapped – just as you had. I hired Felix to assist. The idea was to use Anatoly in the negotiations and keep Felix in reserve for his more earthy skills – he speaks Russian and has a military background. Also I wanted someone unconnected to the company. My father is retired but he is likely to interfere.’