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

‘Then Zena was killed.’

‘Yes,’ he rocked in the chair and exhaled slowly, ‘and then my daughter was murdered.’

‘But that was Sunday evening. Why did you stay in St. Petersburg until today?’

Dahl flashed teeth. ‘Because I wanted to find who killed her and I don’t trust the Russian police to do their job.’

She ignored the barb. ‘So where were you hiding?’

‘Alright, I’ll give you that’ – he took a breath – ‘I rented an apartment in Admiralty District and gave the owner a little extra to keep my name off the books.’

‘What did you discover?’

He stopped rocking. ‘Nothing… or at least nothing until yesterday.’ Dahl’s pale eyes caught hers and held onto them; their intensity made her break away after a few seconds. ‘Anatoly took the call at his office. He said the man had a Russian accent and used that criminal slang.’

‘ Fenya ?’

‘Yes. He said Zena was alive but not for long. Anatoly told him to call back, when we would ask him a proof of life question. Imagine how I felt hearing Zena had been murdered then being offered the tantalising possibility that it had all been a lie.’

‘I heard of a case recently,’ she said. ‘A businessman took a call and heard his son screaming in the background. They told him to stay on the line and transfer eight million roubles online or listen to him die. After he paid, the father called his son’s school and spoke to the headmaster. The boy had been there all day – someone had imitated him.’

Dahl waved his hand dismissively. ‘Felix was with me when Anatoly called. He suspected it was a trick but I insisted we went ahead with it. I thought of a question that only Zena and I could know. I even checked the internet to make sure it wasn’t public knowledge. When the man called Anatoly again, he was ready with the question.’

‘What was it?’

‘Zena had two friends called Benny and Bo. I asked who they were. He hung up saying he would call back in five minutes with the answer.’

‘And he did?’

‘Yes, he said “It’s the same fucking horse”.’

‘Was he right?’

‘Yes. Bo was a gelding I bought for Zena’s tenth birthday. I named him after Bo Widerberg, the film director, but Zena didn’t like it. After a few weeks she changed his name to Benny.’

‘Did he convince you she was alive?’

He shrugged. ‘I didn’t know what to think. The only other possibility was that he had access to someone who knew Zena intimately. I thought of that girl who reported her missing—’

‘Yulia Federova.’

‘Yes, maybe she helped him but I couldn’t see how that was possible. How could she answer any question I asked about Zena?’

‘Perhaps the man bugged your phone or that apartment in Admiralty and listened to you and Axelsson discussing what questions you were going to put to him.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘You didn’t need to, it was Axelsson’s job. What happened next?’

‘I instructed Anatoly to offer him two million roubles to let me speak to Zena directly but he wasn’t interested. He said’ – Dahl looked away – ‘if we wanted more proof he would take a blowtorch to Zena’s face and send me the Polaroids.’

Using “Polaroids” in common speech, she thought, put the man in his forties or older. ‘What did you do?’

Dahl’s foot started tapping erratically, then he stood, unable to contain himself any longer; he paced alongside the daisy chain barriers. ‘What do you think I did?’

‘You gave him everything he asked for.’

He rubbed his eyes then stared at her. ‘Of course I did.’

She followed him to the barrier and stood alongside him, staring out to the sea. ‘What did he want?’

‘Articles of incorporation, the presses for my company seals, banking and tax details. All to be delivered by me personally – Anatoly told me the man was very insistent about that.’

‘He stole your Russian companies.’

Dahl twisted his head to look at her; his eyes were red-rimmed. ‘Believe it or not, I gave them up willingly.’

She had wanted to be easier on him but the omissions were making her angry. ‘Here’s something you forgot to mention in that story: you sent Axelsson to the handover. It was this morning at a boatyard near the Petrovsky Fairway Bridge.’

Dahl shook his head in disbelief. ‘If you knew all this, why did you make me tell you?’

‘I don’t have the full picture yet. What happened, Thorsten?’

He took two paces away from her, then gripped the rail of the bannister. For a second she thought he might vault over it; he stuffed his hands in his pockets as if the thought had occurred to him too.

He shuffled towards her. ‘It was arranged for 10 a.m. If Felix found Zena I instructed him to take her to the Anglican Church on Malaya Konyushennaya. Do you know it?’

‘No.’

‘It was my idea. The church is next to the Swedish Consulate. I thought I could get Zena to safety there then obtain emergency papers to get her out of the country. Instead, I sat for two hours on a wooden bench. I even prayed a little. Believe me, an atheist praying is an ugly sight.’ His chest heaved as he chuckled to himself but his face betrayed little humour. ‘I told Felix not to take chances. I told him to leave immediately if she wasn’t there.’

‘Why do you have Axelsson’s phone?’

‘I also have his wallet and wedding ring. Felix said it was standard procedure to remove any proofs of identity prior to an operation. He bought a prepaid phone for the handover.’

‘I’ll need the number.’

‘I’ve been calling it all morning. It’s no longer in use.’

‘Most likely at the bottom of the Malaya Neva.’

‘Felix said that if I didn’t hear from him, I was to leave the country and take his possessions home for his wife.’

She sipped her tea. ‘So you know he’s dead?’

Dahl pulled his hands out of his pockets and leaned over the bannister at the harbour below. ‘I know you think I’m a fool. I got an innocent man killed because someone conned me.’

‘Zena’s in a mortuary,’ she said gently. ‘Thorsten, there’s no shame in what happened. These criminals are clever and ruthless. They spend all day thinking up nasty con tricks. Now will you promise to trust me?’

He stared at her. ‘Yes, I think I can do that.’

‘Good,’ her voice was brisk. ‘I need you to return to St. Petersburg. Take the land border through Finland and use the smallest crossing you can find. Don’t use your credit cards and leave your mobile phone behind. I’ll give you an address. Whatever you do, keep away from the FSB – they handle immigration so be careful.’

‘You too, Captain,’ he said, with a melancholic smile.

At Arlanda, Natalya caught an AirBaltic flight. With the stopover at Riga it was well after twelve when she queued outside the row of sentry boxes that marked passport control at Pulkovo airport. Despite the half-empty plane, nearly an hour passed before she found herself facing a woman wearing a gunmetal grey uniform and possessing a pair of eyebrows that had been plucked clean then pencilled in a high arch; combined with the sour mouth it made her look permanently sarcastic.

‘Documents.’

Natalya handed over her passport then waited. The woman studiously avoided her gaze and tapped numbers into a computer keyboard one finger at a time. There was a clock on the wall and her mind habitually ran to the bridge timetables. Around this time, six days ago, Zena Dahl had walked out of the Cheka bar and her troubles began.

‘Will this help?’ Natalya took out her police ID card.

The official glanced at it. ‘No… Captain.’