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

Rogov pointed at the screen again. ‘There’s only one line. One train goes to Primorsky, the other runs in the opposite direction to Frunzensky. The two images below cover the escalators; there’s a camera suspended from the ceiling to capture the faces of passengers.’

‘That’s what it’s designed for,’ she said acidly, earning a disapproving glance from Dostoynov.

‘I simply fast-forwarded until a train came in, then looked at the platform to see who got on or off. If there was anyone interesting I got a better look at them on the escalator as they left.’

‘What did you find?’ asked Dostoynov.

‘One moment, Major.’ Rogov fast forwarded the footage, then stopped it with the remote. ‘She arrived just after four from the direction of Primorsky.’

‘Who?’

He pointed to a frozen image of a young, slim-hipped woman stepping off a train. He pressed ‘play’ and she came to life, strolling confidently along the platform in her heels. His finger moved to track her when she first appeared as a blurred collection of pixels at the bottom of the picture. Ten seconds later, she was closest to the escalator’s camera. The girl looked up and Rogov pressed the pause button on the remote control.

‘There she is,’ he said, triumphantly.

Vasiliev peered at the image of the girl’s face bleached by the sun’s rays. ‘Well, that’s not the Dahl girl.’

‘No, Colonel.’ Rogov wetted his lips with his tongue. ‘It’s Yulia Federova.’

She focussed on Rogov again; his face still flushed with excitement. ‘Sergeant, when was this footage was taken?’

‘Natalya, just tell them what they need to know.’

‘Don’t worry, Rogov, there’s a timestamp.’ She leaned forwards to read it. ‘4:04 p.m. Twenty-fifth of June. That was last Sunday. Did you go through all the footage?’

‘Yes.’

‘And are you still a Muslim, Rogov or was that bullshit too?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘OK, that was bullshit.’ She sat back. ‘Did you recognise anyone else?’

‘Just Federova.’

Dostoynov said, ‘You’re not asking the questions here, Captain, I am.’

‘Apologies Major, I’m finished now.’

Vasiliev took out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and offered them around. Rogov was the only one to take one. He bent down to get a light off the colonel then leaned on the edge of the table, puffing on it guiltily.

Dostoynov frowned at Rogov smoking before turning to her. ‘Was Federova going to meet you? Is that why you hid the footage?’

‘Yes, instead of destroying it I hid it in the evidence room logged under the case. I figured no one would ever discover it there.

‘There is no need for sarcasm. The fact you found footage of her suggests you were interested in her movements.’

‘Yulia Federova is dead.’

Dostoynov pushed his lips together then nodded solemnly. ‘Sergeant, please record the Captain’s confession.’

Rogov left the cigarette in his mouth and patted his pockets before coming away with a pen. He pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket and leaned over the table.

‘Good, now we can begin,’ encouraged Vasiliev. ‘Captain, how did it happen?’

‘Yulia Federova is dead,’ she repeated.

She watched Rogov scribble in the pad. ‘Am I going too fast for you?’

He scowled.

‘You see that?’ – she pointed at the screen – ‘Yulia is wearing the Ulyana Sergeenko trouser suit and her hair looks perfect. She was going somewhere.’

‘A date?’ asked Vasiliev.

‘Or a modelling assignment. She was beautiful and needed her luck to change. She was murdered an hour later, then her killer used her keys to enter her apartment and make it look like she’d run away. That’s why it looked staged.’

Rogov looked up. ‘Keep writing,’ she urged, ‘there could be a confession at the end of it.’

‘Continue, Captain,’ said Dostoynov, ‘but be aware you’re digging a hole.’

‘Yulia was Zena’s only friend in Piter . I wonder if she was killed for discovering something. It could be those ZAGS records that she was helping Zena with.’

Dostoynov put a hand on Rogov’s arm to stop him writing. ‘I thought you said you were no good at stories.’

‘Then let me tell you another one, it’s a mystery called “The death of Zena Dahl”. First question: why does a murderer burn a body?’

She looked to Rogov but he was hunched over his notepad, writing.

‘To destroy physical evidence,’ volunteered Dostoynov.

‘Then the killer was an idiot – he left her handbag behind at the scene.’

‘This is old ground and your description of an idiot matches either of the gopniks . In case you have forgotten, it was your husband who arrested them.’

‘Here’s another theory. The body in the park was burned, not to destroy evidence but to disguise the victim. The killer needed to destroy the hair and face, and to make those long legs curl up. Zena Dahl was adopted and we don’t know who her natural parents are – that means we can’t match on DNA.’ She smiled sweetly at Rogov. ‘Make sure you write this in capitals: The body in the park is Yulia Federova, not Zena Dahl.’

There was silence in the room, then ‘That’s some imagination,’ said Dostoynov.

She shook her head. ‘Yulia Federova left the Krestovsky Island Metro an hour before witnesses reported seeing smoke. And no one puts a body in the Maritime Victory Park unless the purpose is to draw attention to it.’

Dostoynov snorted. ‘So someone killed Yulia Federova and turned her into Zena Dahl. You expect me to believe that?’

‘Zena had been missing for nearly four days by then. All we needed was a burned body and a handbag to be convinced it was her.’

‘Why?’ asked Vasiliev, tapping his cigarette over an aluminium foil ashtray.

‘I don’t know yet, Colonel, but it’s easy enough to prove. Yulia Federova’s father is in prison, you can compare his DNA to that of the body in the woods.’

Dostoynov grinned. ‘This is better than Koschei the Deathless. Aren’t you forgetting the two gopniks ? Setting a murder like this is beyond their intellectual capacity.’

‘Rogov?’ she waited until he lifted his head. ‘You questioned the two boys.’

‘Scum,’ he spat.

‘Before you forced a confession out of them, what was their story?’

‘Colonel, Major,’ he blustered, ‘I didn’t coerce them.’

‘Sergeant, answer the question,’ said Vasiliev.

Rogov put his hands on his hips. ‘They told me lies. Popovich found their fingerprints on the purse. They told the truth soon enough.’

‘Sergeant, answer the question,’ Vasiliev repeated.

‘The gopniks told me they found her on the street and robbed her.’

‘We know that, then what?’

‘They heard someone coming and ran away. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘It does if a kidnapper was tracking Zena’s movements,’ she said. ‘Whoever abducted her saw the robbery and decided to intervene. They knew the boys would have left fingerprints behind on her handbag.’

Rogov wobbled his jowls as he shook his head. ‘Why bother?’

‘Because someone has made the daughter of a billionaire disappear and all you can think of is how to frame the only person trying to solve the case.’

‘What about the gopniks ?’ asked Rogov.

‘Knowing our justice system they’ll be stuck in pre-trial detention for months. They were a pair of nasty shits though, so I’m not going to lose sleep over it.’ She paused for breath. ‘So, gentlemen, do you want me to find Zena Dahl, as well as Yulia Federova’s killer, or would you prefer to keep me here on false charges?’