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

‘What were you doing outside my apartment?’

‘Major Ivanov asked me to find you. He told me not to call you.’

‘The FSB have my phone.’

He nodded, satisfied. ‘Why?’

‘It’s something to do with the Zena Dahl case. They want me out of the way, I don’t know why. Also, I think—’

‘She’s alive? I heard. Do you know where she is?’

Natalya shook her head. ‘No idea.’

‘I also heard the body in the woods is her friend, Yulia Federova.’

‘Who told you?’

‘Major Ivanov.’

‘Leo?’

Primakov nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, Captain?’

‘You can call me Natalya, I don’t think I’m going to be in a job much longer.’ – or alive, she thought – ‘If it’s not a rude question, why are you helping?’ She leaned out of the open window to suck in sweet air as they crossed Blagoveshchensky Bridge to Vasilyevsky Island.

She pulled her head back in to hear him.

‘Scales of grey,’ Primakov was saying. ‘I have a mild obsessive compulsive disorder. It’s simpler to keep things as black or white. Tidier.’

‘And poorer.’

He smiled. ‘That too. Dostoynov is trying to throw some dirt on you.’

‘You don’t believe him?’

‘Major Ivanov moved in with Rogov after I sent you that keylogger. My conclusion is you found something you didn’t like. That makes you more honest than most. Also, the FSB aren’t interested in conspiracy theorists but they are very interested in you. Unfortunately for me, wanting everything black or white means a sliver of white and a whole lot of black.’

She took a breath, inhaling pine and an undercurrent of urine.

‘Thank you.’

He waved it away and they lapsed into silence. Primakov checked his mirror nervously, driving twice along Veselnaya Ulitsa before pulling up outside the eighth block. He stopped to tie his shoelace and she went on. The curtains in the apartment of Zena’s neighbour twitched before she could climb the steps to the metal door; it opened as she took out the key.

Natalya peered at a pair of burgundy eyebrows and burgundy hair scraped back into a bun. ‘Mrs Kuznetsova, do you remember me?’ she asked, reached for her identification card.

‘Yes, I’ve been expecting you.’

‘And this is Expert Criminalist Primakov.’

Lyudmila Kuznetsova gave him a flirtatious grin, showing teeth that were too white and even to be real.

‘Come in, he’s been here all afternoon.’ The old woman pulled the door open wide then turned for her apartment, calling out to Primakov behind her: ‘And close it behind you, handsome.’

Natalya followed the old woman, half-listening to her voice as it competed with the high volume of the television. ‘He speaks Russian like a donkey but he bought food and vodka.’

Kuznetsova was animated and, coupled with the flirtation over Primakov, Natalya reached the conclusion the old woman had already started drinking.

The door to the apartment was ajar. She watched Thorsten Dahl climb out of the armchair facing the television. He bent down to kiss Natalya’s cheek then thought better of it and offered his hand. ‘Captain Ivanova, it’s good to meet you again,’ he said, raising his voice to be heard over the current affairs programme on TV.

‘You made it alright?’ she asked.

He moved away from the television to speak. ‘I flew to Helsinki then took a hire car. I’ve been driving all night.’

‘Thorsten. Let me introduce,’ she stepped aside, ‘Expert Criminalist Leo Primakov, a crime scene investigator.’

Primakov held out his hand to Dahl. ‘Pleased to meet you and before you ask,’ he said drily, ‘it’s nothing like CSI.’

Kuznetsova tried to beckon them all towards a table laden with food but Natalya resisted; she moved her head from Primakov to the old woman as a hint he should go and keep the old woman happy.

‘Come with me,’ she said to Dahl, taking out Zena’s key. ‘It’s too noisy with that TV.’

Dahl yawned. ‘Yes, I think her hearing aid is broken.’

They walked into the landing. ‘Have you ever been here before?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘What about Anatoly Lagunov?’

‘I doubt it.’ The Swede shook his head. ‘Anatoly barely knew Zena. Perhaps he met her once or twice at my house in Stockholm.’

Natalya turned the key in the door and pushed it open. ‘Well, I thought you might appreciate seeing her place.’

‘Yes, I do. Thank you.’

She stepped into the living room and drew the curtains, scattering dust and clearing the gloom.

‘It’s not what I expected.’

‘Trust me, this is upmarket for a student – I shared with four girls who swore like sailors and drank like it was their last day on Earth.’ Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Sorry, poor taste.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

She sat on the edge of Zena’s sofa. ‘Thorsten, I wanted to speak to you privately.’ She touched his arm. ‘I found camera footage of Zena’s friend, Yulia Federova. She was walking towards the park where the body was found.’

‘You think she’s implicated.’

‘No, this happened an hour before smoke was seen.’ She spoke carefully, ‘I must tell you some of my colleagues have a different opinion but I have reason to believe it was Yulia Federova who was killed, not Zena.’

Dahl’s eye’s performed a little roll as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘You mean Zena’s alive? What about the two boys who admitted killing her?’

‘There were coerced into confessing.’ She held out her palms to temper his enthusiasm. ‘There’s no guarantee I’m right, but if someone went to the effort of making us think Zena is dead, then it’s a good indication that she isn’t.’

‘Why do that?’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘It’s sick.’

‘I only have theories, Thorsten. Perhaps, Zena’s abductor got nervous and gave us a body to stop the police investigation.’

‘Why not pick any girl off the street and kill her? Why her friend?’

‘Perhaps Yulia knew Zena’s kidnapper without realising it? When I spoke to Yulia she told me she didn’t know what Zena had been doing at a ZAGS office. Later I found out she had gone there with your daughter. When I asked you and Anatoly Lagunov about the same subject, you were uncomfortable too.’

Dahl waved his hand dismissively. ‘Do we have to go over that again?’

‘I think so.’

He sighed. ‘Her adoption wasn’t completely legal. There wasn’t time to get the paperwork arranged. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know if I could trust you.’

‘If that’s all there is, I won’t mention it to my superiors.’ She stared at Dahl, wondering if he was telling the truth.

‘So you think a kidnapper has been holding her all this time? The man who spoke to Anatoly, was that him?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think it might have been genuine.’

‘Does he still have her?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘And he killed Felix Axelsson?’

‘That’s another thing I don’t understand. Why did the kidnapper kill Axelsson unless he made them nervous?’

‘Felix was a professional—’

‘I wasn’t criticising,’ she said, though she was. ‘When I saw his body’ – she pointed at a spot between Dahl’s cheek and jaw – ‘there was the imprint of a gun barrel. His killer had jammed a pistol in his face then fired. That was rage. Didn’t you tell me they asked for you personally?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I think the kidnapper intended to kill you at the handover. When Axelsson showed up he was angry because he had been cheated.’

‘Why? Were they afraid I was going to report the loss of the documents?’

‘No,’ she mused. ‘That doesn’t account for the rage; it was too personal. Did you upset someone when you were here in the nineties?’