Sue Fortin - The Half Truth

‘Come on, Baz, you must know something,’ he coaxed as he slowly stirred the teaspoon around in the dark-brown liquid.

‘Look, John …’ began Baz Fisher.

Martin cut him off. ‘That’s Detective Sergeant Nightingale to you, Baz. Don’t forget your manners, now. There’s nothing I hate more than disrespect.’ He picked up his plastic teaspoon and snapped it in half between his fingers. ‘It gets me agitated, see.’

John watched Baz Fisher, local ‘fence’, well known for being a mine of information. Through his café business and his rather unfavourable associations with a local gambling syndicate, Baz got to hear a lot of things. Baz flicked a glance in John’s direction before nodding towards Martin. ‘Put ya pet on a lead, will ya.’

‘Come on, Baz.’ John gave a faux reassuring smile. ‘All you have to do is tell us what you know about Pavel Bolotnikov.’

‘I dunno, John,’ he threw Martin a defiant look. ‘These Russians don’t like people poking about in their business. It’s dangerous, like. Know what I mean?’

‘Baz, we can do this two ways,’ said John. ‘We can take you in for questioning, which will no doubt mean word will get out that you’ve been singing or we can do it nice and discreetly here, where no one gets to know.’

Baz eyed John and then Martin. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’

‘I’m not asking much’ said John. ‘Just tell me if Pavel Bolotnikov is in the UK and where.’

A bead of sweat traced its way down the side of Baz’s temple. He wiped at it with a paper serviette.

‘You didn’t hear from me. Got that?’ conceded Baz after a few moments.

‘When have we ever heard it from you?’ said John. ‘You know we will look after you.’

Baz cleared his throat, looking around the café once more. John bit down the impatient breath that was threatening to escape,

‘Pavel is not in London any more. I don’t know exactly where he was staying, but I do know he’s gone.’

‘How did he get into London?’

‘Flew.’

‘From where and when?’

‘Two weeks ago yesterday. I don’t know where from. I’m not his travel agent.’

‘And where is he now?’

‘Like I said, I don’t know.’ Baz wiped at the newly formed sweat on his forehead. ‘Come on, John, give us a break. I’ve said too much already.’

John exchanged a look with Martin before both men looked back at their informant. After a few moments’ silence, John prompted him. ‘Tell us where he is now and we’re done.’

Baz went to protest, but must have thought better of it. He cursed quietly. ‘I swear, John, this is all I know.’ He leaned in and spoke in a hushed voice. ‘Word has it, Pavel’s gone to the seaside.’

‘Seeing as the UK is an island, that gives a lot of scope as to where he could be,’ snapped Martin.

‘Okay, okay.’ Baz held up his hands. ‘West Sussex.’

‘A lot of coastline in West Sussex,’ replied John.

‘Littlehampton. He’s gone to Littlehampton.’ Baz let out a sigh. ‘Now that’s got to be worth something.’ He pointed towards the pocket that housed John’s wallet.

John obliged and drew out a crisp twenty-pound note. He placed it slowly on the table before repeating the process with another one.

As Baz went to scoop the notes up, John laid his hand flat over them. ‘Was he alone?’

Baz shrugged. ‘Dunno.’ He looked at John and then Martin. ‘And that’s straight up, I’m not his secretary.’ He looked at the notes.

John lifted his hand and watched as Baz greedily shoved his earnings into his trouser pocket. ‘If that’s all, gentlemen, I’ll be on my way.’

As Baz went to leave, John stuck out his hand and caught the man’s arm. ‘Keep your ear to the ground and let me know if you hear anything. Anything at all. Got it?’

‘Yeah, course,’ muttered Baz before scurrying into the back of the café.

‘You reckon he knows anything else?’ queried Martin.

John shook his head. ‘Don’t think so.’ He took a slurp of his tea before pushing it away. ‘Jesus, that’s disgusting. Come on.’ He stood up. ‘We can pin the facial recognition down to a date now. I want to see if Pavel came in alone or not.’

‘Do you know something I don’t?’ asked Martin following John out of the café.

‘Just a hunch. I want to see the CCTV first, though.’

John and Martin arrived back at the office to find Adam looking rather pleased with himself.

‘I take it that’s your good-news face,’ said John.

‘We’ve got a match for the dead Russian,’ said Adam, tapping at the keys on his computer. The victim’s face appeared on the screen next to his personal details. Adam gave a summary. ‘Ivan Gromov. Porboski gang member. Lives in Russia. Was a regular visitor to the UK up until about five years ago. Not known to us. Has used various different aliases.’ He scrolled down the screen for more information.

‘Came into the UK via Stockholm ten days ago. Connecting flight from Tallinn,’ said John.

Adam looked at his boss. ‘You beat me to it.’

‘Good stuff,’ said John, conscious of not spoiling his junior colleague’s moment. ‘Can you look for Pavel Bolotnikov now? We’re pretty sure he came into the country prior to Gromov. My guess is Gromov was sent to follow Pavel, either to find out what Pavel was up to or to stop him from doing it. Pavel turned the tables on him.’

‘Pavel killed Gromov?’ said Adam.

‘Kill or be killed,’ said John. He nodded at the computer. ‘Get cracking, then, and see what you can find. I want to know if Pavel came in alone.’

Adam got to it straight away. Within an hour he was calling John over.

‘Sir, you might want to come and look at this.’ John came and looked at the monitor. There was Pavel Bolotnikov in full Technicolor.

‘Was he alone?’

Adam flicked to another CCTV screen capture. ‘It would appear not. Came through passport control and customs separately, but joined up in arrivals.’ Adam zoomed in on Pavel and his accomplice.

Martin came and peered over his shoulder at the screen.

‘Is that who I think it is?’

Tina smiled as Dimitri danced in and out of the shade of the sycamore trees, the late afternoon sun stretching the shadows into long, narrow strips, which spread over the pavement and climbed the garden walls.

‘The crocodiles can’t get me when I’m on the black bits,’ said Dimitri, as he hopped from one shaded patch to another.

The light breeze that tripped through the trees threw the edges of the shadows from side to side, making the jumping across the sea of crocodiles quite precarious.

‘Ah! Your foot landed in the water,’ said Tina as Dimitri performed a rather optimistic leap from one shadow to another. She chased after him, snapping her hands together. ‘Snap! Snap! Snap! Here comes the crocodile!’

He squealed and laughed as he darted to the shade of another tree and leaned against the trunk. ‘Not quick enough, Mr Crocodile.’

Dimitri looked on further down the avenue, assessing his next death-defying leap across crocodile-infested waters. He raised himself from the tree trunk and peered more closely at something ahead of him.

‘There’s a man outside our house,’ he said.

Tina followed his gaze. Standing outside her front gate was John Nightingale. She was surprised to see him and found herself subconsciously running her hand across her hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. A fleeting thought, that she wished she had her hair loose today, whizzed through her mind. Swiftly followed by another that she was in her work uniform. However, these were soon overtaken by the idea that something might be wrong. She hadn’t been expecting to see the police again, unless there had been some developments.