The Half Truth (10 page)

John listened to what Baz Fisher had to say without passing comment. On the exterior he remained calm and impassive. On the interior it was a whole different ball game.

Afterwards, he thanked Baz and arranged for a taxi to take him to the docks, where a fishing boat was waiting, its course set for the Emerald Isle.

‘And?’ asked Martin as they watched the black cab drive off with Baz in the back.

‘Trouble,’ said John already heading for the BMW. ‘The Porboskis have been asking about Tina.’

‘Shit,’ said Martin.

‘Indeed.’ John turned the key in the ignition and not waiting to put his seat belt on first, accelerated away from the safe house. ‘They want the money from the Moorgate robbery and think Tina may be willing to help them locate it.’ He didn’t need to translate that into Russian terms. They both knew what it meant. ‘We need to get to her before anyone else does.’

John pulled his mobile from his pocket and, placing it on hands-free, called up Tina’s number. It rang out to voice mail. He tried a second and third time. Still she didn’t pick up.

‘Where the hell is she?’ he said to himself more than to Martin.

‘Work?’

‘No, she’s not in today.’

‘Do you completely trust her?’ said Martin.

‘If you mean, do I think she’s playing me, no I don’t think she is.’ said John. He kept his eyes on the traffic as he pulled out onto the main road and headed south out of the city. ‘She doesn’t know anything.’

‘Not even ..?’

‘Not even that her dead husband isn’t dead.’

Tina took a step back as the man advanced towards her. His steps were slow but with purpose.

‘What do you want? Money? It’s in the safe. I can get it,’ she forced the words from her throat.

The man grinned again. ‘Not the money.’

Tina’s stomach turned one way and then the next. She took another step back and glanced at the kitchen area. She needed something to defend herself with. The man continued his advance. His steps echoed in the empty café.

Tina saw the knives. They were at the back of the work area. She would have to go behind the counter to reach them. Could she get there before he got to her? Even if she did manage to get to them, she would be trapped behind the counter that ran along the side of the café. The toilets and storeroom were at the back of the café. If she managed to get down there before he did, she might be able to make it out the back door.

‘Don’t waste your time thinking how to escape,’ said the man. His accent was now more evident. It was one Tina was familiar with. One she had married into. Russian. As if to confirm Tina’s thoughts, the man said something in his native tongue to his wingman.

The other man grunted a response and hit the light switch. He then went to the windows at the front of the café and pulled down the blinds. A shadowy greyness fell across the room.

Tina knew this was best and possibly her only chance to escape. She had the advantage of knowing the layout of the shop. Her mind flitted to the back-door option, but this was dismissed. It was locked. There was a lock and two bolts to release. She wouldn’t have enough time. Her other option was the toilets. If she could buy enough time and lock herself in the cubicle she might be able to unlock the window and climb onto the street. The small Allan key window lock was on the bunch of keys she was holding.

Tina briefly wondered if she would be able to make a 999 call. Her phone was still in her hand, along with the keys. No, she decided, by the time she had unlocked the screen and made the call, her visitors would be upon her.

The man came to a stop at the table nearest to the counter. He pulled out a chair from one of the tables. ‘Don’t be scared, Tina. We only want to talk to you. Tell us what we want to know and we will leave.’

Tina eyed the chair. Somehow she didn’t think it would be as easy as that. Would they really let her go afterwards?

The wingman strolled over to the table and patted the chair, beckoning Tina with his other hand. ‘Come. Sit.’

Tina let her shoulders drop as if compliant. ‘Okay.’ She let out a small sigh and made to walk towards them. The first man smiled.

‘Good girl.’

As Tina spun on her heel and raced to the back of the café, she hoped to God she had given herself enough of a head start. She slammed through the swing door. It hit the rubber doorstop and bounced back. She gave it an extra push as she fled towards the toilets.

She could hear them cursing in Russian. Charging into the washroom area, Tina grabbed the chair that was in the corner and pushed it up under the handle. It would buy her an extra few seconds, if nothing else.

She slammed the toilet cubicle door shut, fumbled at the lock.

‘Fuck!’ she shouted as she remembered you had to align the stupid bolt up with the holder. She managed to get it in just as she heard the washroom door being shoulder-barged. Tina grappled with the keys. Her hands were damp from sweat.

The clatter of the chair skidding across the floor told her that they were in the washroom.

‘Tina. Stop this! Come out. Talk to us.’

Her skin crawled at the use of her name.

A fist hammered on the door outside and words between the two men were exchanged. Tina didn’t know what they were saying. She didn’t know enough Russian and her brain was only focused on the keys.

Another hammering on the door made her jolt. Her phone slipped from her hands and splashed straight into the toilet. She gave it a fleeting thought – her mind going straight back to the keys.

Balancing on the toilet seat, her hands shook violently as she pushed the hexagonal metal key into the window lock. She tried turning it to the left but it wouldn’t budge.

Another bash against the door. He was now trying to break into the cubicle.

She wiggled the key again. ‘Come on. Turn.’ Finally, there was give and the Allan key moved.

She could hear the lock on the door rattle as the screws loosened with yet another thump. Tina moved the Allan key another quarter turn. She pushed up on the handle and it lifted without resistance. She shoved the window open with the palm of her hand. The small courtyard at the back of the café was her escape route.

There was a wheelie bin against the wall. She could use that to scale the brickwork and be out in the street.

As she put one foot onto the top of toilet cistern and gripped each side of the window frame to pull herself up, the bolt on the door finally gave way.

In crashed one of the Russians. Tina didn’t look behind. She let out a scream and tried to pull herself up. A hand grabbed at her flaying ankle.

‘Help!’ she shouted through the open window. She knew she couldn’t escape but she wasn’t going to give up easily. She kicked back with her foot, catching the man in the chin.

‘
Cyka!
’ It was the wingman. ‘Bitch!’ he said in English this time.

Tina felt him release her ankle. She kicked again but this time found thin air. Once more she attempted to pull herself up through the window.

Two arms grabbed at her hips, then encircled her waist, pulling her backwards. She was yanked down, her feet clattering on the toilet lid. She kicked against it, trying to gain leverage to push her attacker away. He was too strong.

‘Help! Someone!’ she screamed out.

A hand clamped down on her mouth. Fingers dug into her cheek from the force of the grip. Unceremoniously she was dragged into the washroom area.

At this point, Tina became aware of another scuffle going on in the passageway outside.

Raised voices sounded. Grunts. Swearing, in Russian. There was the sound of a body being thrown against a wall. She could hear things being knocked down and then the sound of the storeroom door slamming against the wall. Somebody stumbled into the room, the clattering of brooms and mops accompanied by more dull thumps and the sound of grunting following each connection.

The door to the washroom flung open. The Russian still had his arms around her waist and as he turned towards the door, he pushed Tina forwards. Her head collided with the edge of the door. The force sent her off balance. Pain shot through her head, exploding in her skull. She staggered to the side. In the briefest of moments she caught a glimpse of the man now coming into the washroom.

She didn’t have time to consider who he was. There was a flurry of fists, more grunts, more swearing. Tina cowered in the corner. Her path to the doorway and safety blocked. The mirror shattered as the Russian’s head was smashed against it. As his head was then cracked against the sink, the Russian slumped into an unconscious heap on the floor.

For an eerie few seconds, silence spread through the café. Tina looked up at her rescuer. Her body began to shake violently, shock taking hold of her muscles. Her stomach went into spasm and she retched.

The walls of the washroom closed in. Her vision took on a telescopic effect – all peripheral vision deserting her. She was on the verge of passing out. She struggled to remain conscious, to fight the urge to surrender to the enclosing blackness.

She tucked her head down, leaning forwards, on hands and knees. Willing the blood to rush to her head.

She couldn’t pass out. She wouldn’t allow it. Not now.

She felt a hand on her back, then scooping her hair to one side, coming to rest on the side of her cheek.

She breathed deeper. The blackness began to recede.

A Russian voice, one she recognised, spoke urgently to the man in the room with her. The hand lifted from her face. She grabbed at it.

‘Please …’ she choked on her words as tears flowed swiftly from her eyes. ‘Don’t go.’

She could hear a police siren outside. Blue flashing lights bounced rhythmically off the stainless-steel kitchen appliances down the passageway.

More urgent Russian words were exchanged.

Tina raised herself into a kneeling position, any thought of standing dismissed. She knew her legs wouldn’t hold her. She looked up at the two men in front of her. How could this be? She tried to speak, but her word were lost. She didn’t know what to say. She could hardly believe what was happening.

She heard voices coming into the café. They were faraway and distant. She couldn’t focus on them. The men in front of her turned and sprinted to the rear of the café. She heard the locks and bolts on the door, the scuffling of feet against the wheelie bin outside as they scaled the wall and were gone.

Tina slumped forwards. The wail was animal-like as she called out.

‘Sasha!’

In A&E John moved the curtain to the cubicle aside just enough to step into the confined area.

Her eyes were closed and for a moment he thought she was asleep. He took in the red, swollen lump on the side of her forehead, but was thankful he couldn’t see any other marks. She opened her eyes.

‘Sorry, I didn’t meant to disturb you,’ he said, moving to the side of her bed. The nurse had already brought him up to date on her condition. Bumped, bruised and shaken but otherwise unharmed. He lifted her hand and gave it a small kiss. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘Not being there. I should have stayed with you.’

‘Don’t be sorry.’ She gave his hand a squeeze before slipping it away and placing it on the blanket across her torso. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘I’ve been briefed on what happened,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the two men in custody. They are being questioned now.’

‘I don’t suppose they are, how do you say, singing like a couple of canaries,’ said Tina.

‘What happened exactly?’ said John.

‘I told the police earlier,’ she said not meeting his eye.

‘You told them that they came in at the end of the day to rob the till.’

‘That’s what I assume. I didn’t exactly get into a conversation with them.’

She wasn’t telling him everything, that much he knew. But why that was, he didn’t know.

‘Who came to your rescue?’

‘I don’t know.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘I was hiding in the toilet at that point. I didn’t see who it was.’

‘How many?’

This time she looked directly at him. ‘I don’t know. I told you, I was hiding in the toilet.’

She wasn’t telling him the truth, that was for certain, or at least not the whole truth. John considered his options. Now wasn’t the time to press for more information. After his conversation with Baz, he knew the two men in custody, who at this point were refusing to utter a word, not even their names, were more than likely Russian. The scouting party sent over by the Porboskis. So who could her rescuers be? Who would want to protect her? Who had most to gain from her being saved? It was an easy answer. He didn’t need Tina’s confirmation.

Tina allowed John to take her home. He had suggested she stay at her parents, but she hadn’t wanted to. She didn’t want to alarm her parents any more than necessary. And she certainly wasn’t ready to share the latest developments. She hadn’t even told John yet, although she suspected that it wouldn’t come as that much of a shock to him.

He hadn’t pushed her for information at the hospital and now, as he sat her down on the sofa in her own home, he still avoided the subject. She was grateful.

If he didn’t ask, she didn’t have to tell any lies. She realised lies had surrounded her for far too long. The treacherous words had infecting her life like an airborne virus. She had been an unwitting carrier of the bacteria. Passing the lies on to everyone she loved and shared her life with. She felt contaminated. Plague-ridden. And, at this moment, she had no idea if there was an antidote.

Dimitri came hopping into the living room, a football under his arm.

‘I’ve got the ball, John,’ he said, eagerness in his eyes. ‘You said you’d play football with me.’

‘I did, indeed,’ said John standing up. He looked down at Tina. ‘Why don’t you try and have a sleep. It will do you good.’

‘Does your head still hurt, Mummy?’ asked Dimitri peering closely at the bump on his mother’s head.

‘A little,’ said Tina. She pulled Dimitri in for a quick hug. A lump rose in her throat as she thought of his innocence and how her past, her life before he was born, would now contaminate his world. His history, like hers, had been blasted away. She blinked back the tears.

‘You okay?’ said John. He perched on the edge of the sofa and squeezed her hand.

‘I’ll be fine.’ She kissed Dimitri’s head and ruffled his hair. ‘Go on, you two. I’ll have a rest.’

She listened as John went and checked the front door, offering her reassurance. She couldn’t deny the feeling of unease at being in the house now. She was pleased when John had said he was staying with her for at least the next few days. He had cleared it with his boss and technically he was off-duty, although everyone knew that John was never really off-duty.

That night, after tucking Dimitri in bed, Tina sat on the sofa next to John. The TV was on, but Tina knew that neither was really watching it, just going through the motions of a cosy night in – one that might have been had she not known Sasha was alive.

Not for the first time did she question herself. Had she really seen Sasha? Had Pavel been there? She wondered if the bump on the head had confused her, made her see things she wanted to see. She didn’t know what to believe.

What she really wanted was to slip back to a few weeks ago when she thought she knew her past, when she believed everything about her life, when her life was uncomplicated. Sad, yes, but it was the truth. Now, she didn’t know what the truth was.

There was also the guilt factor. If her husband was alive, if Sasha really hadn’t died in a car accident, then was she betraying him by sleeping with John?

Her head throbbed as she tried to make sense of the past day. Such a morass of conflicting emotions swirling around in a fog of guilt, sadness and confusion.