The Half Truth (3 page)

Back at HQ, John pinned the burnt photograph onto the evidence board. Underneath he pinned photographs of two men and a woman. He pointed to the first photograph and addressed his team.

‘Sasha Bolotnikov, wanted for money-laundering. Fled to Russia soon after the Moorgate robbery. Killed in a car crash within weeks of arriving.’ His team listened as he continued his commentary. ‘Pavel Bolotnikov, part of the Porboski gang, involved in the Moorgate robbery where Neil Edwards was killed. Wanted for Neil’s murder.’ He paused as he wrote on the board. ‘He too fled back to Russia afterwards.’ He moved on to the third picture. ‘Tina Bolotnikov. British passport-holder. Married Sasha Bolotnikov. Still in the UK. Living in West Sussex. And this,’ he said pointing to the photograph of the dead Russian, ‘is our unknown. A Russian gang member – Porboski gang, by the look of it, found murdered down at the docks. And this is a baggage tag, possibly from a Stockholm flight.’

‘He doesn’t look very Swedish to me,’ said Adam, one of John’s team.

‘It’s just a theory at present, but we think he may have caught a connecting flight to Stockholm from Tallinn. That’s Estonia,’ said John. ‘It’s a route favoured in the past by some of the Porboski gang.’

‘What’s he doing over here?’ asked one of the team.

‘We’re not sure. Obviously a connection to the Bolotnikovs. I want all the flights in from Stockholm over the past week checked for facial recognition against this photo.’ He tapped at the board. ‘Clearly there’s some connection with the Bolotnikovs, but what that is, I’ve no idea. Yet.’

‘Wading through CCTV and facial recognition is going to take forever, especially if we don’t know when he came into the UK,’ said Adam.

‘Have you got any better suggestions?’ said John. His colleague shrunk back in his seat. ‘We’re also checking for Pavel Bolotnikov. Our unknown hasn’t come over for a sightseeing trip. It could be that Pavel is in the country and that means trouble.’

‘I want three of you to go and check out all the old stomping grounds of the Bolotnikovs and the Porboskis. The gang moved out of the UK after the Moorgate job, but they will still have contacts. People will know. Get some tongues wagging. We’re playing catch-up now and I don’t like it.’

John took a sip of his coffee as he let the information settle with his team. The Moorgate robbery was a tough subject for them all. It had been a bad day for the team.

‘What about the wife?’ asked someone.

‘Martin and I are going down to West Sussex to check things out.’ John put his cup down on the table in front of him. ‘I’m waiting for the local police to run a few checks, see what she’s been up to lately. I don’t want to scare her off if she’s got info. She may even be harbouring Pavel for all we know.’

A gentle murmur rippled out amongst his colleagues as more speculation was bounced around.

‘No one wants Pavel Bolotnikov brought to justice more than I do,’ said John picking up on the conversation. ‘If he’s here, we’re going to nail him.’

John left work early. There was someone he needed to see. Neil Edwards’ widow, Hannah. Although Neil’s murder case had never officially been closed, all leads had dried up as to where Pavel Bolotnikov was. Reports had come back from Russia that after his brother’s funeral, Pavel had disappeared off the radar. If anyone knew where he was, they weren’t talking. With no bilateral extradition treaty between the UK and Russia, any hope of co-operation from the authorities to hand Pavel over, were non-existent. Hannah Edwards needed to hear it from him himself that there had been some development in the case. John didn’t want her switching on the news and finding out or some journalist turning up on her doorstep.

John parked across the road from the village school. He watched the parents arriving and lining up outside the gates, waiting for home time. He scanned the queue, looking for the familiar fair hair of his partner’s widow.

He spotted her halfway down the line, head bent looking at her phone. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she had her gym wear on. She looked in good shape. John was pleased she seemed to be taking care of herself. There had been a time when he was worried she wasn’t bothering. After Neil’s death, her world had come to a standstill and John hadn’t been sure if it would ever start up again.

The guilt within surged, as it always did, when he saw her, but this time it receded with more ease than before. He hoped she was turning things around.

The gates opened and the parents filed into the playground. John got out of his car and leaned against the bonnet while he waited for Hannah to come back out with Ella; her and Neil’s eight-year-old daughter.

He didn’t have to wait long. As mother and daughter emerged from the crowd of navy and grey uniforms, Hannah looked up and met John’s gaze. She smiled and waved, said something to Ella, who looked over and waved too. Then they made their way across the road to John.

John kissed her on the cheek. ‘Hi, Hannah, good to see you.’ He leaned down and gave Ella a quick peck on the top of her head. ‘Hiya, Ella. How are you? That’s a nice school bag you’ve got there, is it new?’

‘Hi, John. It’s a High School Musical one.’ Proudly she held it up for John to see the picture. ‘It was a present.’

‘Wow! That looks nice. Who got you that?’

Hannah interrupted before Ella could reply. ‘You’ll have to explain to John about High School Musical and your bag some other time. I’m sure he’s really busy.’ She looked up at him. ‘Everything okay with you?’

‘Yeah, fine. Look, can I give you a lift home?’

Hannah looked uncertain. ‘It’s okay, we’re fine walking.’ She hesitated. ‘Is everything really okay?’

‘Let me take you home,’ said John. ‘I do need to speak to you, but not here.’

‘Not at the house. Let’s walk. We can go via the park.’ She didn’t wait for John to agree, but took Ella’s hand and began walking. John had no choice but to follow.

The walk to the park took only five minutes but each second lay heavier than the previous. Tension swirled around them. Only Ella was oblivious to it as she proceeded to tell John all about High School Musical. Hannah didn’t speak and as John stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye, he could see the stiffness in her face, neck and shoulders.

Once at the park, Ella happily went off on the climbing frame and slide. John and Hannah sat on the bench watching but not really looking.

‘What is it you need to tell me?’ said Hannah. Straight to the point, no messing around.

‘Just to forewarn you that there’s been some development in the Porboski case.’

‘You mean in the murder case? Neil’s murder case.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘You can say it, John. There’s no point pretending it’s just the Porboski case. At the heart of it and the all-important part is the murder of Neil. It won’t break me if you say it. I’m not going to collapse in a heap simply because you’ve mentioned his name. Or what happened to him.’

John sat forward on the bench, resting his arms on his knees, bringing his hands together. ‘Yes, you’re right. Sorry.’

‘What’s happened, then? I’m guessing you didn’t come and see me personally purely to tell me that.’

‘Off the record, we think there’s a strong possibility Pavel Bolotnikov is back in the UK. We don’t know why but I wanted to give you the heads up, just in case.’

Now she looked at him. ‘Just in case what? Are we in some sort of danger?’ Her eyes flitted to Hannah and back to John.

John placed a hand over hers. ‘No, I don’t think that at all. We’re working on tracking him down right now, but I didn’t want you to hear it from somewhere else, especially if the press get hold of it.’

‘You could have just phoned. You didn’t need to make a special trip out to the backwater of Berkshire.’

‘I wanted to see you both. See how you were doing. Do you need anything? What about Ella? Is she okay for everything?’

Hannah moved her hand away. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’

‘Do what?’

‘Protect me. Look out for me. For Ella.’ She turned to face him now. ‘We’re not your responsibility. No. Don’t say anything. Listen, you were Neil’s partner. I was his wife. Ella his daughter. The most awful thing happened. Neil was killed. You’ve been great to us, John, you really have and the first few months, I’m sure I would have died myself had it not been for you. And for that I am truly grateful. But, you know what? We’ve come out the other side and Ella and I are doing great. You need to look after yourself, so you can come out the other side too.’

At that point Ella skipped over. ‘Can we go home, mummy? I’m hungry.’

‘Yes, come on, let’s go.’ Hannah rose from the bench and took her daughter’s hand.

‘Is John coming?’ said Ella. ‘He can meet Dan.’

John’s eyes snapped up to look at Hannah. A look of unease swept over her face. ‘Who’s Dan?’ said John.

‘Mummy’s friend. He bought me the bag,’ said Ella, running her finger and thumb up and down the strap.

John stood up. ‘Why didn’t you just say?’ His voice was cold despite the hot ember of anger igniting inside. Was he angry that she hadn’t told him about another bloke or was he angry because she was no longer the proverbial grieving widow, which ultimately meant she didn’t need him?

‘It’s none of your business, really,’ said Hannah, she raised her eyebrows. ‘The Met, the unit, my life as a widow are in the past, John. It’s been five years now. I can’t pause time any longer. If there’s something good that’s come from Neil’s death, it’s that more than ever I value my future, Ella’s future.’

‘With this … Dan.’

‘Maybe. Who knows? But I deserve some happiness and so does Ella.’ Hannah began walking away, she paused and looked over her shoulder. ‘You should be happy for us. Neil would want us to be happy.’

John didn’t say anything. He stood and watched Hannah and Ella walk away. What was there to say? He didn’t want the burden of Neil’s memory to carry on his own. He thought it was a load he shared with Hannah. How could he have closure and move on when Neil’s killer was still out there? When John’s own guilt ravaged his mind and conscience both day and night.

John had been parked up outside Tina Bolotnikov’s house for about an hour. He looked through his notes once more, impatient for the return of their target.

He wondered what she would look like after all this time. He picked up an old surveillance photo from when they were watching Sasha. A young couple, not been married very long, about eighteen months, if he remembered rightly. At the time he had been struck by their happiness; it had radiated off them. They had shared lots of happy times.

John felt as if he had lived them too, although it had been from the other side of the camera. He was the third person in their marriage; unseen, unheard, unknown, but definitely there. He knew with certainty he would be able to talk to Tina about things that had happened as if he had been part of it. Like the time Sasha and Tina went to Hyde Park and got caught in a sudden rain storm. He knew they took cover under a large tree. He knew the lightning frightened her. He knew they ran to the café at the Serpentine. He knew they had hot chocolate. Tina had marshmallows. Sasha didn’t. He knew more details about their married life than a third party should.

‘Eyes up,’ said Martin. ‘Here comes the lovely Mrs B.’ Martin shoved his newspaper into the foot-well and focused on the mother and child walking towards him. ‘That’s her, isn’t it?’

Picking up the camera, John zoomed in on Tina Bolotnikov. For a moment he was stilled by the sight of her. She was as beautiful as she was five years ago. She had the same elegance about her. Head held high, shoulders back. Her hair, the colour of cocoa beans, bounced on her shoulders as the late-afternoon sun highlighted the milk-chocolate tones running through it. But there was something in her eyes that he couldn’t remember seeing before. A wariness. Her blue eyes darted around all over the place.

Martin punched his shoulder. ‘You going to take some photos or what?’

John began taking some snaps, distance ones and close-up ones.

‘Take some of the boy as well,’ said Martin. ‘Do you think it’s hers?’

John focused the camera on the dark-headed boy and took some more shots. Adjusting the lens, he took a close-up as the lad looked up. In that instant, he could see it by the eyes. He knew exactly who the father was. ‘That’s Sasha Bolotnikov’s son.’

‘How do you know that?’

John lowered the camera from his face and watched through the car window. He knew Tina was pregnant when they had been under surveillance. He had been in their flat, poking around, looking for evidence one morning when they had both left to work in the deli. He hadn’t found anything, only a pregnancy test stick. Tina had left it sitting on the bedside table where she must have told Sasha that morning. Funny, he remembered, he had noticed how happy they were opening up the shop and going about their business. They had a secret; one which John now shared with them.

A small flicker of guilt wavered within John. He had used the new-found knowledge to his advantage. At the time it was a case of a means to an end; there was no guilt attached. He was simply doing his job, using this intel to his advantage in the war against crime.

He had managed to convince himself for a long time after the botched Moorgate takedown that it was all part of the job, but as time wore on, guilt had come knocking. A gentle tap at first, one he could ignore. Now, however, it was practically hammering at the door but John wasn’t answering.

‘Work it out, dummy. The boy’s about five years old. She was pregnant around when we had Sasha and the gang under surveillance. Anyway, you only have to look at him to know he’s a Bolotnikov.’ For a fleeting moment he felt a wave of sympathy for Sasha Bolotnikov. He must never have seen his son.

John took the final snaps as she opened the gate and walked up the path with her son, before letting them in and closing the door behind her.

John put the camera down and settled back in his seat. ‘Let’s sit and watch for a while. I don’t want to speak to her yet. Someone might come a-calling.’

John settled back in his seat. This could be a long wait.

That night Tina sat on the edge of Dimitri’s bed, watching until he had drifted off to sleep. She had read a story to him, as she usually did, but instead of leaving him to settle on his own, she had stayed.

Tea at her parents’ house had been an enjoyable occasion, her earlier sense of unease having all but disappeared. She watched his eyes flutter open and then close, gradually becoming defeated by the heaviness of sleep. Listening to the gentle rhythm of his breathing gave Tina a sense of calm. It soothed her soul.

It was somewhat reluctantly that she left his room to go and tidy up the kitchen and settle herself in front of the TV. She hoped that catching the cooking programme showing on BBC2 would take her mind off recent events, enough that she could get a good night’s sleep herself.

Tina went downstairs and through to the back of the house, into the kitchen. It was dark outside now and her reflection against the glass made her jump. She let out a startled cry.

‘For goodness sake!’ she admonished herself.

The air in the kitchen seemed cold. Tina shivered, her eyes immediately scoped the windows. They were all closed to keep the cool night air out. Something made her look beyond her reflection in the glass.

Her small garden backed onto an alleyway used as access for the middle terraced houses. A movement caught her eye behind the brick wall. This time she screamed. Without looking closer, she rushed to the windows and yanked the roller blinds down, shutting out the danger.

The door. Was it locked? Tina rattled the handled and pulled against it. It was definitely locked.

Someone was out there, watching her. She hadn’t imagined it this time. Her heart pumped wildly as she dialled 999.