The Half Truth (5 page)

John threw the manila file onto his desk and sighed. It was no good, he couldn’t make any headway into Sasha Bolotnikov’s death. All lines of enquiries led to dead ends. Sasha Bolotnikov had been killed in a road accident within weeks of returning to Russia. It was a convenient death, if nothing else. John wondered whether it had indeed been an accident.

At the time, John had been incapacitated, recovering from surgery to remove a bullet from his shoulder. He had wanted to come back to work but was overruled by both doctors and his superiors. When he did return to work, Sasha’s death had been investigated and no further questions asked.

He looked up as Martin came and sat at the desk. ‘Any luck?’

Martin shook his head. ‘Nope. The Russians aren’t playing ball. No one is talking. The official line is they can’t release any more information about Sasha’s accident than is already in the public domain and, as for Pavel, they have no idea where he is and have no interest in finding him for us.’

John looked across the office at Adam. ‘Anything with the facial recognition for the Russian or Pavel?’

‘Not yet. We’re going back another week now.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ John tapped his biro between his teeth and turned to Martin. ‘We’ve tried all the official lines, let’s try unofficial.’

‘Anyone in mind?’

‘Baz Fisher.’

John eyed Baz Fisher across the Formica table top of the Rosie Lea Café.

‘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.

‘Hello, Tina,’ said John as she neared him.

‘Hello,’ said Tina. ‘Is everything all right?’ An uneasy sensation pitched up in her stomach and instinctively she took Dimitri by the hand, drawing him into her.

‘Everything is fine,’ replied John, he looked down at Dimitri and smiled. ‘Hello, I’m John. You must be Dimitri.’

Dimitri turned into Tina’s legs. ‘Say hello to John,’ she said. John crouched down and held out his hand.

‘Hello,’ said Dimitri. He looked at John’s hand for a moment and then solemnly shook it.

‘I wondered if we could have a word,’ said John standing up.

‘We?’

John motioned with his head to the other side of the road. Another man Tina didn’t recognise lounged against the side of a black BMW. ‘Martin, he’s my partner.’

‘Two of you. That sounds to me like everything is not fine.’

She watched John’s face for any sign that she might be right. It was impassive. ‘Can we come in?’ he said after a moment.

‘I suppose you had better.’

Tina hoped that the air of calm she was desperately trying to project was working. She didn’t want to alarm Dimitri any more than he had already been the past few weeks. She was very much aware he was picking up on her anxieties. He had started having upsetting dreams about hearing footsteps in the night and being watched. A couple of nights ago, his whimpering had woken her, the result of a nightmare that someone was in his room.

Once inside she busied herself making tea for the adults and poured a glass of milk for her son. ‘Why don’t you pop the TV on?’ she said to Dimitri as she took the drink and a biscuit through to the living room.

‘TV? Now?’ said Dimitri excitedly. ‘I can watch it now?’

‘Yes, just this once I’ll make an exception to no TV immediately you get in. You can do your reading and writing later instead.’

Martin followed her into the living room. ‘I’ll watch TV with you, if you want. Haven’t seen Tom and Jerry in years.’

‘Tom and Jerry,’ said Dimitri. ‘I don’t watch that, it’s for babies. No, I’m going to watch Ben 10.’

‘Ben what?’

‘Sit down and you’ll find out,’ said Tina. She was grateful that Martin was acting as a distraction for Dimitri but, at the same time, apprehensive as to what John was about to spring on her.

‘How’s everything?’ John asked her as she came back into the kitchen.

‘Okay. Nothing I can really put my finger on,’ said Tina, motioning towards the table. She took the two cups over. ‘I’ve still got that
being watched
feeling, which I can’t seem to shake off. I used to always leave the curtains and blinds open when it was dark, but I don’t any more. I find myself double-checking doors are locked. That sort of thing.’

‘You can call me if you’re worried about anything,’ said John.

‘Thank you but I don’t really think you want me to call you at every bump in the night.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘Last night, I was lying in bed and I was sure I could hear floorboards creaking every now and then.’

‘Really?’

She gave a small laugh at the look of concern on his face. ‘You know what these old houses are like. I was just dropping off to sleep, so I wasn’t really sure what it was. Probably the wind or something.’

‘You weren’t frightened?’

Tina dropped her eyes. She felt foolish, although at the time she had woken with a start and her heart had raced liked an F1 car off the starting grid. ‘Just a bit unnerved. What with what’s been going on recently. I think I’ve been overreacting. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

‘I don’t want to alarm you any more, but things have moved on with our investigation and we know Pavel came into the country over a couple of weeks ago.’

Tina slowly put her cup of the table. ‘Do you think it was him I saw in the garden?’

John shrugged. ‘Honestly, I can’t say. We don’t know why he’s here. Has he been in touch with you at all?’

‘No. No, he hasn’t. I don’t really know what to make of it. What exactly do you think Pavel is involved in? Why do you need to speak to him?’

She watched John take a sip of his tea, clearly stalling for time as he weighed up her question and formulated his response. His eyes met hers. The evening light bounced off the flecks of gold that laced his green eyes. Troubled eyes. She braced herself for his response.

‘And before you say “to help us with our enquiries” you need to come up with a better reason than that.’ She felt agitated now. John was definitely holding back.

‘I’d love to tell you everything, but at this stage in the investigation …’

She held up her hand to stop him continuing. ‘Police bullshit. Waffle. Call it what you like, but it’s not answering the question.’ She saw the corners of his mouth twitch slightly, as if amused, before a frown settled on his face. He gently drummed his fingers on the table. Long, lean fingers that looked like they should be playing the piano. Fingernails clipped short. There was no wedding band or even a sign that he had ever worn a ring on his finger. She wondered briefly if there was a girlfriend on the scene.

‘Okay, I’ll be honest with you,’ he said.

‘Good. I don’t like being taken for a fool and not told everything.’

‘Pavel was involved in an organised money-laundering ring.’

‘Money-laundering.’ Tina couldn’t help giving a small laugh. The serious look on John’s face killed her laughter. ‘That’s a serious offence. Is there anything else?’

‘Organised crime. Armed robbery and money-laundering. Yeah, you could say they are serious offences.’

‘I knew he was involved with the Porboski gang, but I didn’t think it was anything as serious as armed robbery and money-laundering,’ said Tina. ‘I thought it was more petty crime, a bit of smuggling in vodka or passing on stolen items – that sort of thing.’

‘Much more serious,’ said John. ‘Murder.’

Tina balked. Murder? Pavel? No, that was way off.

‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘You think Pavel is involved with a murder? Who?’

‘A police officer.’

‘Oh God, that’s serious.’ Tina rested her head in her hands.

‘All murder is serious,’ said John.

There was an uneasy silence whilst Tina took in what she had just been told. Much as she disliked Pavel, she had never had him down as a hardened criminal – a murderer.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I’m finding this really hard to take in. Sasha never said a word. He couldn’t have known.’

‘Do you recognise this man?’ said John. The change in direction was welcomed. Tina looked at the photograph John placed on the table in front of her.

‘Is he dead?’ She leaned back in her chair, averting her eyes from the image.

‘Yes, he is,’ said John. ‘Found at some docks in London in the last few days. We believe he was looking for Pavel.’

‘Pavel’s very popular.’ Her voice was dry. ‘And no, I don’t recognise him.’

‘Are you sure? Perhaps he came into the deli your husband ran?’

Tina’s eyes flipped to him. ‘How did you know Sasha ran a deli?’ She never referred to it as a deli, it was always ‘the shop’.

‘It’s on record,’ said John. He moved position in his seat. ‘Intelligence-gathering.’

‘Surveillance? Were you watching the shop? Have you been spying on us?’

‘Gathering information on suspected criminals goes with the job. It says here that Pavel frequented a deli. You mentioned the shop before. I put two and two together. It’s what I do. I’m a detective.’ He gave a smile.

‘Sorry, of course,’ said Tina. ‘I’m just a bit on edge, that’s all.’

‘It’s okay,’ said John. He picked the photo up of Ivan Gromov and slipped it back into his inside pocket. ‘Did Sasha ever give you anything to look after? Did he ever say anything about what Pavel was up to?’

Tina thought back and shook her head. ‘As I said before, we didn’t talk about Pavel and as for giving me anything of significance, then, no. He didn’t.’

‘Okay, well thanks for your time again,’ said John. He stood up. ‘If you think of anything, let me know. In the meantime, we’re going to keep a discreet eye out for Pavel. Surveillance. Don’t look alarmed. There’s nothing for you to worry about.’

‘You think he will try and contact me?’

‘It’s one of our theories. We’ll be parked up overnight, in case he does show.’ He passed Tina his card. ‘Here’s my number, put it in your phone. If you think of anything, call me. If you’re worried about anything, call me.’

‘Thank you,’ said Tina. She couldn’t help feeling slightly unnerved again and that John was keeping something from her. ‘Is there anything I should know?’

‘Please don’t worry,’ said John. ‘If there are any developments, I’ll contact you straight away.’

‘What did you tell her?’ said Martin as John got into the passenger seat of the BMW.

‘That Pavel was back in the UK. Kept it simple for now. I don’t want her freaking out on us,’ said John. ‘We need her to draw Pavel out of the woodwork.’

‘What’s the plan now?’

‘Back to the office. I want to check in with the team. See if anyone has got any info about the Porboski gang making a comeback. You have another chat with Baz Fisher. All this poking around is bound to have stirred up the locals. He might have heard some more by now.’ John looked up at 17 Belfour Avenue. ‘I’ll come back later to see if Pavel turns up.’

‘So, go on, admit it,’ said Martin.

‘Admit what?’ said John. He had an idea what Martin was referring to, but he wasn’t going to make it easy. The ribbing that would follow would be enough.

‘You’ve got more than just a passing interest in Mrs B.’ Martin pushed the keys into the ignition and fired up the engine.

‘Of course I have. This case means a lot to me,’ said John. He fastened his seat belt and looked straight ahead, purposefully avoiding any eye contact with his friend.

‘You know what I mean,’ said Martin as he pulled out onto Belfour Terrace. ‘Just don’t let Brogan get wind of it.’

‘You worry about the driving and I’ll worry about what Brogan knows, or thinks he knows,’ said John. ‘I’m not about to compromise the operation, despite my suspicions. I’m sure Tina is the link, even if she doesn’t know it herself.’

‘See! I told you.’ A big grin swept across Martin’s face.

‘What?’

‘It’s Tina, now. Not Mrs Bolotnikov. Absolutely proves my point.’

John shook his head. ‘You’re a dick at times, you know that?’

‘It might have been said once or twice before. Mostly by you, granted. But, I’m a dick who’s right.’ Martin laughed out loud, clearly delighted with himself.

Trouble was, John couldn’t really deny it. He was very much taken with Tina. Despite thinking he knew her from the surveillance five years ago, he didn’t know the woman she was now. She was something of an enigma, a woman who sparked his interest in more ways than one. However, he was painfully aware that she was, at best, a witness, at worst a suspect.