Motherland: A gripping crime thriller set in the dark heart of Putin's Russia

by G. D. Abson

  ‘He’s keeping his head down. Those bastards in the FSB could make a church mouse look like it stole the Patriarch’s Breguet.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You think they care? Half the unmarked graves in Russia are full of the innocent; the other half hold their defence lawyers.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Your only hope is to get away and leave the Dahl case alone. Will you do that for me?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You mean you won’t.’

  ‘Those two boys didn’t kill Zena Dahl on their own. They were set up or helped. When did we decide to stop going after murderers because it got difficult?’

  Mikhail looked away momentarily and she wondered if it had something to do with his secret bank account. How had he been compromised?

  He nodded solemnly. ‘As long as Anton’s safe I’m here for you.’

  ‘If that’s true, I want three things from you.’

  ‘Whatever you want.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘One, tell me where your money came from. I can’t trust you until you do that. If it’s bad I won’t forgive you, but I get to decide.’

  ‘Agreed. What else?’

  ‘Two doesn’t happen without one.’ She put a hand on his chest. ‘I’m tired and I don’t intend to sleep on the sofa.’

  ‘And three?’ Mikhail asked instantly.

  ‘That comes after two.’ She dropped the towel and watched a greedy smile break across his face.

  Mikhail had a tenderness in bed that was a contradiction to his bluff personality. He ran his fat fingers through her hair and cupped her buttocks with his other hand. She pushed her body against him, feeling him harden.

  ‘How’s tiger?’

  ‘Elephantine.’

  ‘Tell me about the money first.’

  ‘You want to ruin the moment?’

  She gave him a sour look.

  ‘OK, but now?’

  She maintained the look.

  He pushed himself onto the pillows and patted the table. His hand came away with a fresh pack of Sobranie Classics.’

  ‘When did you start smoking in bed?’

  ‘I picked up some bad habits at Rogov’s.’ He climbed out to look for a lighter.

  ‘Is it an African or Indian one?’

  ‘What?’

  She peered at his penis and he grunted. After he left, she heard the cooker ignition; he returned trailing smoke.

  He climbed back in bed and drew deeply on the cigarette. ‘What I told you about the account was the truth – just not all of it. Most of the money came from my mother. She came up with Misha Buratino. It really was my childhood nickname, you know.’

  ‘You said “most”. What about the rest of the money?’

  He sucked on the cigarette. ‘Do you remember a murder case around eight years ago? Artur Romakhin.’

  She thought for a moment then shook her head.

  ‘It wasn’t big news at the time.’ He spoke nonchalantly, ‘Romakhin was a pawnbroker, his wife found him dead on the shop floor with his skull cracked.’

  She ripped the cigarette from Mikhail’s hand and put it to her lips, flicking her eyebrows in a “so what?” expression before he challenged her.

  ‘It was my first big case. You know what that’s like. You’ve got uniforms and detectives running around asking for orders and all you can think of is not screwing up. Well, the dead guy’s wife, Yana, she told me Romakhin was an actual pawnbroker.’

  She looked at him in amazement. ‘You mean he wasn’t money laundering?’

  ‘Can you believe it? He’d made a lot of cabbage running a shop in Veliky Novgorod and liked his chances in Piter. By all accounts, he was a good citizen.’

  She took a final drag on the cigarette and passed it back to him.

  ‘Romakhin started getting smashed windows and thought someone was going to break in so he bought a camera off the internet. Yana showed it to me – it was built into a smoke monitor in the ceiling and streamed to a laptop. I watched everything in the storeroom.’

  Mikhail puffed on the Sobranie and blew the smoke away from her. ‘Imagine that? It was my first murder case and I’d solved it in five minutes. On the laptop, I saw these two bratki, mafia bulls, come in and start an intense discussion with Romakhin.’

  ‘Let me guess, they didn’t believe he was legitimate.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Mikhail sucked on the cigarette. ‘Big misunderstanding. They wanted to know whose cash he was rinsing. He told them he was legitimate. They didn’t believe him and pressed a little harder. All the while, Romakhin thought it was safe to push back because he was making his little movie with them in the starring roles. After a bit of this dancing, one of the bratki took exception to a member of a prey species pointing a finger in his face. He punched Romakhin and his head hit the marble counter. End of Romakhin.’

  Mikhail flicked ash into a coffee cup he’d been using for an ashtray.

  ‘Before the day was over, I had both bratki charged with murder, aggravated by racketeering. One of them was built like a cage fighter, he hands me this paper with a phone number on it. “What’s this, dick for brains?” I ask. “Get out of jail free card” he says. So out of curiosity I called it.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘An avtoritet for the Tambovski mafia. I mean this guy was off the fucking scale. The cage fighter happened to be his new wife’s nephew. We exchanged pleasantries then he asked me to choose between silver and lead.’

  The lightness in Mikhail’s voice had gone. ‘The silver was a hundred thousand dollars to get the two bratki out of the shit and put someone in their place. The lead, well, you know what that is.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Misha.’

  ‘I know, Angel. If it had been just me I’d have told him to get lost, respectfully of course, but I was with Dinara then and she was already unstable. Anton was in his first year of senior school too.’

  Her voice rose in pitch as she spoke: ‘You set someone up?’

  ‘On the laptop footage, after Romakhin was killed this kid called Pyotr Voloshyn comes running in. He was a shestyorka, a mafia novice they were using as a lookout. Voloshyn was eighteen; he had a juvenile record but nothing serious. I lost the laptop and the avtoritet offered him an incentive to do the time for Romakhin’s murder. The widow knew what I was doing, so did everyone; even the kid’s mother. She cried all the way through the trial.’ He pursed his lips and stared into space. ‘The prosecutor and judge had been bought. Everyone was lined up like toy soldiers. The avtoritet even gave me a bonus of twenty thousand for making it look good.’

  ‘What did the boy get?’

  ‘Ten years in Ulyanovsk. I make enquiries every now and again, he’s still there.’

  ‘He’ll be out soon then.’

  Mikhail’s eyes looked glassy though she didn’t know if it was from drinking. ‘I came in as an idealist and then suddenly I was one of those menti I always despised.’

  Somewhere in the early morning, she’d fallen asleep in his arms before they had twisted apart to take up their usual positions. They hadn’t made love in the end. After his confession, the mood had changed. Her lungs felt tight from the few cigarettes she’d smoked but she still leaned over Mikhail for his pack of Sobranies. If she had made that call to the avtoritet and been offered silver or lead, could she have refused if Anton had been her child? She lit the cigarette off the stove and climbed back into bed. There was something existential about lying in bed naked with another human being. Exposed and vulnerable with all weaknesses on display, just as theirs were. Silver or lead, she thought. At least it took the threat of a bullet to make him dishonest. Real criminals didn’t need encouraging.

  Mikhail stirred. ‘You’re smoking.’

  ‘Your detective skills are an inspiration to me.’

  He re-arranged his pillow to lie on his side and watch her. ‘I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Me too.’

&nbs
p; His eyes flicked to her breasts then back to her face. ‘Are we getting back together?’

  ‘I think so – I haven’t decided.’

  He passed her the cup to flick her ash into. ‘What would it take?’

  ‘An act of atonement maybe? Could you give Romakhin’s widow your blood money?’

  ‘She despises me.’

  ‘Well, that’s a surprise.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘You remember this morning I wanted you to do three things? Here’s the third: I need a lift to headquarters.’

  He shook his head. ‘That’s not funny.’

  She got out and gathered her clothes from the floor. ‘I’m going to take on Dostoynov. Just make sure Anton is safe.’

  Chapter 32

  The interview room was older and dirtier than the one in the airport. It had a large paint-chipped radiator and a grime-smeared wire-reinforced window. Across the bolted table sat Dostoynov and Colonel Vasiliev – who had said little.

  ‘Major, what am I to be charged with?’ She rested her elbows on the table.

  ‘That’s not how it works, Ivanova.’

  ‘And what approach are you planning on using? The Reid technique gets results or you could try the “good cop, bad cop” routine.’ – she scanned the room – ‘there’s an electrical socket if you want to try a “phone call to Putin”?’

  ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the Novaya Gazeta.’

  ‘I’m just saying you haven’t got any evidence so your only option is a confession. I’m a terrible story-teller, though. My nephew is always complaining. Last time I told him Koschei the Deathless I forgot what happens when it gets to Baba Yaga.’

  Dostoynov turned, exasperated, to Vasiliev who merely smoothed his quiff with a palm.

  ‘Ivanova, let’s see what you can remember, starting with your movements last Saturday morning.’

  ‘Yes, Major. I went to interview Renata Shchyotkina, a domestic violence victim, when I was asked to check Zena Dahl’s apartment. I arrived there around eight fifteen and conducted a search.’

  ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘Her elderly neighbour gave me a key.’

  ‘But first you gained permission from Dahl’s landlord?’

  ‘No, sir. There was reason to be concerned for the girl’s safety.’

  ‘An insufficient reason. I will consider a referral to the prosecutor under Article 165 of the Criminal Procedural Code.’

  Colonel Vasiliev interrupted. ‘It will be hard to justify a prosecution considering the Dahl girl was murdered.’

  ‘Good point, sir.’ Dostoynov’s eyes twitched in a micro gesture of annoyance. ‘Ivanova, what time did you leave?’

  ‘Expert Criminalist Primakov joined me between nine thirty and ten. I left shortly after to interview Miss Federova at her apartment.’

  ‘Another irregularity. Why didn’t you bring her to the station for a formal interview?’

  ‘She wasn’t a suspect at the time.’

  ‘But you were aware she has a criminal record.’

  ‘Not until later, as you recall, when I returned to brief the Colonel.’

  ‘So when did you get to Federova’s?’

  ‘Around ten thirty.’

  ‘And what did you discuss?’

  ‘Yulia Federova gave me a description of Zena Dahl’s clothing and her last whereabouts.’

  ‘I hear she had some designer items that took your interest.’

  She tried to display no emotion at his inference that she had a motive to harm the girl. ‘Yulia Federova had a pair of Ulyana Sergeenko sunglasses and a trouser suit. After a moment’s consideration I decided they weren’t enough to kill her for.’

  ‘Is this funny, Ivanova?’

  ‘Only if you think Kafka wrote comedies.’

  Dostoynov rested his arms on the table and leaned forwards. ‘You threatened her?’

  ‘No, it was civil. She made me a coffee; we spoke about ballet and how she met Zena.’

  ‘Then, when you returned to her apartment the second time you found it in disarray. A violent struggle had taken place.’ His voice took on a snide tone. ‘Yulia Federova was a witness. Wasn’t that worth reporting to me?’

  ‘I believe the struggle had been staged. Yulia claimed her father was sent to prison on false charges and thought the same might happen to her. I believe she ran to avoid arrest.’ She looked Dostoynov in the eye. ‘Innocent people get convicted all the time.’

  Dostoynov matched her stare. ‘Nevertheless, Ivanova, the accusation stands that you failed to report it.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Vasiliev.

  ‘Now let’s go back to that first home visit when you found those designer clothes in her wardrobe: a trouser suit and a pair of sunglasses. Obviously the girl was stealing from Dahl.’

  ‘They may have been gifts to thank her. Yulia was helping Zena to trace her parents.’

  ‘And you know that as a fact?’

  ‘Yes – I sent Sergeant Rogov to the ZAGS in Sestroretsk. He said the two women went there to look for a death certificate.’

  ‘Against my specific order to concentrate on the body’s identification.’

  ‘Zena was adopted so a DNA match wasn’t possible. I requested the dental records from Thorsten Dahl. There was nothing further to do.’

  ‘Then you should have asked for new orders. Likewise, why did you return to Yulia Federova’s apartment with Sergeant Rogov?’

  ‘Because Miss Federova hadn’t mentioned that she was helping Zena Dahl to trace her parents – I wanted to find out why.’

  ‘So why didn’t she mention it?’

  It was the first decent question she’d heard from Dostoynov. Presumably Zena had told her friend not to say anything, but for what reason? ‘I never found out, Major. She had gone when we returned.’

  ‘There is a witness who claimed you threatened to kill her.’

  ‘He’s lying.’

  ‘That’s easy to say.’

  ‘It’s easy to make someone say it too. Why would I blackmail Federova? She didn’t have any money.’

  ‘Why did you enter her apartment without permission? This is becoming a habit of yours.’

  ‘I thought she was in danger.’

  ‘Enough,’ Dostoynov announced. ‘All I hear is lie after lie. The prosecuting authorities have agreed to open criminal case 144 128.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Extortion.’

  She felt her voice rise. ‘You have no evidence.’

  There was a knock at the door. ‘Enter,’ shouted Dostoynov.

  Rogov was holding a portable TV by the handle. ‘Colonel… Major… there has been a development.’

  She stared at him, daring Rogov to look away out of shame. To his credit, he did.

  ‘Sergeant what have you got?’ asked Dostoynov.

  ‘You need to see this, Major.’

  He set the TV on the desk and plugged it in, then retrieved a remote control from his back pocket.

  ‘Rogov,’ she hissed, ‘not you too.’

  He looked hurt by the accusation. ‘I’m sorry, Captain.’

  The TV screen displayed static and he pressed a button on the remote control. ‘I found this logged under the case as evidence.’

  A frown formed on her forehead then quickly disappeared. ‘It’s the camera footage from the Krestovsky Island Metro,’ she offered. ‘I thought it might show Zena Dahl or her killers. That was before I heard about the two boys—’

  ‘Save your excuse until we’ve seen it,’ Dostoynov snapped. ‘Sergeant, please?’

  Rogov touched the TV with a nicotine stained finger. ‘The screen is split into four. The two at the top cover the platforms—’

  ‘Where do they go?’ asked Dostoynov.

  Rogov pointed at the screen again. ‘There’s only one line. One train goes to Primorsky, the other runs in the opposite direction to Frunzensky. The two images below cover the escalators; there’s a camera suspended fro
m the ceiling to capture the faces of passengers.’

  ‘That’s what it’s designed for,’ she said acidly, earning a disapproving glance from Dostoynov.

  ‘I simply fast-forwarded until a train came in, then looked at the platform to see who got on or off. If there was anyone interesting I got a better look at them on the escalator as they left.’

  ‘What did you find?’ asked Dostoynov.

  ‘One moment, Major.’ Rogov fast forwarded the footage, then stopped it with the remote. ‘She arrived just after four from the direction of Primorsky.’

  ‘Who?’

  He pointed to a frozen image of a young, slim-hipped woman stepping off a train. He pressed ‘play’ and she came to life, strolling confidently along the platform in her heels. His finger moved to track her when she first appeared as a blurred collection of pixels at the bottom of the picture. Ten seconds later, she was closest to the escalator’s camera. The girl looked up and Rogov pressed the pause button on the remote control.

  ‘There she is,’ he said, triumphantly.

  Vasiliev peered at the image of the girl’s face bleached by the sun’s rays. ‘Well, that’s not the Dahl girl.’

  ‘No, Colonel.’ Rogov wetted his lips with his tongue. ‘It’s Yulia Federova.’

  She focussed on Rogov again; his face still flushed with excitement. ‘Sergeant, when was this footage was taken?’

  ‘Natalya, just tell them what they need to know.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Rogov, there’s a timestamp.’ She leaned forwards to read it. ‘4:04 p.m. Twenty-fifth of June. That was last Sunday. Did you go through all the footage?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And are you still a Muslim, Rogov or was that bullshit too?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘OK, that was bullshit.’ She sat back. ‘Did you recognise anyone else?’

  ‘Just Federova.’

  Dostoynov said, ‘You’re not asking the questions here, Captain, I am.’

  ‘Apologies Major, I’m finished now.’

  Vasiliev took out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and offered them around. Rogov was the only one to take one. He bent down to get a light off the colonel then leaned on the edge of the table, puffing on it guiltily.