Motherland

by G. D. Abson

  ‘Of course. And I taped it.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you the Young Pioneer? I’ll let Vasiliev know.’ Mikhail paused. ‘Listen, Angel, whatever happens to us, do this one thing for me. The FSB have got an interest in the Dahl case, get far away from it.’

  ‘Don’t you ever get tired of it, Misha?’

  ‘What? Breathing?’

  ‘The FSB are criminals. Why do we roll over each time and let them do what they want?’

  ‘Because they kill people and they are above the law.’

  ‘Then why are they sniffing around my murder case?’

  ‘Does it matter? Leave it alone. Do it for Anton if not for yourself.’ He hung up.

  On the computer, she stared at the office number for Felix Axelsson for a full minute then found her house phone and dialled it.

  Her call was answered instantly by a woman with a deep voice: ‘Hos Axelsson.’

  ‘Do you speak English?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she heard in a heavy, Swedish accent.

  ‘My name is Captain Natalya Ivanova. I’m from the Criminal Investigations Directorate in St. Petersburg.’

  There was a pause. ‘Yes, how can I help you?’

  ‘I am trying to find Mister Felix Axelsson.’

  ‘He is my husband. Is he in trouble?’

  In the background, Natalya could hear the high energy sounds of a television cartoon show. She hadn’t expected his wife to answer the office number he had provided on his website or to discover he had young children. She softened her tone. ‘I understand Mister Axelsson is working with Thorsten Dahl.’

  Mrs Axelsson sounded surprised. ‘For Dahl?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wait one moment.’ The sound of the television went quiet and there was the moan of a disappointed boy.

  She came back on the line. ‘You are the police?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  She hated using subterfuge but telling the truth often raised more questions, and Axelsson’s wife didn’t deserve to hear about her husband’s death this way. ‘Only with his visa. Does he have a mobile? I need to contact him.’

  His wife recited a number and Natalya wrote it down then thanked her.

  After hanging up, she called Rogov.

  ‘Boss? I thought you were on holiday.’

  ‘I am. If I text you a number, can you contact Telecoms and tell me where it is.’

  ‘Which case?’ he asked too quickly.

  So Rogov had also been warned to leave the case alone, either officially from Dostoynov, or via a friendly word from Mikhail.

  ‘Renata Shchyotkina.’ She gave him a plausible lie in case he checked up. ‘It’s a domestic abuse case. The number is a Swedish mobile because her boyfriend is a Sven. She thinks he’s stalking her. Can you get back to me immediately?’

  ‘Sure, boss.’

  She ended the call, then turned up the sound on the television news in case Axelsson’s murder had been picked up. She caught the end of an item about how sanctions hadn’t affected the economy. “Nope”, the reader could have said, “it doesn’t bother us; not one little bit.”

  She filled a steam iron with water then set about clearing the mountain of clothes. After an hour, a row of neatly pressed dresses and shirts were on hangers and she contemplated starting on the mess in the kitchen when the house phone rang.

  ‘Boss, it’s Rogov. I’ve got the details for that number.’

  ‘That was quick.’

  ‘I called in personally. Your woman has got nothing to worry about. They traced her piece of shit boyfriend to some place in Stockholm.’

  ‘Was it called Östermalm?’

  She heard a rustle of paper,

  ‘Yeah, that’s it.’

  ‘Thanks Rogov.’

  She hung up, then took a deep breath before tapping in the number for Axelsson’s mobile phone. She was surprised to hear it ring when the killer should have dumped it in the Malaya Neva.

  When the call was answered she heard a fumbling noise in the background as if the phone had been hidden and hurriedly located. There was a hiss of static then the sound of traffic. She pressed her ear to the phone, listening intently. No one spoke.

  She decided to break the impasse. ‘Hello?’ she said in English.

  The line went dead.

  Chapter 29

  She took the M10 to Pulkovo, abandoning her Volvo in the airport’s car park before emptying her personal account for a handful of krona at the currency exchange. The flight to Sweden was direct and it was still early evening when she arrived to a colder, brighter sun. She took the Arlanda Express into Stockholm then caught a taxi outside the train station. The driver took her across bridges and islands that reminded her of home then pointed to a number on his meter that was almost equal to all her converted money.

  The building, like its owner, wasn’t as grand as she had expected. It was a narrow, four-storey house on the Strandvägen Boulevard in Östermalm that didn’t seem large enough to house six bedrooms. Outside Zena’s apartment there hadn’t been a single security camera and her father’s house was no different. After ringing the bell, she stepped back and waited.

  A young woman with spiky blonde hair and a surprisingly formal black and white uniform opened the door. She appraised Natalya then spoke in English, ‘Yes, can I help?’

  ‘I want to speak to Thorsten.’

  ‘He’s not—’

  She pushed her way inside, passing a metre-high model of a sailing ship in a glass cabinet.

  ‘Leave immediately or I will call the police,’ the maid demanded.

  ‘Where is he?’

  A man in his fifties with slicked-back hair and a chef’s apron appeared at the end of the hallway; he blocked it off with his arms slightly raised, ready to intercept her if she tried to push past. ‘Please, you must leave.’

  ‘Thorsten!’ she yelled. ‘Where the hell are you?’

  The maid picked up a phone from the hall table. ‘Do you want me to call the police or will you go now?’

  ‘I’ll stay. Your boss can explain how he stole a child from an orphanage.’

  The girl gave a slight shrug and started dialling.

  ‘Gunvor, let her pass.’ She heard Dahl’s voice from a room to the left, ‘I know this lady. Show her in.’

  The chef dropped his arms and walked along the hallway, stopping at an open door where blue silk curtains shimmered and a white china dining set was laid out on an oak table stained white. Dahl was standing inside the doorway, wearing his trademark jeans and a fisherman’s sweater; he looked more exhausted than when she’d seen him on his Gulfstream.

  ‘It’s alright, Gunvor. Maria, please leave us alone.’

  The maid and chef walked away. Dahl was about to speak and she decided to get in first. ‘Did you have a good flight, Thorsten?’

  ‘Let’s go upstairs for some privacy.’ He opened a pair of teak doors to reveal a small lift.

  She stepped inside, feeling awkward at being in such close proximity to Dahl. At the third floor she followed him through a reception room and out through a set of glass doors. She stepped onto a roof garden with immaculately trimmed grass dotted with small trees contained by earthenware pots; cast iron daisies were interwoven at the buildings edge to form a barrier.

  ‘I had this built for Zena when she first came here. She loved throwing paper planes from the roof.’

  He pulled out a metal chair and she sat down by a black lacquered table with a Japanese motif. ‘Now, how can I help you, Captain Ivanova?’

  ‘I want to know why you’ve been hiding away in St. Petersburg with your security advisor, Felix Axelsson.’

  She watched the muscles tighten in his jaw and he repeated the phrase that was already becoming worn: ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Of course you do, we found Axelsson’s name on your Gulfstream’s flight manifest.’’

  ‘I don’t know who you mean.’
/>   ‘Then can you explain how I traced his mobile phone to this address?’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘Now we make some progress. I know he’s not here. Why do you have Axelsson’s phone, Thorsten?’

  ‘He left it here.’

  ‘Look I’ve just destroyed my bank account to see you. Believe it or not we’re on the same side.’

  ‘Captain…Natalya, you shouldn’t have come. I don’t want you getting involved.’

  Now, he was trying to protect her, but from what?

  ‘I’m not moving, Thorsten, call the police if you want to but Sweden isn’t Russia, you can’t buy your way out of trouble here.’

  ‘Oh?’ He tilted his head. ‘I think you’d be surprised.’

  ‘You want to test me?’

  He ran a hand through his hair. ‘A Russian detective questioning a Swedish citizen without any authorisation? Yes, I think I would be surprised. They’ll put you on the next flight to Pulkovo and your people will reprimand you.’

  ‘Don’t pretend to be a tough guy, Thorsten, you’re better than that. Let’s agree that we can both make life difficult for each other. Isn’t that called mutually assured destruction?’

  ‘No, it’s called me telling you what I can and you working out the rest for yourself. Agreed?’ He took the chair opposite her and stretched out his legs without waiting for an answer. ‘You know there are nice views of Djurgården from here.’

  ‘Never mind that. Start at the beginning.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The day you met Zena.’

  He snorted. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because all I’ve had from you and Lagunov are lies.’

  He stared through the wrought ironwork at the scene below. She followed his gaze to see a family cycling along the harbour path: a mother, father, and two young boys. It made her stomach ache to watch them.

  ‘I’m sure Anatoly told you. I met Zena in an orphanage. She clung onto my leg. We were outside having a picnic.’

  ‘Was that the one in Lisy Nos?’

  ‘No, Krasnoye Selo.’

  ‘At least that part of your story matches his. What was her birth name?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘That’s not a problem. Show me a copy of the adoption certificate and we can clear it up?’

  ‘I don’t have it any more.’

  ‘Then where did you spend Christmas that year?’

  ‘Orthodox?’

  ‘Non-orthodox.’

  ‘I had a suite in the Astoria.’

  ‘With Zena?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Lagunov said you spent it alone with him and his ex-wife. Thorsten, we can keep going like this but it doesn’t profit either of us and I know it’s not the truth.’

  The doors to the balcony garden opened and the maid appeared with a teapot, cups and pastries.

  ‘Thank you, Maria.’

  He waited until the maid pulled the glass doors behind her then laughed to himself. ‘They are checking up on us…I didn’t ask for tea. Nevertheless’ – he poured it into two cups – ‘it would be rude to refuse.’

  ‘I thought you were going to talk to me.’

  ‘No, I said I’d tell you what I can. I’ll give you this: Zena’s surname was Volkova and I didn’t spend that Christmas with her. Now don’t ask me any more on the subject.’

  Dahl closed his eyes momentarily and seemed to struggle to open them; he was exhausted.

  ‘Then let’s jump to Felix Axelsson. Why did you involve him?’

  ‘When Anatoly told me the Russian police had reported Zena missing, I assumed she had been kidnapped – just as you had. I hired Felix to assist. The idea was to use Anatoly in the negotiations and keep Felix in reserve for his more earthy skills – he speaks Russian and has a military background. Also I wanted someone unconnected to the company. My father is retired but he is likely to interfere.’

  ‘Then Zena was killed.’

  ‘Yes,’ he rocked in the chair and exhaled slowly, ‘and then my daughter was murdered.’

  ‘But that was Sunday evening. Why did you stay in St. Petersburg until today?’

  Dahl flashed teeth. ‘Because I wanted to find who killed her and I don’t trust the Russian police to do their job.’

  She ignored the barb. ‘So where were you hiding?’

  ‘Alright, I’ll give you that’ – he took a breath – ‘I rented an apartment in Admiralty District and gave the owner a little extra to keep my name off the books.’

  ‘What did you discover?’

  He stopped rocking. ‘Nothing…or at least nothing until yesterday.’ Dahl’s pale eyes caught hers and held onto them; their intensity made her break away after a few seconds. ‘Anatoly took the call at his office. He said the man had a Russian accent and used that criminal slang.’

  ‘Fenya?’

  ‘Yes. He said Zena was alive but not for long. Anatoly told him to call back, when we would ask him a proof of life question. Imagine how I felt hearing Zena had been murdered then being offered the tantalising possibility that it had all been a lie.’

  ‘I heard of a case recently,’ she said. ‘A businessman took a call and heard his son screaming in the background. They told him to stay on the line and transfer eight million roubles online or listen to him die. After he paid, the father called his son’s school and spoke to the headmaster. The boy had been there all day – someone had imitated him.’

  Dahl waved his hand dismissively. ‘Felix was with me when Anatoly called. He suspected it was a trick but I insisted we went ahead with it. I thought of a question that only Zena and I could know. I even checked the internet to make sure it wasn’t public knowledge. When the man called Anatoly again, he was ready with the question.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Zena had two friends called Benny and Bo. I asked who they were. He hung up saying he would call back in five minutes with the answer.’

  ‘And he did?’

  ‘Yes, he said “It’s the same fucking horse”.’

  ‘Was he right?’

  ‘Yes. Bo was a gelding I bought for Zena’s tenth birthday. I named him after Bo Widerberg, the film director, but Zena didn’t like it. After a few weeks she changed his name to Benny.’

  ‘Did he convince you she was alive?’

  He shrugged. ‘I didn’t know what to think. The only other possibility was that he had access to someone who knew Zena intimately. I thought of that girl who reported her missing—’

  ‘Yulia Federova.’

  ‘Yes, maybe she helped him but I couldn’t see how that was possible. How could she answer any question I asked about Zena?’

  ‘Perhaps the man bugged your phone or that apartment in Admiralty and listened to you and Axelsson discussing what questions you were going to put to him.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘You didn’t need to, it was Axelsson’s job. What happened next?’

  ‘I instructed Anatoly to offer him two million roubles to let me speak to Zena directly but he wasn’t interested. He said’ – Dahl looked away – ‘if we wanted more proof he would take a blowtorch to Zena’s face and send me the Polaroids.’

  Using “Polaroids” in common speech, she thought, put the man in his forties or older. ‘What did you do?’

  Dahl’s foot started tapping erratically, then he stood, unable to contain himself any longer; he paced alongside the daisy chain barriers. ‘What do you think I did?’

  ‘You gave him everything he asked for.’

  He rubbed his eyes then stared at her. ‘Of course I did.’

  She followed him to the barrier and stood alongside him, staring out to the sea. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘Articles of incorporation, the presses for my company seals, banking and tax details. All to be delivered by me personally – Anatoly told me the man was very insistent about that.’

  ‘He stole your Russian companies.’

  Dahl twisted his head
to look at her; his eyes were red-rimmed. ‘Believe it or not, I gave them up willingly.’

  She had wanted to be easier on him but the omissions were making her angry. ‘Here’s something you forgot to mention in that story: you sent Axelsson to the handover. It was this morning at a boatyard near the Petrovsky Fairway Bridge.’

  Dahl shook his head in disbelief. ‘If you knew all this, why did you make me tell you?’

  ‘I don’t have the full picture yet. What happened, Thorsten?’

  He took two paces away from her, then gripped the rail of the bannister. For a second she thought he might vault over it; he stuffed his hands in his pockets as if the thought had occurred to him too.

  He shuffled towards her. ‘It was arranged for 10 a.m. If Felix found Zena I instructed him to take her to the Anglican Church on Malaya Konyushennaya. Do you know it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It was my idea. The church is next to the Swedish Consulate. I thought I could get Zena to safety there then obtain emergency papers to get her out of the country. Instead, I sat for two hours on a wooden bench. I even prayed a little. Believe me, an atheist praying is an ugly sight.’ His chest heaved as he chuckled to himself but his face betrayed little humour. ‘I told Felix not to take chances. I told him to leave immediately if she wasn’t there.’

  ‘Why do you have Axelsson’s phone?’

  ‘I also have his wallet and wedding ring. Felix said it was standard procedure to remove any proofs of identity prior to an operation. He bought a prepaid phone for the handover.’

  ‘I’ll need the number.’

  ‘I’ve been calling it all morning. It’s no longer in use.’

  ‘Most likely at the bottom of the Malaya Neva.’

  ‘Felix said that if I didn’t hear from him, I was to leave the country and take his possessions home for his wife.’

  She sipped her tea. ‘So you know he’s dead?’

  Dahl pulled his hands out of his pockets and leaned over the bannister at the harbour below. ‘I know you think I’m a fool. I got an innocent man killed because someone conned me.’

  ‘Zena’s in a mortuary,’ she said gently. ‘Thorsten, there’s no shame in what happened. These criminals are clever and ruthless. They spend all day thinking up nasty con tricks. Now will you promise to trust me?’