The Half Truth
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.
Chapter 6
‘Sorry, Mrs Bolotnikov, but we can’t find anything or anyone suspicious out there,’ said the police officer as he came into the kitchen from the garden. ‘Are you certain you saw someone?
Tina shifted uncomfortably in her seat, reluctant to speak. It sounded so stupid now. She caught a look pass between the police officer and his female colleague, who was sitting at the table with her, drinking a cup of tea. They clearly didn’t believe Tina had seen anyone.
‘I definitely saw someone looking over the garden wall,’ she said, with as much confidence as she could muster. ‘As I came into the kitchen, I had that feeling of being watched. That’s what made me look up.’
‘It was getting dark. Could it have maybe been a shadow from the trees at the back? Or a cat on the wall?’ suggested the other officer.
Tina considered this idea for a moment, although she was in no doubt herself, she at least wanted the police to believe she was being rational. She shook her head. ‘No, it wasn’t a cat or a shadow. It was definitely a person.’ Tina got up and put her cup on the worktop.
‘What about someone next door? Do they use the back gate at all? Kids maybe?’ The female officer enquired. Tina could sense her frustration rising. They didn’t believe her. She graced them with an answer all the same.
‘No one really uses the alleyway. It’s only access for the middle terraces. Mr Cooper lives next door. Some days, not every day, I pop round there with a bit of dinner for him if I’ve made too much. I use the back gates then. He’s in his eighties and lives alone. It wouldn’t have been anything to do with him.’
The police officers gave another cursory look around the garden and into the alleyway, reporting back that if there had been anyone here, they were long gone.
Tina sighed as she closed the door on the departing officers. She turned the key in the lock and slid the bolts across at both the bottom and top. She yanked on the door handle and tried to open the door, just to check that there was no way anyone could get in. She repeated the procedure with the back door. The excitement of all the police activity had woken Dimitri, but Tina had managed to distract him with a Spiderman video in the living room. She poked her head around the door.
‘Come on then, Dimitri,’ she smiled at him. ‘Excitement’s all over. Best get you back to bed.’
‘Did the police catch the bad man?’
‘There wasn’t a bad man, darling. Mummy made a mistake.’ She scooped her son up from the sofa, groaning slightly at the weight of him. He’d soon be getting too old and big for carries. ‘You will never guess what it was.’
Dimitri shook his head, returning her smile before snuggling his chin onto her shoulder.
‘What was it?’
‘Turned out it was the cat, that’s all.’ Tina made her way upstairs to Dimitri’s room.
‘Our cat, Rascal?’
Yes, Rascal. Silly old mummy.’ She hoped she sounded convincing.
Tina didn’t sleep well at all that night. She’d welcomed the dawn with bleary eyes and a hard day at work had done nothing to make her face seem any fresher. Fay had commented on how tired she looked, but Tina passed it off as staying up late to watch a DVD.
Dimitri seemed to be suffering too. The walk home from school that was usually filled with chatter of how the day had gone was today a rather silent affair. An early night for both of them, Tina decided, pushing down the uneasy feeling that nightfall would soon be upon them. She’d draw her curtains early tonight, before it even got dark. She would be safer then. Cocooned.
As she stepped in through the front door, Tina was immediately greeted by Rascal, mewing at her ankles, winding his polar-white body around Tina’s legs.
‘Rascal! What are you doing here?’ said Tina stooping to pick the cat up. She nuzzled her face against the animal’s neck. ‘How did you get out of the kitchen?’ As Tina walked down the hallway to the kitchen her mind went over the routine of that morning. Rascal was always confined to the kitchen during the day when Tina was at work. His passion for bringing his kill into the house and dropping it on the floor had meant his days of having access to all areas were gone. The live mouse had been the prize too far.
Tina remembered closing the door so the cat couldn’t venture anywhere else in the house. It was always the last thing she did before going out. She wondered if perhaps today she had forgotten to do it, what with all the upset of the night before. To be honest, she couldn’t remember. It was something she did every day: a matter of habit. She couldn’t recall doing it or not doing it. Maybe Dimitri had gone back into the kitchen for something. But she didn’t think so.
Tina felt her mouth dry and the reflex action to swallow stilted. Did that mean someone had been in the house today? Other than her leaving the kitchen door open, it was the only other explanation. They certainly wouldn’t have been able to come through the front door, but she would check with Mr Cooper anyway, just in case he had seen something. The windows were all double-glazed units and all were locked closed. There was no way anyone could have got in through a window. That left only the back door.
Striding into the kitchen and over to the half-glazed UPVC door, Tina rattled the handle. Locked. Definitely locked. No, she must have forgotten about the internal door and left it open or not shut it properly. Was it any wonder she wasn’t thinking straight after the night she’d had.
Later that evening, plating an extra dinner up, Tina popped next door to Mr Cooper. As was customary, she knocked on the back door and then let herself in. Tina had long given up telling him to keep the door locked. He was stuck in his ways, had never locked the door in all the time he had been there, in excess of fifty years – as he liked to remind her – so he didn’t see why he should now. Of course, he would lock it at night time, but not during the day. He wasn’t going to let society turn him into a jibbering wreck, afraid of his own shadow.
‘Mr Cooper!’ Tina called out, knowing full well he’d be sitting in the living room with the telly on loud. She could hear it blaring out now. She was thankful, as ever, that their dividing wall separated her living room from his staircase. She pitied the neighbours on the other side of him whose living room was back to back with Mr Cooper’s. Tina placed the dinner plate on the kitchen table and went further into the house.
The usual smell of mustiness, rather like a charity shop, assailed her nostrils, as did the smell of the downstairs toilet. Mr Cooper lived on the ground floor now, the dining room converted into a bedroom and what once would have been the scullery now a wet room.
Tina knocked loudly on the living-room door and pushed it open. ‘Hello, Mr Cooper.’
He looked up from his winged back chair and smiled a toothless mouth to her.
‘Hello, love. You all right?’ Mr Cooper smoothed his hand over his head, a mixture of grey wispy hairs and a balding patch, speckled with age spots. Ever the gentleman, he made to stand up, one hand grasping his walking stick and the other trying to gain leverage from the arm of the chair.
Tina waited until he had risen slightly and indicated to the other chair for her to sit. He really didn’t need to, but it was an old habit he clearly had no intention of breaking, despite her protests not to get up in the early days of her visits. She duly took her seat next to the fireplace.
‘I’ve put a dinner out on the kitchen table for you. Chicken pie and veg. Hope that’s okay.’ She smiled as he nodded.
‘Thank you. I’ll look forward to that for my lunch tomorrow.’ He settled himself back in his chair again. ‘How’s Dimitri? School okay, is it?’
The usual questions. It was comforting. However, Tina wanted to ask him about last night, but not in a way that would alarm him. ‘Did you sleep all right last night?’ she ventured.
‘Not too bad, love. Not too bad at all.’
‘You didn’t hear anything, then?’ She toyed with the idea of not mentioning the police, but then thought better of it. If one of the other neighbours spoke to him they might tell him. ‘I thought I saw someone in the alley last night. I was a bit frightened and got the police to come round. Just to check it out. Everything was okay, though. I must have imagined it.’ She added the last bit hurriedly to allay any fears.
‘Really? Well, no, I didn’t hear a thing. But then you know me, deaf as a post.’ He chuckled and tapped his ear. ‘I suppose you’ve come round to tell me to lock my back door.’ He looked good-humouredly over his glasses at her.
‘You know my feelings on that,’ Tina replied with warmth in her voice.
‘And you know mine, love.’
She let it drop. It was pointless trying to convince him otherwise. ‘Do you want me to make you a Horlicks before I go?’ Tina asked standing up.
‘That’ll be nice, thanks, love.’
Opening the fridge for the milk, Tina tutted to herself. Mr Cooper was low on milk. She’d have to nip back home and get some. She popped her head back round the living-room door. ‘You haven’t got enough milk, Mr Cooper. I’ll quickly nip next door and get some. Won’t be a minute.’
‘Wait, love. There’s plenty of milk there. Should be at least a pint.’
‘You’ve got enough for a couple of cups of tea, but that’s about it.’
A look of concern settled in the creases of Mr Cooper’s weathered skin, accompanied by a deep sigh. ‘I must be losing my marbles. I could have sworn there was a pint there. Look, don’t worry, love. I’ll be okay tonight.’
‘I’ll bring you some first thing in the morning,’ said Tina. ‘I’ll see you then, okay?’
‘Yes, okay, pet. See you in the morning.’
Tina smiled as she left. In all the time she had lived here, Mr Cooper had never once called her by her name. It was always some term of endearment or another. She wondered if he actually could remember her name. Poor thing! Maybe he was getting a bit forgetful. Looking in the breadbin, she saw that there were only a couple of slices left. She’d get him some bread as well. She paused before opening the back door and called out loudly. ‘And don’t forget to lock the door!’
John flexed his shoulders and rotated his neck. It had been a long night sitting in the BMW with Martin. The September weather was still warm in the day, but dipped into autumn during the night. The coffee in his flask long gone, as were the sandwiches they had bought from the garage the day before.
They had watched the police activity at Tina Bolotnikov’s house the night before. A quick call to the local police station had told them what was going on. John had decided not to go in with all guns blazing at that point. The local police seemed to have it under control and there was definitely no one about. John had decided to sit it out. He didn’t want to spook their target straight away.
‘I’ll phone in to the office,’ said John. ‘See if they’ve had any reports back from the local police or any luck on the facial recognition.’
‘It’s all right, that facial recognition, if the person looks straight on at the camera,’ said Martin. ‘Not so good on profiles.’
‘I know,’ said John. ‘But it’s our only lead at the moment. You never know, we might get lucky. It’s not as if they are going to come through passport control with a hat and glasses on. Have a bit of faith.’
John got through to the office.
‘We’re still looking through CCTV of Heathrow,’ said Adam. ‘Have you any idea how many flights come through that airport every day, not to mention passengers?’
‘Keep looking. We need to find him.’ John ignored the deep sigh from Adam. He knew it was a shit of a job, but it needed doing. John needed to know who the dead Russian was, when he came into the UK and if Pavel Bolotnikov was back as well. If he had come in, John needed to track Pavel down – and fast. The Russian had slipped through his fingers once before. John wasn’t about to let it happen again. This wasn’t simply professional. This was personal.
‘Before you go, the Boss wants a word with you,’ said Adam. ‘Hold on, I’ll put you through.’
Brogan’s voice came on the line.
‘Anything to report?’ he asked.
‘Nothing as yet, Sir,’ said John. ‘There was a bit of activity here last night. I spoke to the local nick and apparently she reported a Peeping Tom in the alleyway behind her house.’
‘And was there?’
‘The local police didn’t find anyone.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Hard to say. Could be a coincidence. Adam is working on the CCTV at Heathrow now, but it could be a long and, possibly fruitless, task.’
‘Mmm, I know,’ said Brogan. ‘Man-hours wasted that could be put to better use elsewhere.’
‘Give him a bit longer, Guv,’ said John. ‘Whether it was Pavel here last night or not, doesn’t really matter now. If it was, after the police activity last night, he’s hardly like to come strolling down the road.’
‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Direct approach. I’ll go and speak to Tina Bolotnikov. If Pavel’s back and she knows, she’s hardly likely to be reporting intruders. My guess is she doesn’t know anything. Her and Pavel were never great friends when they all lived in London, so I can’t imagine anything has changed since then. I want to persuade her to call us if he turns up.’
‘Just go easy, though, John,’ said Brogan. ‘Don’t overdo the Pavel bit, not until we know if he’s here and why.’
‘Sir.’
Chapter 7
Straightening the tie he was unaccustomed to wearing these days, John knocked on the door of 17 Balfour Avenue. He had gone to the local supermarket washrooms to freshen himself up after a night spent sitting in the car.
John had waited for her to return home from dropping her son at school. She was wearing jeans, so he had assumed she wasn’t at work today.
Through the two narrow slits of obscure glass in the front door, John could see her silhouette, approach and hear the locks being turned. The door opened a couple of inches, the security chain doing its job.
‘Yes?’ Her voice had a wary tone to it.
John held up his police identity badge.
‘Hello, Mrs Bolotnikov?’ She nodded, her eyes scanning the ID card. ‘I’m DS Nightingale from London’s Metropolitan police force. Would it be possible to come in and have a chat with you?’
‘The Met?’ She reached her hand through and took the card. ‘I’ll need to confirm your ID, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘Of course. I’ll wait here.’ She closed the door and again he heard the locks turning. She certainly wasn’t taking anything at face value.
John turned to face the road. Martin had moved the car, parking outside Tina’s property. John mouthed the words ‘checking badge’ at his partner, who nodded his understanding. Eventually, John heard the sound of the bolts being drawn back on the door. Tina opened the door, this time there was no security chain.
‘Come in Detective Sergeant,’ she said and offered a small smile.
John followed her into the living room. Neat and tidy but with a warm, lived-in feel to it.
‘Would you like a tea or a coffee?’ said Tina. John took her up on the offer of coffee. ‘Please take a seat. I won’t be a moment.’
John wandered over to the fireplace and looked at the photo of Tina and Sasha. A couple very much in love. Next to the fireplace, the alcove had been fitted with shelves, which contained more knick-knacks and a selection of books.
‘Do you take sugar?’ Tina called out from the kitchen.
‘Two, please.’ John inspected the books. You could tell a lot about someone by their book shelf. They ranged from hardbacks to paperbacks, pink covers with bubble writing to more sinister-looking ones with a bold font. She certainly had a broad taste in reading material. Tina came back into the room. ‘I was looking at your books,’ said John turning to her.
She raised her eyebrows, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. A smile John had seen before but not up close, always from behind a long-distance camera lens. John averted his eyes, looking back towards the books.
‘You fancy a bit of Jilly Cooper, then?’ Tina said, passing John a cup before sitting down on the sofa.
He took a sip of the rich, dark coffee. The supermarket coffee didn’t compare. ‘Not my cup of tea,’ he said.
‘Oh, I thought you said coffee,’ said Tina.
This time it was John’s turn to look amused. He chuckled. ‘No, I meant Jilly Cooper is not my thing.’ He raised his cup a fraction. ‘This is my cup of tea, though … well, coffee.’
He watched the thought trace across her face and then she broke into an embarrassed smile. She took a sip of tea, her hands clasped around the mug. John noticed her long, slender fingers, which matched the rest of her.
John couldn’t help but feel he was seeing her for the first time, despite the fact that he had watched her for months and months. Before it was as if he was watching her on TV, continually through the lens of a camera, now today he was in the same room as her, he was seeing her up close and in the flesh for real. This time he was actually talking to her.
‘So, what can I do for you?’ Tina said, breaking the small silence that had descended. ‘I’m guessing it’s nothing to do with the report I made of being followed and watched, not if you’re from the Met.’
‘Well, yes and no,’ said John. He sat down in the wing-backed armchair beside the fireplace. The bold geometric pattern gave the old-fashioned furniture a modern twist. ‘We are currently investigating the possibility that Pavel Bolotnikov is in the UK.’ He watched her face. Her pallid face turned the colour of dishwater. She hadn’t been expecting that, he was sure.
‘Pavel?’
‘Yes, your brother-in-law.’
‘I know who he is.’ There was a slight snap to her voice. She sat up straight and let out a controlled breath. When she spoke, her voice was calm. ‘What has this to do with me?’
‘We would very much like to speak to Pavel about an incident that happened five years ago. We thought he might be in touch with you. Perhaps needing somewhere to stay.’
‘I haven’t heard from him. In fact, I haven’t heard from him since … ‘
‘Since when, Mrs Bolotnikov?’
She dropped her gaze to her hands. Her thumb kneaded the china cup handle. ‘Since my husband died.’
‘My condolences, Mrs Bolotnikov,’ said John.
‘Thank you. And it’s Tina. Much easier and quicker than Bolotnikov.’ John gave a small nod of acknowledgement before continuing.
‘So, you haven’t heard from Pavel?’