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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 (#u27513d3a-c07c-56ad-80bb-ba91d095b0ac)
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?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t keep in touch?’
Tina put the cup on the coffee table and stood up. She walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up the photograph of herself and her husband.
‘Pavel and I, we didn’t get on that well.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘You’re the police officer and you’re here asking about Pavel? I expect you can work it out.’ She replaced the photograph. ‘I didn’t like his career choice. I don’t know exactly what he was involved in, but I knew it wasn’t on the right side of the law.’
‘Didn’t your husband ever say anything?’
‘No. Pavel was his brother. My husband still felt loyal to him. It was a moot point. We ceased discussing it as it caused too many arguments between us.’
‘Does the name Porboski mean anything to you?’ This time the physical jolt was apparent.
‘Then. But not now.’ John waited for her to continue. ‘Everyone in the Russian community knew the Porboskis were involved in all sorts of criminal activity. Is that the right phrase?’
‘It’s as good as any,’ said John. He gave a small smile to reassure her. ‘Did your husband ever mention the Porboski gang?’
‘No. Well, maybe. Only in passing. It was a long time ago. As I said, everyone knew who they were. You didn’t mess with them.’
John allowed for another pause. He needed to tread carefully and decide where to take the conversation.
‘Just going back to Pavel. You’ve not heard from him since your husband’s death?’
‘That’s right.’
‘By that I take it you mean the funeral?’
Tina looked at him for a moment. She appeared to be coming to some sort of decision. He allowed her time to wrestle with whatever it was. If he was too keen to encourage her, she might clam up. His patience won out.
‘I didn’t go to the funeral. It was in Russia. It was organised and carried out within a matter of days. I was told not to come.’
John knew this. It was in the file. After the Moorgate robbery, Tina had been kept under surveillance for another two weeks in the hope she would lead them to Sasha. When the reports of his death came in and still she didn’t make any attempt to go, the trail had gone cold. John had been convinced at the time she was in on it and would fly out to Russia sooner or later. He was wrong on that occasion. He had never understood why she hadn’t gone though.
