The Half Truth (18 page)

Tina sat at the kitchen table, her hands cupped around an untouched mug of tea. John had made it for her before he had left with Sasha and Martin. She didn’t want it. The thought was turning her stomach; a place where her heart had dropped to and now lay heavily. John had wanted to call a female police officer over to sit with her, but Tina had refused. She didn’t want anyone with her, she didn’t need baby-sitting. She just needed to be alone. So much had happened in one day, she needed time to sift through the events and try and make sense of everything.

Sasha was gone and in his wake had left a torrent of emotions, all jumbled up by a raging storm. And now, it was calm, but was this the eye of the storm? Would she have to face another hurricane before emerging the other side into calmer waters or was she already there? Her emotional compass was broken, her sails of resilience tattered; she felt adrift and alone.

She had both Sasha and John and yet she had neither. Sasha was no longer her husband, even though he was still alive. Sasha, her husband, really did die five years ago. The Sasha who was left was someone else’s husband, a father to someone else’s son. He didn’t belong in her world – that much she realised. The irony was not wasted on her. How many times had she wished it was all only a dream and that Sasha would walk through the door and everything could go back to normal? And now that wish had come true, but in the cruellest of ways. Sasha might still be alive as she had wished so many times, but having him back again would always be a dream.

Tina knew she should console herself with the fact that John had come into her life. Again, the irony of his appearance was not wasted on her. Death had taken Sasha and given her John. Yet John, too, was far from straightforward. He was with her, but his affection had come in disguise and she wasn’t really sure who she had begun to have feelings for or how much he felt for her. Did he care about her for herself or for who she had been married to and what information she could give him? Did he care about her for Neil? Once he had brought justice to Neil, would John no longer need her? Was she enough for him without the Bolotnikov connection?

Her head was spinning and thoughts were chasing each around her mind – a never-ending carousel of questions.

19 De Beauvoir Square was an unassuming Edwardian terrace house, situated in north London, innocuous and typical of the area. It didn’t stand out in any way from the other houses clustered around the central gardens of the square. And that was how John liked it.

Contrary to Hollywood films there were no security cameras, intricate door-entry systems, banks of computers and monitors, an arsenal of weapons, a hidden maze of tunnels, complete with panic room or a self-destructing safety mechanism should the premises be breached.

A colleague was there to let them in, having stocked up with food supplies. The two- bedroom house was sparsely furnished, the Met not known for its generous interior-design budget, although a TV had been acquired to help pass the hours.

The
housekeeper
left John and Martin with their guest.

‘Welcome to Chez Met,’ said John as Sasha stood in the living room. ‘We’re not quite up to the Savoy standards, but I hope you have a pleasant stay.’ He indicated the sofa. ‘You might as well sit down and make yourself comfortable, we’re not going anywhere soon.’

‘How long will we have to stay here?’ asked Sasha.

‘How long is a piece of string?’ said Martin. He sat down on the chair and picked up the remote control. ‘Do as John says and sit down. You make a lovely picture, but a lousy window.’ Martin craned his neck around Sasha to look at the TV, aiming the remote control in its direction.

‘In answer to your question,’ said John, methodically closing the wooden-slatted window blinds. ‘The quicker you give us all the information we want, the quicker we can sort out getting you and your family on the Witness Protection Scheme officially.’

‘I want my family in Russia flown here before I talk. I want to know they are safe. My son needs medical treatment. He doesn’t have time to wait months and months. I want it arranged now.’ Sasha paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.

John could see the desperation on the Russian’s face. The man wasn’t thinking of himself in all of this, he was thinking of his young son. Was this what Tina had seen? Is this what made her want to help the man who had deceived her in the cruellest way? John knew how much Tina loved her own son, and it was beginning to dawn on him that her compassion reached far and wide, it spanned the raging sea of lies and connected in another continent with a seriously ill child, simply because of the blood ties between the two young boys. She had an amazing gift of empathy. However, it was out of her hands now, Tina had put her trust in him, she had handed the baton to John and he knew it was down to him to take it across the finish line, just as he had promised to do so for Neil.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said John. The Russian stopped pacing and looked right back at John. He gave a small nod and seated himself on the sofa.

Three days he had been holed up in the house at De Beauvoir Square and they were still not much closer to securing the deal with Sasha.

‘What is taking so long?’ Sasha asked for what seemed to John the one-hundredth time that day. ‘Where are my wife and son?’

John bit down the urge to ask him which one he meant and instead fixed the Russian with a long, hard stare. The atmosphere between the two men had reached a stalemate state of tension. John watched Sasha wrestle with his reactions, keeping them in check, the desire to flare up finally losing the battle.

Sasha spoke again.

‘You think I do not care about Tina, that what I did cannot be justified.’

John shrugged. ‘Your words, not mine. Born of a guilty conscience, some might say.’

‘Ah, John, you think you are far superior to me, what is it you say? Oh yes, you think you have the moral high ground.’ Sasha gave a laugh. ‘You and I, John, we are not that very different. We both tell Tina lies. We have both hidden the truth from her.’

‘Don’t even begin to compare us,’ said John. He got up from where he was sitting and walked across to the window, tipping the blind to inspect the square. All looked normal. He wished Martin would get his arse here soon. He really didn’t want to listen to what Sasha had to say, but sadly he had no choice.

‘Remember, I know your lies,’ said Sasha. ‘The ones you told Tina, for a start.’

John spun on his heel and faced Sasha.

‘What the fuck does that mean?’

‘You know exactly what I mean. ‘You haven’t told her the whole truth and that, in my book, is the same as telling a lie.’

‘Give it a rest,’ said John, letting out a deep sigh. ‘I’m not in the mood for riddles.’

‘I know what really happened that day of the robbery.’ Sasha stood up and walked over to John, standing inches away.

The words were like a blow to his thorax. John fought to stop himself from doubling over as he felt the air thud to the back of his lungs. He drew fresh oxygen in through his nose, inhaling deeply to dilate his airways once more.

‘Leave it.’ he said. The words hissed out like steam from a burst pipe.

John could feel Sasha’s breath on his face as the Russian spoke. ‘I wonder what Tina’s reaction would be if she knew what you did. In fact, I wonder what your colleagues would think. If you do not fix it so that my wife and son are flown over to the UK within the next two days, then I may have to start sharing my information. After all, that is what you persuaded me to do back then. Perhaps, I should resume my role of informer.’

And there it was, the killer blow, this time hitting him in the larynx. Any verbal response lost in a constricted windpipe. John grabbed Sasha’s shirt and hurled him towards the mantelpiece above the fireplace.

‘You keep your mouth shut,’ grunted John.

Sasha crashed into the mahogany mantelpiece, sending a small carriage clock smashing down onto the hearth. The copper coal bucket, a makeshift rubbish bin, was kicked over as Sasha struggled to regain his footing. The noise brought Martin rushing down the stairs, where he had been in the bathroom studying the newspaper.

‘Hey! John! Stop!’ Martin strode across the room and pulled the two grappling men apart. He shoved Sasha in the chest, propelling him into the fireside armchair. ‘Sit the fuck down, you.’ He turned to John. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

John put his hands up in surrender and moved away from Martin. ‘It’s okay. Nothing.’ He took another couple of steps backwards and adjusted his shirt. ‘It’s okay,’ he repeated.

Martin looked from one man to the other. ‘Let’s keep it that way, eh? John, why don’t you get some fresh air? Me and Sasha here, we’ve got a game of poker to finish from last night.’

Sasha leaned back in the chair, placing his hands on each knee. ‘You will be sorry. I hold all the ace cards.’ He looked meaningfully at John.

John snatched up his jacket. He needed to get out of here. He felt suffocated, the air in the room dry and thin, the temperature stifling. John pushed through the living-room door out into the narrow hallway, a lightheaded feeling made him stagger for a moment and he ricocheted off the wall. Yanking the front door open he stumbled over the threshold, out onto the terracotta path. Using the gate pier to rest against, John leaned forward allowing the blood to rush to his head. He took long, deep breaths. The oxygen saturating his lungs, his breathing became more controlled.

Shit. That was a bad one. He hadn’t had a turn like that in a long time. It was something that happened a lot after the shooting incident and it had taken a couple of years for the attacks to ease. He thought they were a thing of the past, but clearly he was wrong. Maybe it was seeing Sasha again. The dreams had started to become more unsettling, verging now, he would say, on nightmares.

Tentatively, he turned his thoughts to the events that had haunted him for so long. Neil hadn’t meant to be there. It was supposed to be just John and Sasha. John had chased Sasha. He had to make it look realistic. Neither man wanted to give their agreement away to the other side or to their own, for that matter. John could remember clearly the conversation he had with Sasha.

‘What the hell happened?’ he shouted at Sasha. ‘You said there were no guns. It would be a smash and grab. What are you doing here?’ He was out of breath from chasing Sasha. He had sent Neil off in the other direction, hoping to keep him out of it. John needed to speak to Sasha alone.

‘They changed their plan. They didn’t tell me, but they said I had to be a look out. They were getting suspicious. Pavel had to prove I wasn’t a grass.’ Sasha was insistent. ‘I cannot speak to you. If they see me I am a dead man. I do not want any more to do with this. Our deal is off.’

Sasha turned to go. John swiped his gun from his holster, levelling it at the Russian. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Our deal is very much on.’

Sasha eyed the gun in John’s hand. He looked at John, staring him in the eye. ‘I have a wife who is pregnant. I cannot be a part of this.’

‘You should have thought about that before you started slipping the money through the till.’ John uncurled and curled his fingers around the butt of the gun. He had no desire to shoot Sasha, but if he had to, he would. Sasha was too valuable an asset to be allowed to walk away. ‘Besides, if you walk, it could mean your wife gets to hear about what you’ve been up to. Or worse, the Porboski gang.’

‘She does not know anything about this. It would break her heart,’ said Sasha. ‘She does not know anything and I want it to stay that way.’

‘Don’t make me the bearer of bad news.’ It was a below-the-belt threat, but John was willing to use all possible leverage at his disposal. Sasha Bolotnikov was not walking away. John had spent far too many hours turning Sasha, despite the lack of conviction from his DI that this would result in anything. John wasn’t about to lose here. He remained poker-faced, his eyes boring into Sasha.

‘You are threatening to tell my wife? You would stoop that low?’

John nodded. ‘There’s still time for you all to make a new life. Free from this. Free from violence and crime. It will only be a matter of time before you are pulled in too deep.’

He paused while the words sank in.

‘You mean witness protection? A new life?’ Sasha gave a derisory laugh and shook his head. ‘I do not think so.’

John knew he had to dig deeper. And fast. He didn’t have much time before someone found them. ‘Do you want to watch your child growing up from behind prison bars? Do you want to subject your wife to queuing up with the other wives and girlfriends, their kids in tow? How degrading will that be? She’ll be subject to all the low-life, other prisoners will get you to ask her to smuggle stuff in. All this, of course, if she stays with you.’

‘All right. Stop.’ Sasha’s shoulders slumped. ‘I do not have any choice, do I?’

‘Not really. Not if you love your wife.’ John lowered his gun and replaced it safely into his holster.

John didn’t see the fist coming. The first thing he knew was the crack as Sasha’s right hand connected with his jaw.

‘Bastard.’ Sasha’s voice was a mixture of anger and sadness.

John staggered backwards, regained his balance and threw a punch back at Sasha, catching him with an upper cut to the stomach. Sasha doubled up from the blow but, without straightening, charged towards John. He threw his arms around John’s waist, burying his shoulder under John’s ribs. Both men stumbled back.

At that moment the sound of running feet on the concrete echoed behind them.

‘John!’ It was Neil’s voice. The security fencing rattled as Neil shook it, trapped on the outside of the building site. ‘Oi! Armed police!’

Sasha paused and turned his head to look towards where the voice was coming from. John felt Sasha’s hold relax slightly and seized the moment. With a two-handed shove, he threw the Russian to the ground.

‘There’s a gap just down there!’ shouted John, pointing towards the far end of the fencing.

Neil ran the twenty metres or so to the opening, his gun drawn, and aimed at Sasha. John pulled Sasha to his feet by the scruff on his jacket collar.

‘You’ve got exactly five seconds to make your mind up or I’m throwing you to the lions and that goes for your wife and baby too.’

John pulled himself up short from revisiting the moments that played out after Neil reached them. He didn’t want to go there. Not today. He looked at the safe house. He didn’t fancy going back in there just yet. He decided to take a walk around the square.

Walking into the middle of De Beauvoir Square he passed through the brick pillars that marked one of the four entrances to the circular-shaped gardens. The laurel hedges and mature trees shielded the tranquil setting from the Edwardian houses that surrounded it. John breathed deeply and slowly as he meandered along the pathway.

He had been shut up in that house for too long with Sasha. Cabin fever was definitely setting in. It frustrated him that Sasha was being so stubborn about not giving any more information until he had confirmation that his Russian wife and son were on their way to the UK. Unfortunately, relations between the UK and Russian governments weren’t at their best and their Soviet counterparts had got wind of what John’s department was planning. They had an interest in the business activities of the Bolotnikovs and Porboskis, it seemed, and were themselves keen to speak to Sasha and Pavel. The sins of their grandfather coming back to haunt the brothers. John wasn’t convinced the Russians really had any hard evidence on the Bolotnikovs, but were merely hedging their bets and being bloody awkward. Although John couldn’t ignore a small nagging thought at the back of his mind that was becoming more insistent. What if the Russians were stalling for time in the hope of finding Sasha? A bit of a curve ball, but it certainly had potential.

After three slow circuits of the gardens and ten minutes sitting on one of the benches contemplating, John felt back in full control. He pulled out his phone and brought up his boss’ number. He needed to put more pressure on getting the Russian side of things sorted out. It was taking too long and making John uneasy. The longer they were in one place, the more vulnerable they became, with the chances of being found ever increasing. If the Russians were going to launch an attempt to bring Sasha home, now was the ideal time.

John walked back into the safe house. Martin and Sasha were still playing poker, the pile of notes much bigger on Martin’s side of the table.

‘He cheats,’ said Sasha, not looking up from the cards in his hand. ‘I swear he has the cards marked.’

‘You’re simply a bad loser,’ replied Martin. ‘I don’t cheat, I’m a member of Her Majesty’s Constabulary.’

‘My point exactly.’ Sasha threw his cards face up on to the table. ‘I do not want to play any more.’

‘And you, my son, have just proved my point,’ said Martin scooping up his winnings. ‘A bad loser.’

‘Now, now, children,’ said John. ‘Anyway, don’t go getting too comfortable there.’ He nodded in Sasha’s direction. ‘We’re on the move soon.’

Martin looked up in surprise. ‘We are?’

‘Just a small relocation. I’m getting itchy feet here,’ said John. He looked at Martin, who nodded. John didn’t need to spell it out.

‘When? Where? What about Rozalina?’ Sasha got to his feet. ‘I do not like this. You are playing games with me.’

‘It’s on a need-to-know basis and you don’t need to know.’ John tipped his head briefly towards the kitchen and Martin followed him out.

‘What’s the score then?’ asked Martin.

‘Tomorrow afternoon we’re off to Battersea. Got a new pad there. We’ve been hanging around here for far too long, it’s making me twitchy.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘The Sovs. They might want their boy back home.’

Martin considered this for a moment. ‘Okay, I’ll head back to the office and catch up on the paperwork. Do a bit of housekeeping and check out our new pad. Make sure it’s all ready for tomorrow.’

‘Good idea.’

‘You okay here with our house guest for the night or do you want me to take over?’

‘No, I’ll be okay. We’ll be ready and waiting for you tomorrow lunch time.’

‘Right you are.’ Martin looked at John. ‘Look, mate, I know you’ve got a bee in your bonnet about getting the wife and kid over from Russia, but we can crack him without having to do that.’

John felt his jaw tighten. He knew what Martin was saying made sense, but he had a deal with Sasha; with Rozalina and Nikolay safe in the UK, Sasha would keep his mouth shut about the shooting incident.

‘I’ve made a deal with him. I’m not going back on it,’ said John.

‘All you need to do is remind him what will happen if he doesn’t co-operate. You know, if the Russians get hold of him, be it the Porboski lot or the police, he won’t be seen again for a long time, if ever. He’s got too much to lose to mess us about.’

‘As I said, I’m not backing out of the deal.’

‘Okay, have it your way.’ Martin turned to leave, pausing in the kitchen doorway. ‘What’s he got on you?’