by G. D. Abson
She made a note in her pad. ‘And do you have any idea what she was doing at a ZAGS two weeks ago?’
‘Which is what?’
‘A civil registration office.’
Dahl had withdrawn again, until he noticed her watching him expectantly. ‘Oh.’ He thought for a moment. ‘No, I have no idea.’
Some people were just bad liars; they were defensive when they should be angry, or else they displayed micro-gestures that gave them away. Dahl’s head bobbed in an almost imperceptible nod. The movement was nothing more than a weak ‘tell’ in a poker game and it was possible she had it wrong, yet it was the same question Yulia had reacted to. She remained silent for a while to see if Dahl embroidered his answer but it was an old trick he was no doubt familiar with.
‘Is there anyone she mentioned recently? Someone new, perhaps someone she was afraid of?’
‘No one she mentioned.’
‘And what about you?’
‘I run a large company. There are always people who wish ill of me but none I know who would take it this far.’
‘What do you do?’
Dahl sat back a little as if surprised that she didn’t know; it made her wonder just how much whisky he had been drinking to display his feelings so readily. ‘I run the family business – GDH Dahl Engineering. My grandfather set up the company after the war, then my father took the helm in the 1980s until his retirement. The focus is on shipbuilding now. Obviously the Far East is the main market.’
So that explained his timid manner; Dahl’s wealth was inherited. ‘And Russia?’ she asked, trying to make the question as casual as she could.
Now he was talking he seemed less withdrawn. ‘Do you know Kungsträdgården?’
‘No.’
Dahl shrugged his wide shoulders. ‘There’s no reason you should I suppose, it’s a park in Stockholm with a famous statue of King Karl the Twelfth. He has a drawn sword in one hand; with the other he points a finger at Russia. I used to think differently, but now I’m with him. Eighteen years ago I invested in your country. Now...’
‘You prefer to point swords at us?’
Dahl gave her a slight smile. ‘It might be hard for an outsider to understand, but I’ve never had a problem with the people here. Sure, you’ve had dreadful governments since the dawn of creation, but the general public are wonderful, so full of life. The mistake most foreigners make is they don’t make the effort to understand the Russian psyche.’
‘Or they patronise us?’
He spoke automatically, his mind elsewhere. ‘Yes, we certainly do that.’
‘Tell me about Zena.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘How is your relationship?’
‘Close, but Zena never understood why an inorganic thing like a company had to take precedence over flesh and blood…companies are living creatures too.’ Dahl sipped his whisky. ‘Sixty thousand families depend on me, Captain Ivanova. I have to be there for them.’
‘Is it possible Zena has gone away…perhaps deliberately?’
‘To punish me for being absent?’
‘Yes.’
‘No, I don’t believe so.’ Dahl straightened up. ‘I really don’t. As she got older, Zena came to understand my position. After all, the company will be hers one day. Recently, people like Anatoly here’ – he patted the lawyer’s shoulder – ‘have been taking more operational control and allowing me more time to be a better father.’
A missing person, she thought, was a puzzle with a hundred different combinations and only one resolution; first, she had to get inside Zena’s head. ‘Do you speak often?’
‘We got into the habit of making Skype calls about three years ago when I spent a fortnight in Nagasaki. Since then, we always put aside time to catch up. After moving to St. Petersburg, I confess the communication has been sporadic.’
‘Are you the problem or she?’ asked Mikhail.
Natalya frowned. ‘Was that her fault or yours?’ she interpreted.
Dahl stared out of the window as if weighing up how honest he should be. ‘She was distant when she came home for the winter holidays. I thought perhaps she had found a boyfriend or was struggling at the university. When she returned for the spring term I tried to Skype her, perhaps three or four times in as many months, but she was often unavailable.’
‘What do you think was the cause?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
‘And can you think of any places she might have gone to?’
‘I honestly don’t know. Of course I’m grateful that you’re taking this so seriously and will help in any way I can.’
‘Does Zena have money of her own?’
She caught Anatoly Lagunov raise his eyebrows in a “what do you think?’ gesture.
‘OK, silly question. What banks or credit card companies does she use?’
‘A few in Sweden. I believe she has a Russian checking account too – I don’t have the details.’
She made a note to ask Primakov if he found anything in Zena’s apartment. That was an easy way to rule out an impromptu holiday.
‘When did you last speak with her?’
‘Three or four weeks ago. Sometime at the end of May.’
‘And what was her state of mind?’
Dahl stared at the whisky glass then picked it up and swallowed the remainder. ‘As I said, Zena was distant. We didn’t speak long. She told me she was busy at university and couldn’t talk.’
‘Mister Lagunov explained that Zena was adopted. Is it possible she is looking for her natural parents?’
‘No.’ Dahl smiled to himself accentuating the bags under his glacier-blue eyes. ‘As I’m sure Anatoly told you, they are both dead.’
‘And Zena is aware of that?’
He spoke while staring into his empty glass. ‘Yes, she knows the truth, and there were no reliable relatives either. I would never have taken her out of the country otherwise.’
‘What about you? Is there an ex-wife or girlfriend she is fond of?’
‘There have been a few girlfriends over the years but no one of significance. Zena is all I have, and I am all she has.’
As much as she’d gone through the whole kidnapping scenario with Lagunov, one key fact didn’t fit: the ransom demand was overdue. Dahl was a hard person to get hold of though, perhaps it was that, or maybe her abductors were taking their time getting Zena to a secure location. Two days, she mused, then studied Dahl’s pained expression as he stared at his glass. He was already assuming the worst possibilities.
He looked up and seemed to struggle to meet her gaze. ‘I called her yesterday and got her voicemail. I was going to try again tonight.’ He patted his pockets then removed a business card from his wallet. ‘This is my private number. Contact me any time.’
‘Thank you.’
She turned to see Mikhail typing on the screen of his phone and nudged him with her knee. ‘Misha, do you have something to add?’
‘Not yet, I think you’re covering all the bases,’ he replied in Russian.
She tapped her fingers on the veneer table in irritation then stopped when she realised she was doing it. ‘Can you think of anywhere she may be?’ she asked again.
‘No. Apart from this Yulia, I don’t know any of her friends. Have you tried the hospitals?’ he asked, clasping his hands together as he became more animated.
‘Yes, we’ve done that.’ She watched Dahl deflate again.
‘And where do you think she might be, Captain?’ asked Anatoly Lagunov.
‘As you say, there’s probably a normal explanation but I’d like to discuss the possibility that someone may have taken her.’
‘Do you think it’s possible?’ Dahl ran a hand through his hair, ‘Is there anything I can do?’
Mikhail stopped tapping his phone, ‘Speak to your police.’
She glared at him, willing him to shut up. ‘Major Ivanov is right. They will record your calls and advise you to keep your mobile phone on an
d always charged. Make sure someone who can speak Russian is available to answer it. That goes for house phones too – twenty-four hours a day. Monitor Skype, Facebook, Instagram, and any other social media that Zena uses. I suggest Mister Lagunov deals with any contact initially but it’s up to the Swedish police to advise you. I also suggest you think of a proof of life question.’
She needed to slow down. It was a bad idea to send Dahl into a panic. He needed time to process the information.
The Swede waved his glass. ‘Abbie?’
The flight attendant took his glass and replaced it.
‘By that, I mean you should think of a question that only Zena knows the answer to. It will prove they have her; more importantly, it will prove she is alive.’
Anatoly Lagunov shuffled in his seat. ‘Do you really think she has been kidnapped?’
‘As I said, it’s a definite possibility considering Mister Dahl’s wealth.’
Mikhail stretched in his chair, pushing his back into its contours. ‘That said, it is unusual now.’
‘He’s right,’ she said, ‘there are fewer kidnappings now than when you might remember from eighteen years ago. In the meantime we will do everything to find her.’
‘Before we go,’ Mikhail stood up to leave, ‘OK if I take picture of airplane? I like to collect them.’
She frowned. Mikhail had no pastimes that weren’t sports-related.
Dahl seemed to brighten at the frivolousness of the request, and suddenly he was the rich man in poor man’s clothing embarrassed by his wealth and eager to share it, if only vicariously. ‘Yes, please do.’
They stood and moved to the aisle. Mikhail stepped deeper into the aircraft’s fuselage before turning so his back was behind the open cabin door. The pilot and co-pilot were busying themselves then stopped and put their arms on each other’s shoulders; Mikhail joined them, holding his phone at arm’s length. She remained with Dahl and Lagunov, quietly furious as she watched the grotesque spectacle, but even Lagunov was amused, showing a row of his small, even teeth.
Mikhail returned, looking pleased with himself. ‘We will be back,’ he said.
As they climbed down the steps, she turned and caught the Swede brushing tears from his eyes.
Lagunov accompanied them to the terminal building where they were allowed inside after showing their identification cards to two FSB guards manning the security desk. Mikhail scanned the concourse furtively, looking for somewhere to smoke. He pulled out a packet of Sobranie Classics and offered one to the lawyer as they passed through a set of sliding doors.
She addressed Lagunov, ‘While you’re here. I’d like to ask you a few more questions.’
‘Anything to help.’ He cupped his hands around Mikhail’s to receive a light.
She pulled out her notepad. ‘Can you tell me when you first met Thorsten Dahl?’
Lagunov exhaled then frowned slightly. ‘It was in the spring of 1999. March or April.’
‘How?’
He frowned again, this time the wrinkles showed his age. ‘I was hired by Thorsten’s father, Gustav. Thorsten was given five million dollars in seed money and sent to Russia. It was the end of the fire sale but there were still bargains to be had.’
‘Were you hired because Mister Dahl doesn’t speak Russian?’
‘Yes.’
She paused to study Lagunov’s solid frame. ‘And to keep him out of trouble?’
‘That too. I had a firearms licence and could take care of myself. It’s easy to forget now that Chechen terrorists were setting off bombs and the mafia held gunfights in the street like actors in an action movie.’
‘So you were a bodyguard, a fixer, and a lawyer?’
‘Why not? Vladislav Surkov was an oligarch’s bodyguard before he became the president’s advisor.’
‘And this orphanage that Thorsten Dahl regularly visited, where was it?’
Lagunov watched a car in the liveries of a New York cab pull up; two skinny girls in sequined tops climbed out, tottering on heels. ‘As I told you, it was at Krasnoye Selo.’
She held her pen over her pad. ‘Describe it to me.’
‘You may be better speaking to Thorsten. I can’t remember the details.’
‘In the car earlier, you told me Zena called Mister Dahl’ – she checked her notepad – ‘“her lion” when they first met. Presumably you were there that day?’
He exhaled smoke into the pale night air. ‘Not at all. Thorsten is fond of telling it; he’s repeated it so often I feel as if I must have been there.’
He smiled to himself displaying his neat teeth.
‘So when you said you were there earlier today it was a mistake?’
‘I misunderstood the question. I went to the orphanage on other occasions.’
‘Zena isn’t a Russian name; what was she called before the adoption?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’
Was he lying? She couldn’t tell. Lawyers and policemen had too much practice but it was hard to believe his memory could be that poor or that he was innocently contradicting his earlier answers. ‘So you don’t remember what must have been the most significant event during his time here. On top of that, you were his fixer – you must have helped him with the paperwork and any bribes.’
He pushed his lips together. ‘It would be foolish of me to admit to anything like that in front of a police officer.’
‘Of course.’ She tapped her pen on her notepad. ‘So when did Mister Dahl leave?’
‘Towards the end of 1999.’
‘Was he back for Christmas?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Did you have Christmas with him here or had he gone by then?’
Lagunov looked at Mikhail quizzically, hoping he would interrupt. ‘Look, Natalya—’
‘Captain,’ Mikhail reminded him.
‘Alright, Captain. I don’t know what you want me to say. All this happened a long time ago and these questions are of no relevance that I can see.’
‘Might your powers of recall improve if you came to police headquarters for a formal interview on Monday?’
‘I thought you wanted me to answer Thorsten’s phone in case the kidnapper calls?’
‘Well, that was contingent on your cooperation. May I continue?’
He raised a palm towards her in a sarcastic gesture. ‘Please do.’
‘So, you spent the Christmas of 1999 together?’
‘Thorsten stayed with me and my wife; we divorced a few years later.’
She noted his answer.
‘And what did you do with Zena?’
‘Zena wasn’t there.’
Natalya looked up. ‘So this story of the open day and Zena clinging to his leg. That was in the summer?’
‘Perhaps…’
‘Yet you set the scene fairly well earlier. I imagined children running around on the grass; maybe a little wine to loosen up the prospective parents. That doesn’t sound like winter to me. So where did Zena spend Christmas? The Swedes are big on Christmas and I don’t believe for a second he left his new daughter behind.’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps she left the orphanage between then and the New Year. Our government is twitchy about foreigners adopting Russian children so you can understand if Thorsten is reticent about giving away too many details.’
‘We should go.’ Mikhail stubbed his cigarette out.
Lagunov did the same and she let the lawyer separate from them as he hurried for his BMW.
‘Misha,’ she scowled as they walked towards the car park, ‘what were you doing on the plane?’
‘What do you mean?’ he grinned.
‘Dahl’s daughter might be dead and you took a selfie with the pilots.’
‘Oh, that,’ he said smoothly, taking out his mobile, ‘Do you really think I’m that shallow?’
‘I’m beginning to wonder.’
‘Here, I’ll send it to you. Have a look for yourself.’ He tapped some buttons on his phone and she heard hers buz
z.
‘It’s late, Misha. I’m too tired to play games.’
‘Remember when you spoke to our good colonel. You told him someone called at Zena’s on the Friday morning. The babushka said he wore a suit and had grey hair.’
‘Yeah, she called him a bureaucrat.’
‘Sounds to me like Dahl’s lawyer.’
She shrugged. ‘Or a salesman.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘there’s one way you can find out.’
She unlocked her phone then opened the message to see a photograph. It was of Anatoly Lagunov smiling condescendingly at the stupid policeman who wanted to impress his friends. Mikhail hadn’t taken a selfie – the camera had been pointing the other way.
Chapter 13
As Mikhail parked, she observed it was 1:10 a.m. according to the clock in his Mercedes. Outside, the sun was lolling drunkenly over the horizon, and she could see silvery splashes on the streets where its dim light was reflected on puddles. She took the stairs before finding their apartment as dark as a coal bunker from the blackout curtains that Mikhail installed during the White Nights. She took off her shoes in the hallway and stepped on a half-full beer can that crushed under her foot; the cold liquid soaked her sock.
She peeled it off and held it gingerly in her hand. ‘Misha, you bastard.’
‘What have I done?’ he said, behind her.
She felt for the light switch. The can had spilled from a plastic bag filled with bottles, cans, and the contents of several ashtrays; next to it were three empty pizza boxes. It was cold enough to give her goose pimples and she felt behind the curtains and blinds to find the windows wide open; no doubt to clear the air of cigarette smoke before they got home.
While Mikhail stormed into Anton’s bedroom she went to the bathroom and rolled up the leg of her jeans.
‘You irresponsible little shit.’ She heard him shout as she directed the bath’s shower attachment at her beer-soaked foot.
There was a murmur from Anton then a yelp of indignation. She cleaned her teeth then went to their bedroom and closed the curtains before switching on the light. Mikhail came in and started pulling off his clothes, dropping them on the floor as he changed.
