by G. D. Abson
‘Wasn’t that unusual? A single man adopting a child?’
‘I was there. They were having an open day and the kids were wearing their best clothes and running around on the grass. They invited relatives of the children and well-meaning locals.’
‘To see if they would take on a child?’
‘Why not? Thorsten was a patron – back then there was a massive tax advantage in supporting charities – but he took it seriously. Becoming a father was the last thing on his mind… until Zena came along. She was a new arrival, barely eighteen months old and still wearing nappies. Too young to know she had two dead junkies for parents. The day she saw Thorsten she wouldn’t let go of his hand. The staff said she was inconsolable when he left. After that it became a joke each time he visited. Zena used to ride on his back and call him her lion. When he was planning to return to Sweden permanently, he discovered he couldn’t bear to leave her behind.’
He shrugged. ‘So that’s how they met. May I ask some questions of you, Detective Ivanova?’
‘Of course,’ she said, glad at least that he had reinstated her title.
‘Have you much experience of this type of thing?’
‘I spent fifteen years working violent crimes.’
His voice faltered, ‘Murder and abductions?’
‘A lot of murders; thirty to forty abductions. It’s quieter now than it used to be but it’s still not safe enough to leave a rich kid on her own.’
‘And you work with your husband in the same department?’
‘It’s commoner than you’d think; it’s only against regulations if he is my supervisor. Mikhail is assisting, but I have operational control of the investigation and report directly to the head of the Criminal Investigations Directorate.’
She watched Mikhail swig from the bottle of Ochakovo and pretend he wasn’t part of the conversation. ‘My husband has a law degree and will regard himself as a failure if he isn’t a colonel in ten years’ time, so there may be a crisis then but it’s not a concern now.’ It wasn’t exactly the truth – she was holding up Mikhail’s career and could feel his frustration, even if he didn’t voice it. Also, he was popular with the other officers and if Dostoynov did take over from Colonel Vasiliev she’d be blamed for allowing it to happen.
Lagunov felt in his pockets and Mikhail, reading the signs, pulled out a packet of his Sobranies and offered him one. ‘What have you found so far?’ the lawyer asked.
‘I’ll get an ashtray,’ she said, using the excuse to open the kitchen windows. She returned with a misshapen bowl of fired clay that Anton had made in pottery class and they could find no other discernible use for. ‘I’ll go into the details with Mister Dahl, but Zena left her apartment last Thursday with Yulia Federova and they became separated.’
‘Are you sure she hasn’t gone away somewhere?’
‘No, but there are indications that this didn’t happen. Perhaps she is staying with a boyfriend, but no girl I know leaves without taking a few essentials.’
She turned to Mikhail. ‘Speaking of which, I’ll leave Anton a note, telling him we’ll be out this evening.’
Lagunov nodded solemnly then checked his watch. ‘It’s getting late, Thorsten will be arriving around 11 p.m. and it will take an hour to get there. Shall we go?’ He tipped the remnants of the black tea into his mouth and swallowed.
Chapter 11
Natalya locked up and followed Lagunov outside. The rain had eased off and the sun, occasionally obscured by clouds, hung above the roofs of Tsentralny District’s neoclassical apartment blocks. He was waiting by a black Series 6 BMW that smelled of fresh plastic when he opened the door for her. Mikhail, with a couple of Ochakovos under his belt, was almost certainly over the legal alcohol limit as he climbed into his Mercedes on the other side of the road; he performed a neat U-turn to follow them.
Lagunov’s eyes flicked to hers then back to the road as he drove. ‘Captain, is there really any need for concern? Thorsten will ask me and I don’t want him to worry unnecessarily.’
She paused, wishing she’d gone in Mikhail’s car and they’d both followed Lagunov. In these situations, searching for the right words only brought platitudes and vague promises but at least she was dealing with a lawyer and not a parent. ‘We’ve already tried the hospitals and the city’s morgues. There is nothing in her apartment to suggest she has gone on holiday. Perhaps she’s behaving out of character? The first year at university is tough and she’s in a strange country.’
‘And if not that?’
‘She might have had an accident and been unable to get to hospital; there’s suicide of course, and murder…all speculation and it doesn’t help anyone.’
She leaned forward and pointed left ‘You want to get onto Moskovsky Prospekt.’
He tapped the console to show he was following the directions on the car’s satnav. ‘Let’s keep speculating. What else?’
‘Abduction. There are four types. Tell me, has Mister Dahl been involved in a custody battle for Zena?’
Lagunov almost smiled as his eyes flicked to hers. ‘No, nothing like that.’
‘Then that leaves three: terrorists, criminals and sick bastards. Terrorism is rare outside of the Caucasus these days, thanks to Kadyrov and his merry band of psychopaths, and if the motive was sexual or some other twisted reason, then I’m sorry to say this but she was probably killed soon after she was abducted. If she has been taken, then my money is on money. After all, your boss has plenty of it to share around.’
‘It seems so far-fetched.’
‘As I said, there may be an innocent explanation; kidnapping is just one line of enquiry.’
‘What happens if it is a kidnapping?’
‘If it is, then the people who took her are most likely to be natives with poor English. The university has broken up for summer so they may try to send a message through one of Dahl’s companies or to contact him directly. It’s the smart thing to do when there’s no official cooperation between the Swedish and Russian police. For several reasons I advise you to take the call, not him. Once the kidnappers make contact, notify the consulate here and the Swedish state police, and I will arrange to have a crisis team put in place.’
‘How is Zena’s Russian?’ she added.
‘Good. Thorsten felt it was important for Zena to know her ethnic background… some Swedish thing. He hired a tutor and made sure she knew she was a Russkaya.’
‘That will help her if she has been taken. What about him?’
Lagunov tilted a hand in a see-sawing gesture to indicate it was mixed.
‘If his Russian is poor then you must to take the call. Believe me, you don’t want misunderstandings that get a kidnapper frustrated. Also, Thorsten will be emotional. So firstly, and this is important, in that call you will establish that Zena is alive and unharmed—’
‘And how do I do that?’
‘I’ll explain that on the plane. Next, assure them that nobody has spoken to the police and nor will they. Third, don’t try to negotiate.’
‘What the hell am I supposed to do? Discuss the latest SKA game?’
‘No, you tell them calmly that you don’t currently have the authority to make a deal. Next, you agree a time and method for them to contact you again. Before you hang up, give them a code word – it will prove you’re taking it seriously and will stop other criminals posing as the kidnappers.’
‘Why delay it for another call? We just want to get Zena back.’
She looked over her shoulder to check Mikhail was still trailing in his light blue Mercedes; he was. ‘Because it gives us time to get the bastards without you having to pay a ransom for a girl who may not be returned. If the call is taken in Sweden, get the police to email me a recording. We’ll try to identify them but our priority is the same as yours: to get Zena back unharmed. Try to think of it as a business deal.’
‘A deal with a gun to Zena’s head.’ Lagunov sounded irritated.
‘Keep in mind they need her alive.
You want to buy something; they want to sell it. Start around a third of the ransom amount and work upwards. Try to stay calm. There are three hundred ransom kidnappings a year in this country.’
‘They won’t hurt her?’
‘Zena needs to be smart. If they show their faces, she looks at the floor…she must be respectful, that kind of thing. For you, it means don’t renegotiate the ransom once it’s agreed. Above all, be careful who you talk to, especially the menti. Policemen have been known to supplement their salaries by kidnapping.’
Lagunov grunted. ‘But I can trust you?’
She lifted her left arm, waving it at him like a bird with a broken wing. ‘Young Pioneer’s honour.’
Lagunov smiled though he looked doubtful. She didn’t blame him, the police had a bad reputation but most of the time it was undeserved. She watched him take the P-21 on Moskovsky Prospekt, the same direction she had indicated.
‘Could it be the mafia?’ Lagunov was saying. ‘I heard the Tambovski gang own Piter.’
She knew what he was insinuating: if it came to it and there was mafia involvement in Zena’s disappearance, how far would she go to stop them?
‘It’s unlikely.’
The lawyer glanced at her. ‘Would you go against them…if it comes to it?’
‘Believe me, it’s not a problem.’
‘Why?’
‘Because a ransom is Kopecks to them. Twenty years ago, they seized the city’s banks and big companies. A kidnapper is more likely to be an individual or belong to a small, unaffiliated group. They might have the funds to bribe a policeman or two, but not enough to stop an investigation.’
She paused. ‘So, did I convince you that not all Russian police are corrupt?’
Lagunov stirred in his seat then lit a cigarette, opening the window a crack to let the smoke escape. ‘Of course,’ he said, turning away from her.
Chapter 12
At Pulkovo airport, the BMW and Mikhail’s Mercedes parked at Terminal 3 – an area of the airport she had never been to before – and they were met by an official with a neat red beard who checked their identification cards before escorting them to a VIP lounge. The experience confirmed her suspicion that the super-rich had broken away and become an entirely separate species of human being altogether.
They sat around a table in leather armchairs where she spotted a barman who was so discreet his presence hadn’t registered with her at first. Mikhail was more observant and Lagunov noticed him watching. ‘You want a drink? I could do with one…it’s been a long day. Thorsten won’t mind.’
Mikhail got up. ‘Sure.’ He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘Angel, you want one too? There’ll be some good stuff here.’
He appeared to be exhibiting signs of the infectious, anything goes atmosphere that overwhelmed the city during the White Nights but it was important to stay sharp; besides, despite Lagunov’s approval she found it distasteful, as well as unprofessional, to meet Zena’s father reeking of alcohol. ‘I’m good, Misha…thanks.’
The two men were being served champagne when the official with the red beard reappeared. Mikhail cupped his mouth over his flute and swallowed his drink in one mouthful; she noticed Lagunov had left his untouched.
‘Please follow me,’ the official announced. They were ushered along the concourse and past checkin, then stepped onto the concrete outside. Despite the late hour, the planes were still casting long shadows on the ground.
Natalya eyed two rows of ten business jets on the apron. ‘How much do these things cost?’
‘Fifty million dollars and up,’ the official said. ‘You should have been here during the G20 conference a few years ago; there were hundreds then.’
There was a vintage Mercedes, all headlights and sparkles, parked outside one of the planes and some bodyguards, no doubt ex-Spetsnaz or FSB, who eyed them as they walked past.
While mounting the steps to Dahl’s Gulfstream it occurred to her that she had never cared about being rich, not seriously rich anyway, but her experience so far suggested it was every bit as vulgar as she’d imagined, and at least as enjoyable. The pilot, a middle-aged woman with golden hair and Ray-Bans, and the co-pilot, a pale young man with an easy smile and a crisp white shirt, were waiting at the entrance to greet them. There was even a flight attendant too, a young woman who had dressed in a hurry judging by the brown shoes which didn’t complement her navy uniform.
She followed Lagunov inside, seeing a photograph fixed to an interior wall of a wooden jetty leading to a lake. There was a haze over the calm waters and a circumference of trees that reflected the low sun and gave themselves away as silver birch. Along the fuselage she saw Thorsten Dahl seated in a cream leather chair, one of four surrounding a veneer table. He stood up, stooping to avoid the low ceiling, and waved his arm, beckoning them over.
From the internet images, she already knew he was a large man, around two metres tall, but up close it was impressive. He wore a light blue, untucked shirt with the top two buttons undone, hung over worn jeans that had a hole in one knee. An austerity wardrobe for a man-of-the-people billionaire. Even with the advancing years, it was easy to see why the young Zena had called him a lion in the orphanage; his side-parted hair was still blond despite losing some of its colour and his solid frame bulged around the belly where he had developed a paunch.
Dahl’s eyes had deep bags and flitted nervously. He twisted his hands and stared at them as they approached. She’d seen it all before, the stages parents went through. It had been ten or twelve hours since Mikhail had left his messages – a long time to dwell on the possibilities, few of which would hold any comfort. He smiled at her awkwardly, giving the impression of a timid man which was at odds with his image as a wealthy industrialist.
She turned away out of awkwardness and saw another picture on a partition wall; it was of coal black cattle grazing on verdant pasture. A well-built farmer with a weather-worn face stood in front of them, his hands on his hips as he stared coolly into the camera’s lens. Lagunov twisted to follow the direction of her gaze. ‘Wagyu,’ he said. ‘Mister Dahl’s father keeps a herd.’
Dahl rose in his seat to acknowledge them. ‘Please sit down,’ he said in a voice softer than she had expected. ‘Abbie, can you get our guests some refreshments?’ The flight attendant who was standing near the entrance approached them.
‘None for us,’ she said, glancing at Mikhail.
‘Then please get me a large malt, and Anatoly…’
Lagunov shook his head.
‘Then just mine.’
She sat down, and Mikhail took the seat next to her; he was facing Lagunov who seemed tiny next to Dahl. They watched the flight attendant open a cabinet and pull out an ancient bottle before pouring a centimetre of whisky into a large crystal glass.
‘Your malt, sir,’ she said, serving it to him straight. Abbie’s face, with its hastily applied makeup, looked as inscrutable as a geisha’s.
Dahl stared again, unfocused, his thoughts taking him to some dark place. He shook his head slightly to dispel them. ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me,’ he said in English, ‘and forgive the unorthodox location. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Russia and I couldn’t get a visa at such short notice. Your FSB colleagues have promised not to throw me in prison provided I remain in the confines of Pulkovo airport.’
He held his hand out to her. ‘I’m Thorsten Dahl.’
‘Senior Detective Ivanova.’ She took out her notepad and laid it on a table.
‘And this must be your husband, Mikhail. You’re a detective too?’
Mikhail looked relaxed as if he regularly found himself on private jets. ‘Yes I am,’ he said in his staccato English.
‘Have you found her, Captain?’ His eyes darted to hers then flicked away.
‘No,’ she said.
‘Then, please tell me what you can.’
She preferred to dictate the flow of information from the start but it didn’t matter – cooperation was rarely a
problem when a child was missing. ‘Of course.’
She shifted in the chair, finding Dahl’s nervousness contagious. ‘These are my initial findings and will no doubt change as we discover more. The indications are that your daughter was last seen leaving a bar in the early hours of Friday morning.’
Dahl picked up the whisky, swirled the glass, and then tasted it. He didn’t seem surprised and she guessed that Anatoly Lagunov or someone else had updated him. ‘What indications?’
‘Unopened mail, toiletries, and information provided by the female friend she was with that night.’
‘Zena mentioned a Yulia to me. I never met her.’ Dahl seemed to drift away again as he spoke and she smelled whisky on his breath; more than could be accounted for by a single sip. She would insist he stayed sober until they got his daughter back – one way or another.
‘Yulia Federova. She believes Zena may have been stranded by the raising of the bridges. Can I ask a few questions?’
‘Please.’ He waved his hand expansively.
‘Does Zena have any mental or physical illness where she needs medication?’
‘No.’
She flashed an annoyed look at Mikhail who was peering past Lagunov and along the plane’s fuselage to the cabin. It was unlike him to be so frivolous, particularly when a girl’s life was at stake, and she wondered what he was up to.
‘Are you aware if Zena had a boyfriend?’
‘No – no boyfriend.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes. We have a close relationship. She is shy with strangers so she tended to confide in me.’
‘Thank you. Do you know if Zena is taking a birth control pill?’
Dahl thought for a moment. ‘I do remember something.’ He rubbed a hand over his brow. ‘Our family doctor in Östermalm prescribed them for her period pains.’
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.’
