by G. D. Abson
Rogov rested a heavy hand on Lagunov’s shoulder and squeezed it. ‘And I pay my taxes, but that doesn’t make me President of the Republic.’
Natalya said, ‘You panicked when Thorsten told you he was selling the companies. Were you angry that you couldn’t keep stealing from them or were you worried the buyer would find out?’
The lawyer stared back at her, hatred radiating from him like a heat shimmer. ‘You are nobody. A corrupt little mouse who tried to grab some cheese from a trap.’
She ignored the accusation. ‘You needed the company documents and Thorsten out of the way so you found Volkov and told him his daughter, Ksenia, was alive. You had him arrange the fake kidnapping then insisted that Thorsten went in person to the ransom exchange.’
‘Where’s your evidence?’ Lagunov demanded. ‘You have nothing.’
‘I have a witness. Originally I thought Zena had been kidnapped and Thorsten had sent you to her apartment to see if she really was missing. The truth is, you panicked. You thought there was something there to connect her to you. How did you get inside? Zena had one set of keys and her neighbour had the other.’
‘Yuri took my keys,’ Zena said. ‘He said he was going to get some things from my apartment but he forgot.’
Natalya held out the flat of her hand to Lagunov. ‘There’s your evidence.’
‘You don’t scare me. I’ll tell you something else if you like – it was me who sent those emails to Zena. Thorsten’s job was done. He’d been the parent of a cuckoo child. It was time for her to go back to her real father. Where’s the crime in that?’
‘I think Volkov screwed you after the ransom exchange. Why did he have the company documents, and not you? I bet you offered him money but it wasn’t enough. Once he smelled how much the companies were worth he wanted them too.’
Lagunov’s sneer had gone, it was replaced by self-pity. Most criminals, when it came to it, were selfish and blamed everything and everyone except themselves. ‘The FSB have Thorsten’s companies now.’ He let out a shrill laugh. ‘Why don’t you arrest them?’
Rogov gave him an unsettling grin. ‘The same reason you won’t say anything – because the FSB do some evil shit.’
Natalya turned to Zena. ‘You had a handbag – a Hermès Sellier Kelly. What happened to it?’
Zena frowned, ‘I don’t know. Yuri said I’d lost it before he found me. I was so drunk.’
‘Did you know a body was found on Krestovsky Island?’
‘I heard it on the radio. Yuri told me it was a trap. The police were saying it was me so I would come out into the open.’ She glanced at Dahl, then looked away, embarrassed. ‘You don’t know what it was like. It was so hard to do anything he didn’t want me to do.’
‘The girl in the park was Yulia Federova,’ said Natalya.
Zena’s hand went to her mouth, ‘No!’
‘A man working for Yuri killed her.’
The girl looked stunned; she was staring into the middle distance. ‘Yulia is dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘She was helping you to look for your parents. Lagunov was worried Yulia might lead me to Volkov and expose everything.’
‘I didn’t want to cause my father any embarrassment. I told her not to say anything.’
‘She didn’t,’ Natalya put an arm over Zena’s shoulders, ‘but Lagunov thought she would. I was asking him awkward questions about the adoption and her death stopped the investigation into your disappearance. We thought she was you because her body was burned and they left your Hermès handbag near it.’
Zena frowned, ‘Are you saying Anatoly had Yulia killed?’
‘Yes.’
Zena faced Lagunov, ‘You killed my friend?’
Lagunov shook his head, ‘I didn’t’
Natalya got in between them before it turned ugly.
‘Get off me!’ Zena tried to brush Natalya way.
Lagunov stepped back then taunted her, ‘Your real father was a thug, it looks like you’ve got his genes all right.’
Natalya strained to hold Zena. ‘For God’s sake put him inside.’ Rogov shoved him roughly into the back of the Primera.
She tried to placate the girl. ‘He’s going to prison for a long time.’
‘Yeah, and it’s not like one of your Sven holiday camps,’ added Rogov.
She said goodbye to Thorsten and Zena then climbed into the Primera. Rogov drove onto a verge to let the backlog of cars clear. Soon the air stank of exhaust fumes and was filled with a cacophony of horns as motorists competed for the opening spaces. She watched Thorsten Dahl hold open the door of the BMW for Zena. Before climbing in, she hugged him. A few minutes later she saw the black car edge slowly into the traffic.
‘How long are we going to be here, boss?’
‘Just wait.’
It took another twenty minutes for the BMW to cross the border and just once, Natalya thought, she saw Zena turn to wave but the car was too far away by then.
The sky had grown dark again and was threatening rain. Rogov opened his window a crack then lit a cigarette. He grinned, expecting her to order him to put it out. His smile looked unnatural, she thought, like an air steward’s – only without the orthodonture to back it up.
‘Can we go now, boss?’
‘You really are an insolent bastard, Rogov.’
He grinned even more.
Acknowledgements
Chiefly, I wish to thank “Vaka”, the necessary pseudonym for an ex-St Petersburg Ministry of the Interior officer who generously gave his time to explain the workings of the city’s police force; Piter natives Stanislav Levtov and Denis Tsybulia also offered invaluable information on subjects ranging from local slang to music that Natalya might enjoy.
As for the business of literally getting here, Jenny Abson deserves a special mention for reviewing numerous drafts without once raising the subject of divorce; and Anna Dougherty, Kathy Dixon, Dan Merrett, Sarah Spence, and Kate Simants were invaluable readers and critics.
My fabulous agent (and Russophile), Kate Hordern, of the Kate Hordern Literary Agency, was tremendously supportive and helpful, as was Richenda Todd, whose superb editing eased MOTHERLAND through an early re-write.
I am indebted to the team at Mirror Books: Paula Scott, Fergus McKenna, Jo Sollis, Simon Flavin, Cynthia Hamilton, Julie Adams and Mel Sambells, for having that rare blend of warmth, humour, and professionalism that makes them such a pleasure to work with.
Finally, while researching MOTHERLAND, the following works of non-fiction merit particular attention:
Karen Dawisha. Putin’s Kleptocracy. Simon & Schuster, 2015.
Bill Browder. Red Notice: How I Became Putin’s No.1 Enemy. Transworld, 2015.
Peter Pomerantsev. Nothing is True and Everything is Possible: Adventures in Modern Russia. Faber & Faber, 2015
