The Half Truth

‘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.