The Half Truth

Later that evening, plating an extra dinner up, Tina popped next door to Mr Cooper. As was customary, she knocked on the back door and then let herself in. Tina had long given up telling him to keep the door locked. He was stuck in his ways, had never locked the door in all the time he had been there, in excess of fifty years – as he liked to remind her – so he didn’t see why he should now. Of course, he would lock it at night time, but not during the day. He wasn’t going to let society turn him into a jibbering wreck, afraid of his own shadow.

‘Mr Cooper!’ Tina called out, knowing full well he’d be sitting in the living room with the telly on loud. She could hear it blaring out now. She was thankful, as ever, that their dividing wall separated her living room from his staircase. She pitied the neighbours on the other side of him whose living room was back to back with Mr Cooper’s. Tina placed the dinner plate on the kitchen table and went further into the house.

The usual smell of mustiness, rather like a charity shop, assailed her nostrils, as did the smell of the downstairs toilet. Mr Cooper lived on the ground floor now, the dining room converted into a bedroom and what once would have been the scullery now a wet room.

Tina knocked loudly on the living-room door and pushed it open. ‘Hello, Mr Cooper.’

He looked up from his winged back chair and smiled a toothless mouth to her.

‘Hello, love. You all right?’ Mr Cooper smoothed his hand over his head, a mixture of grey wispy hairs and a balding patch, speckled with age spots. Ever the gentleman, he made to stand up, one hand grasping his walking stick and the other trying to gain leverage from the arm of the chair.

Tina waited until he had risen slightly and indicated to the other chair for her to sit. He really didn’t need to, but it was an old habit he clearly had no intention of breaking, despite her protests not to get up in the early days of her visits. She duly took her seat next to the fireplace.

‘I’ve put a dinner out on the kitchen table for you. Chicken pie and veg. Hope that’s okay.’ She smiled as he nodded.

‘Thank you. I’ll look forward to that for my lunch tomorrow.’ He settled himself back in his chair again. ‘How’s Dimitri? School okay, is it?’

The usual questions. It was comforting. However, Tina wanted to ask him about last night, but not in a way that would alarm him. ‘Did you sleep all right last night?’ she ventured.

‘Not too bad, love. Not too bad at all.’

‘You didn’t hear anything, then?’ She toyed with the idea of not mentioning the police, but then thought better of it. If one of the other neighbours spoke to him they might tell him. ‘I thought I saw someone in the alley last night. I was a bit frightened and got the police to come round. Just to check it out. Everything was okay, though. I must have imagined it.’ She added the last bit hurriedly to allay any fears.

‘Really? Well, no, I didn’t hear a thing. But then you know me, deaf as a post.’ He chuckled and tapped his ear. ‘I suppose you’ve come round to tell me to lock my back door.’ He looked good-humouredly over his glasses at her.

‘You know my feelings on that,’ Tina replied with warmth in her voice.

‘And you know mine, love.’

She let it drop. It was pointless trying to convince him otherwise. ‘Do you want me to make you a Horlicks before I go?’ Tina asked standing up.

‘That’ll be nice, thanks, love.’

Opening the fridge for the milk, Tina tutted to herself. Mr Cooper was low on milk. She’d have to nip back home and get some. She popped her head back round the living-room door. ‘You haven’t got enough milk, Mr Cooper. I’ll quickly nip next door and get some. Won’t be a minute.’

‘Wait, love. There’s plenty of milk there. Should be at least a pint.’

‘You’ve got enough for a couple of cups of tea, but that’s about it.’

A look of concern settled in the creases of Mr Cooper’s weathered skin, accompanied by a deep sigh. ‘I must be losing my marbles. I could have sworn there was a pint there. Look, don’t worry, love. I’ll be okay tonight.’

‘I’ll bring you some first thing in the morning,’ said Tina. ‘I’ll see you then, okay?’

‘Yes, okay, pet. See you in the morning.’

Tina smiled as she left. In all the time she had lived here, Mr Cooper had never once called her by her name. It was always some term of endearment or another. She wondered if he actually could remember her name. Poor thing! Maybe he was getting a bit forgetful. Looking in the breadbin, she saw that there were only a couple of slices left. She’d get him some bread as well. She paused before opening the back door and called out loudly. ‘And don’t forget to lock the door!’

John flexed his shoulders and rotated his neck. It had been a long night sitting in the BMW with Martin. The September weather was still warm in the day, but dipped into autumn during the night. The coffee in his flask long gone, as were the sandwiches they had bought from the garage the day before.

They had watched the police activity at Tina Bolotnikov’s house the night before. A quick call to the local police station had told them what was going on. John had decided not to go in with all guns blazing at that point. The local police seemed to have it under control and there was definitely no one about. John had decided to sit it out. He didn’t want to spook their target straight away.

‘I’ll phone in to the office,’ said John. ‘See if they’ve had any reports back from the local police or any luck on the facial recognition.’

‘It’s all right, that facial recognition, if the person looks straight on at the camera,’ said Martin. ‘Not so good on profiles.’

‘I know,’ said John. ‘But it’s our only lead at the moment. You never know, we might get lucky. It’s not as if they are going to come through passport control with a hat and glasses on. Have a bit of faith.’

John got through to the office.

‘We’re still looking through CCTV of Heathrow,’ said Adam. ‘Have you any idea how many flights come through that airport every day, not to mention passengers?’

‘Keep looking. We need to find him.’ John ignored the deep sigh from Adam. He knew it was a shit of a job, but it needed doing. John needed to know who the dead Russian was, when he came into the UK and if Pavel Bolotnikov was back as well. If he had come in, John needed to track Pavel down – and fast. The Russian had slipped through his fingers once before. John wasn’t about to let it happen again. This wasn’t simply professional. This was personal.

‘Before you go, the Boss wants a word with you,’ said Adam. ‘Hold on, I’ll put you through.’

Brogan’s voice came on the line.

‘Anything to report?’ he asked.

‘Nothing as yet, Sir,’ said John. ‘There was a bit of activity here last night. I spoke to the local nick and apparently she reported a Peeping Tom in the alleyway behind her house.’

‘And was there?’

‘The local police didn’t find anyone.’

‘What do you think?’

‘Hard to say. Could be a coincidence. Adam is working on the CCTV at Heathrow now, but it could be a long and, possibly fruitless, task.’

‘Mmm, I know,’ said Brogan. ‘Man-hours wasted that could be put to better use elsewhere.’

‘Give him a bit longer, Guv,’ said John. ‘Whether it was Pavel here last night or not, doesn’t really matter now. If it was, after the police activity last night, he’s hardly like to come strolling down the road.’

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Direct approach. I’ll go and speak to Tina Bolotnikov. If Pavel’s back and she knows, she’s hardly likely to be reporting intruders. My guess is she doesn’t know anything. Her and Pavel were never great friends when they all lived in London, so I can’t imagine anything has changed since then. I want to persuade her to call us if he turns up.’

‘Just go easy, though, John,’ said Brogan. ‘Don’t overdo the Pavel bit, not until we know if he’s here and why.’

‘Sir.’

Chapter 7 (#u27513d3a-c07c-56ad-80bb-ba91d095b0ac)

Straightening the tie he was unaccustomed to wearing these days, John knocked on the door of 17 Balfour Avenue. He had gone to the local supermarket washrooms to freshen himself up after a night spent sitting in the car.

John had waited for her to return home from dropping her son at school. She was wearing jeans, so he had assumed she wasn’t at work today.

Through the two narrow slits of obscure glass in the front door, John could see her silhouette, approach and hear the locks being turned. The door opened a couple of inches, the security chain doing its job.