The Half Truth(14)

‘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


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.

‘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?’