The Half Truth(71)

Sasha’s voice was louder, his tone had changed and he wasn’t making sense.

Tina’s mind went into overdrive as she fought to catch up with Sasha in this verbal jigsaw. Finally, the pieces began slotting into place.





Chapter 37


John had stood in the kitchen while Sasha made his phone call. He had tried loitering to overhear the conversation, to try and glean any bits of information, but Sasha had made a point of asking him to leave.

John couldn’t catch what Sasha was saying, the Russian had closed the living-room door and talking in hushed tones. Something about a wobbly bridge was said, but John wasn’t sure what they were talking about. He couldn’t ignore the suspicious feeling hanging in the air. He didn’t know whether this was from years of being in the police force or whether his senses were in tune. What John overheard hadn’t sounded like much of an apology.

After a few minutes, John strained to listen but couldn’t hear Sasha’s voice any more. The TV had been turned on so it was safe to assume the call had ended.

John had remained wary for the rest of the evening, certain the Sasha was up to something, but the Russian had proved the perfect house guest. Now today they were sitting in the living room watching some God-awful daytime programme, like an old married couple who had nothing to do with their time.

As the closing credits rolled over on the latest dreary antique programme, Sasha stretched and got up from the sofa.

‘I need a glass of water,’ he said.

‘Sit yourself down. I’ll do it.’ John watched Sasha hesitate before taking a seat by the window. There was a look in Sasha’s eye that John didn’t like it. Sasha’s foot was twitching rapidly up and down. Something was definitely amiss. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Sasha. His shoulders slumped and he rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Actually, not really. I do not feel well. I had a bad night’s sleep. I was thinking about Tina a lot.’

John thought about pressing Sasha for more information, but decided against it. He didn’t really want to know what had gone on between the two of them. The phrase ‘rubbing salt into wounds’ sprang to mind.

John went out to the kitchen and filled a plastic disposable cup with cold water, but couldn’t help wondering about Tina, despite not wishing to. He wondered whether she hadn’t been as forgiving as Sasha had hoped. Perhaps that was why he looked flushed and unsettled.

As John went down the hallway back towards the living room, he noticed the door was pushed slightly to. His skin goose bumped and a small shiver ran down his spine. Something wasn’t right, he was sure he had left the door wide open.

A shadow passed across the gap under the door just as John went to push it open, but it was a moment before John registered this as he took in the sight of the empty chair where Sasha had been sitting.

A sudden movement from behind him, which John sensed rather than saw, caught him off guard. He was momentarily aware of an excruciatingly sharp pain penetrating his skull before being engulfed in darkness.

It was the cold wetness he was first aware of; distant, like a patch of sea mist rolling in and wrapping itself around his body.

The musty smell and scratchy feel of the nylon carpet against his face came second.

John went to move his head to inspect the damp feeling on his stomach, but the pain this action triggered felt as if his skull had been cracked open like a hard-boiled egg.

He let out a groan as a muggy sensation swirled around his brain and he resisted the urge to move his head for a moment. The room came into focus, but disappeared into a fuzzy blur. John closed his eyes and opened them again. This time, when the room came into focus it stayed that way. He blinked several times to identify his surroundings – the floor of the safe house.

This time, when he moved his head he did so tentatively; he looked down towards his stomach, moving his hand to the wet spot on his shirt before bringing his fingertips up to his line of vision. He was relieved to see it wasn’t blood. He remembered the glass of water he had been carrying. It was then he remembered Sasha. Shit.

John moved his head, ignoring the pain that had now turned to a heavy throb, and brought himself up onto his hands and knees. He looked around the room. No sign of Sasha, but his phone was lying underneath the coffee table. It must have landed there when he fell.

John got to his feet, unsteady at first, and retrieved his phone, noticing his wallet lying open on the sofa. He picked it up and inspected the contents. His cards were still there, but the cash of about forty pounds was gone. His next thought was his car. Grabbing his jacket he located the keys in the pocket.

‘Sasha! Are you here?’ John proceeded to check through the house, although he already knew it was a pointless exercise. Sasha hadn’t been stupid enough to take John’s phone or car, both easily traceable by the tracker systems installed. Just taking the cash, he couldn’t be traced.