‘Okay, I’ll be honest with you,’ he said.
‘Good. I don’t like being taken for a fool and not told everything.’
‘Pavel was involved in an organised money-laundering ring.’
‘Money-laundering.’ Tina couldn’t help giving a small laugh. The serious look on John’s face killed her laughter. ‘That’s a serious offence. Is there anything else?’
‘Organised crime. Armed robbery and money-laundering. Yeah, you could say they are serious offences.’
‘I knew he was involved with the Porboski gang, but I didn’t think it was anything as serious as armed robbery and money-laundering,’ said Tina. ‘I thought it was more petty crime, a bit of smuggling in vodka or passing on stolen items – that sort of thing.’
‘Much more serious,’ said John. ‘Murder.’
Tina balked. Murder? Pavel? No, that was way off.
‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘You think Pavel is involved with a murder? Who?’
‘A police officer.’
‘Oh God, that’s serious.’ Tina rested her head in her hands.
‘All murder is serious,’ said John.
There was an uneasy silence whilst Tina took in what she had just been told. Much as she disliked Pavel, she had never had him down as a hardened criminal – a murderer.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I’m finding this really hard to take in. Sasha never said a word. He couldn’t have known.’
‘Do you recognise this man?’ said John. The change in direction was welcomed. Tina looked at the photograph John placed on the table in front of her.
‘Is he dead?’ She leaned back in her chair, averting her eyes from the image.
‘Yes, he is,’ said John. ‘Found at some docks in London in the last few days. We believe he was looking for Pavel.’
‘Pavel’s very popular.’ Her voice was dry. ‘And no, I don’t recognise him.’
‘Are you sure? Perhaps he came into the deli your husband ran?’
Tina’s eyes flipped to him. ‘How did you know Sasha ran a deli?’ She never referred to it as a deli, it was always ‘the shop’.
‘It’s on record,’ said John. He moved position in his seat. ‘Intelligence-gathering.’
‘Surveillance? Were you watching the shop? Have you been spying on us?’
‘Gathering information on suspected criminals goes with the job. It says here that Pavel frequented a deli. You mentioned the shop before. I put two and two together. It’s what I do. I’m a detective.’ He gave a smile.
‘Sorry, of course,’ said Tina. ‘I’m just a bit on edge, that’s all.’
‘It’s okay,’ said John. He picked the photo up of Ivan Gromov and slipped it back into his inside pocket. ‘Did Sasha ever give you anything to look after? Did he ever say anything about what Pavel was up to?’
Tina thought back and shook her head. ‘As I said before, we didn’t talk about Pavel and as for giving me anything of significance, then, no. He didn’t.’
‘Okay, well thanks for your time again,’ said John. He stood up. ‘If you think of anything, let me know. In the meantime, we’re going to keep a discreet eye out for Pavel. Surveillance. Don’t look alarmed. There’s nothing for you to worry about.’
‘You think he will try and contact me?’
‘It’s one of our theories. We’ll be parked up overnight, in case he does show.’ He passed Tina his card. ‘Here’s my number, put it in your phone. If you think of anything, call me. If you’re worried about anything, call me.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tina. She couldn’t help feeling slightly unnerved again and that John was keeping something from her. ‘Is there anything I should know?’
‘Please don’t worry,’ said John. ‘If there are any developments, I’ll contact you straight away.’
‘What did you tell her?’ said Martin as John got into the passenger seat of the BMW.
‘That Pavel was back in the UK. Kept it simple for now. I don’t want her freaking out on us,’ said John. ‘We need her to draw Pavel out of the woodwork.’
‘What’s the plan now?’
‘Back to the office. I want to check in with the team. See if anyone has got any info about the Porboski gang making a comeback. You have another chat with Baz Fisher. All this poking around is bound to have stirred up the locals. He might have heard some more by now.’ John looked up at 17 Belfour Avenue. ‘I’ll come back later to see if Pavel turns up.’
‘So, go on, admit it,’ said Martin.
‘Admit what?’ said John. He had an idea what Martin was referring to, but he wasn’t going to make it easy. The ribbing that would follow would be enough.
‘You’ve got more than just a passing interest in Mrs B.’ Martin pushed the keys into the ignition and fired up the engine.
‘Of course I have. This case means a lot to me,’ said John. He fastened his seat belt and looked straight ahead, purposefully avoiding any eye contact with his friend.
‘You know what I mean,’ said Martin as he pulled out onto Belfour Terrace. ‘Just don’t let Brogan get wind of it.’
‘You worry about the driving and I’ll worry about what Brogan knows, or thinks he knows,’ said John. ‘I’m not about to compromise the operation, despite my suspicions. I’m sure Tina is the link, even if she doesn’t know it herself.’
‘See! I told you.’ A big grin swept across Martin’s face.
‘What?’
‘It’s Tina, now. Not Mrs Bolotnikov. Absolutely proves my point.’
John shook his head. ‘You’re a dick at times, you know that?’
‘It might have been said once or twice before. Mostly by you, granted. But, I’m a dick who’s right.’ Martin laughed out loud, clearly delighted with himself.
Trouble was, John couldn’t really deny it. He was very much taken with Tina. Despite thinking he knew her from the surveillance five years ago, he didn’t know the woman she was now. She was something of an enigma, a woman who sparked his interest in more ways than one. However, he was painfully aware that she was, at best, a witness, at worst a suspect.
Tina watched from her window as the BMW drew off down the road. She craned her neck until it had disappeared out of sight. A little feeling of unease snuck up on her and she glanced up and down the road, half expecting to see Pavel outside.
What exactly he was doing back in the UK, she had no idea. Had he really been spying on her? She wished she could have found out more about what he had been up to when he had lived in the UK, but John had been tight-lipped.
She wondered if Sasha had known anything. He had certainly never given her any indication that Pavel was mixed up in anything as serious as murder. Sasha would have told her. They shared everything. She turned away from the window and her eyes came to rest on the photo frame on the mantelpiece. She walked over and picked it up. A sparkly frame with bits of tiny mirror tiles, sparkly glass, a bric-a-brac home-crafted frame that Sasha had given her. Inside was a photograph of the two of them, taken on Brighton Pier.
She