Who knows? But I deserve some happiness and so does Ella.’ Hannah began walking away, she paused and looked over her shoulder. ‘You should be happy for us. Neil would want us to be happy.’
John didn’t say anything. He stood and watched Hannah and Ella walk away. What was there to say? He didn’t want the burden of Neil’s memory to carry on his own. He thought it was a load he shared with Hannah. How could he have closure and move on when Neil’s killer was still out there? When John’s own guilt ravaged his mind and conscience both day and night.
John had been parked up outside Tina Bolotnikov’s house for about an hour. He looked through his notes once more, impatient for the return of their target.
He wondered what she would look like after all this time. He picked up an old surveillance photo from when they were watching Sasha. A young couple, not been married very long, about eighteen months, if he remembered rightly. At the time he had been struck by their happiness; it had radiated off them. They had shared lots of happy times.
John felt as if he had lived them too, although it had been from the other side of the camera. He was the third person in their marriage; unseen, unheard, unknown, but definitely there. He knew with certainty he would be able to talk to Tina about things that had happened as if he had been part of it. Like the time Sasha and Tina went to Hyde Park and got caught in a sudden rain storm. He knew they took cover under a large tree. He knew the lightning frightened her. He knew they ran to the café at the Serpentine. He knew they had hot chocolate. Tina had marshmallows. Sasha didn’t. He knew more details about their married life than a third party should.
‘Eyes up,’ said Martin. ‘Here comes the lovely Mrs B.’ Martin shoved his newspaper into the foot-well and focused on the mother and child walking towards him. ‘That’s her, isn’t it?’
Picking up the camera, John zoomed in on Tina Bolotnikov. For a moment he was stilled by the sight of her. She was as beautiful as she was five years ago. She had the same elegance about her. Head held high, shoulders back. Her hair, the colour of cocoa beans, bounced on her shoulders as the late-afternoon sun highlighted the milk-chocolate tones running through it. But there was something in her eyes that he couldn’t remember seeing before. A wariness. Her blue eyes darted around all over the place.
Martin punched his shoulder. ‘You going to take some photos or what?’
John began taking some snaps, distance ones and close-up ones.
‘Take some of the boy as well,’ said Martin. ‘Do you think it’s hers?’
John focused the camera on the dark-headed boy and took some more shots. Adjusting the lens, he took a close-up as the lad looked up. In that instant, he could see it by the eyes. He knew exactly who the father was. ‘That’s Sasha Bolotnikov’s son.’
‘How do you know that?’
John lowered the camera from his face and watched through the car window. He knew Tina was pregnant when they had been under surveillance. He had been in their flat, poking around, looking for evidence one morning when they had both left to work in the deli. He hadn’t found anything, only a pregnancy test stick. Tina had left it sitting on the bedside table where she must have told Sasha that morning. Funny, he remembered, he had noticed how happy they were opening up the shop and going about their business. They had a secret; one which John now shared with them.
A small flicker of guilt wavered within John. He had used the new-found knowledge to his advantage. At the time it was a case of a means to an end; there was no guilt attached. He was simply doing his job, using this intel to his advantage in the war against crime.
He had managed to convince himself for a long time after the botched Moorgate takedown that it was all part of the job, but as time wore on, guilt had come knocking. A gentle tap at first, one he could ignore. Now, however, it was practically hammering at the door but John wasn’t answering.
‘Work it out, dummy. The boy’s about five years old. She was pregnant around when we had Sasha and the gang under surveillance. Anyway, you only have to look at him to know he’s a Bolotnikov.’ For a fleeting moment he felt a wave of sympathy for Sasha Bolotnikov. He must never have seen his son.
John took the final snaps as she opened the gate and walked up the path with her son, before letting them in and closing the door behind her.
John put the camera down and settled back in his seat. ‘Let’s sit and watch for a while. I don’t want to speak to her yet. Someone might come a-calling.’
John settled back in his seat. This could be a long wait.
That night Tina sat on the edge of Dimitri’s bed, watching until he had drifted off to sleep. She had read a story to him, as she usually did, but instead of leaving him to settle on his own, she had stayed.
Tea at her parents’ house had been an enjoyable occasion, her earlier sense of unease having all but disappeared. She watched his eyes flutter open and then close, gradually becoming defeated by the heaviness of sleep. Listening to the gentle rhythm of his breathing gave Tina a sense of calm. It soothed her soul.
It was somewhat reluctantly that she left his room to go and tidy up the kitchen and settle herself in front of the TV. She hoped that catching the cooking programme showing on BBC2 would take her mind off recent events, enough that she could get a good night’s sleep herself.
Tina went downstairs and through to the back of the house, into the kitchen. It was dark outside now and her reflection against the glass made her jump. She let out a startled cry.
‘For goodness sake!’ she admonished herself.
The air in the kitchen seemed cold. Tina shivered, her eyes immediately scoped the windows. They were all closed to keep the cool night air out. Something made her look beyond her reflection in the glass.
Her small garden backed onto an alleyway used as access for the middle terraced houses. A movement caught her eye behind the brick wall. This time she screamed. Without looking closer, she rushed to the windows and yanked the roller blinds down, shutting out the danger.
The door. Was it locked? Tina rattled the handled and pulled against it. It was definitely locked.
Someone was out there, watching her. She hadn’t imagined it this time. Her heart pumped wildly as she dialled 999.
‘Sorry, Mrs Bolotnikov, but we can’t find anything or anyone suspicious out there,’ said the police officer as he came into the kitchen from the garden. ‘Are you certain you saw someone?
Tina shifted uncomfortably in her seat, reluctant to speak. It sounded so stupid now. She caught a look pass between the police officer and his female colleague, who was sitting at the table with her, drinking a cup of tea. They clearly didn’t believe Tina had seen anyone.
‘I definitely saw someone looking over the garden wall,’ she said, with as much confidence as she could muster. ‘As I came into the kitchen, I had that feeling of being watched. That’s what made me look up.’
‘It was getting dark. Could it have maybe been a shadow from the trees at the back? Or a cat on the wall?’ suggested the other officer.
Tina considered this idea for a moment, although she was in no doubt herself, she at least wanted the police to believe she was being rational. She shook her head. ‘No, it wasn’t a cat or a shadow. It was definitely a person.’ Tina got up and put her cup on the worktop.
‘What about someone next door? Do they use the back gate at all? Kids maybe?’ The female officer enquired. Tina could sense her frustration rising. They didn’t believe