The Late Train to Gipsy Hill by Alan Johnson

Author:Alan Johnson [Johnson, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2021-09-01T16:00:00+00:00

23

Saturday, 18 July

Anton Sidrenko had arrived at the club in Old Compton Street at just after 10 p.m., fatigued from his flight on a private plane from Moscow. The atmosphere was subdued. There was no music or dancing, no background drone of animated conversation. Party nights were every other Saturday. Tonight was a business night.

Sidrenko’s principal lieutenants, Vladimir Granat and Dmitry Podkolzin, were present, as was Stanislav Miranchuk and, in a separate room, nervously awaiting an audience with their leader, the three Krovnyye Bratya agents who’d made the botched attempt to abduct Melissa Thomas the previous day.

Sidrenko was seeking explanations. Speaking in his calm and measured way, he left the gathering in no doubt about his dismay at their failures while he’d been away. Miranchuk had given his account of how the waitress had disappeared on Wednesday and now Granat was telling his boss about Friday’s debacle in Crystal Palace.

‘I try to have somebody in each of my multi-occupied properties who I can rely on to protect my interests. They make sure my people know if any damage is being done, any antisocial behaviour, loud parties, etc. In return they get a rent reduction. It’s a discreet network of snitches, if you like, to keep Grant Properties in touch with what its tenants are doing. When Stanislav told me that the girl had got off the train at Gipsy Hill, all our snitches in that part of London were contacted, given a description of Arina Kaplin and asked to contact me if an East European who looks like her appears in the area. One of these informants contacted us on Thursday. A woman answering that description was not only in the area, she was at one of my properties. I tried to contact Stanislav – where the hell were you?’ he asked directly of the man sitting languorously on a low armchair opposite.

‘I told you, I was busy with something,’ Miranchuk answered dismissively.

‘Please continue, Granat,’ Sidrenko said quietly.

‘In the end I decided that if Stanislav was unavailable and with you out of the country, I should make the necessary arrangements. I sent those guys the photo we have of Kaplin –’ he nodded in the direction of the reception room where the three men were waiting – ‘the snap that Morozov took on the train. I told them to watch the house and follow her if she appears. For some reason they decided to grab the girl they thought was her and drive off.’

Anton Sidrenko continued to exude a preternatural calm. Never known to lose his temper, the only sign of tension was a tendency to tap the middle finger of his left hand against his kneecap. That finger was tapping away like a morse-code operator as he said softly, ‘Not only did they snatch the wrong girl and drive straight into a traffic jam, one of them fired a gun into the air – in case anyone hadn’t noticed them.’

‘You can talk to them yourself,’ said Granat. ‘They’re not the sharpest knives in the drawer but they acted from the best of motives.

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