Murder in Hampstead by Sabina Manea (read this if txt) 📕

for herself there. A tenured position in the Faculty of Applied Mathematics at the Belarusian State University is a coveted goal. Then, one day, like many others before her, she’s approached by the secret services – the Belarusian KGB, if you will. She’s certainly in the right line of work – cybernetics in the former Soviet Union was, after all, the precursor to cyber warfare.’

‘Impressive knowledge,’ said DCI Carliss.

‘I’ve done my basic reading, as you can see. Olga Galina is smart and ruthless, and she rises quickly through the ranks. We’ve all quipped about the meaning of Clytemnestra…’ Lucia paused for breath and shook her head in a futile attempt to dispel the mounting pain.

‘Shall I get the nurse?’ the policeman fussed with concern.

‘No, I’m fine. They’ll only give me more painkillers, and I want to get to the end of my account before I lose the plot.’ Despite the discomfort, she steeled herself to plough on. ‘One day, Olga Galina takes on the job to flush out the mole at the ministry of health, who also happens to be Dr Glover’s fiancée. He’s spirited away back to the UK, and spends years wondering what really happened out there.’

‘Why do you think she comes from a humble background?’ the detective stopped her in mid-flow.

‘Ah, yes. The errors in her Russian. You’ll probably jump in to correct my pronunciation, Nina, but I believe it’s called trasianka.’

‘It literally means low quality hay,’ Nina took over. ‘In linguistic terms, it means a mixture of Belarusian and Russian spoken primarily by the lower orders. It goes to show that despite her extensive education, Olga couldn’t erase all traces of her origins – at least not in the shrewd eyes of a native speaker of literary Russian such as her former colleague, Dr Ivanov.’

Lucia stroked the bedcovers absently for a few moments, then raised her head with renewed determination. ‘In the midst of her life of violence and intrigue, Olga is only human. She’s at the age when most women have settled down and are raising a family – you must remember this was a relatively traditional society – and she desperately hankers for a child of her own. She doesn’t want a husband, nor does she want to bear children herself, which makes adoption her best bet. Sentimentality, nostalgia, call it what you like, draws her back to Brest, her place of birth. She comes across Emilia at the orphanage, and the stage is set. But then Olga gets promoted at work – perhaps unexpectedly. Maybe it’s genuine, or maybe it’s a ploy by the KGB to lull her into a false sense of security. Either way, I doubt we’ll ever know. She might have become a liability, or it could just be pure jealousy at her success. The powers that be decide she needs to be disposed of. She gets wind of the plot against her and defects to the UK, where she swaps valuable information for a new identity and a quiet life – and Professor Alla Kiseleva is born. No wonder your MI5 contacts couldn’t track her down.’

‘Home Office,’ the inspector swiftly intervened to correct her.

‘Sorry – slip of the tongue.’ Lucia’s half-smile indicated she would let this one pass. ‘The Professor’s existence in this country is prosaic by comparison with her former life. She marries, her husband dies and leaves her a sizeable house and a nice amount of money, and she spends the rest of her career at the Collaborative Mathematical Society. Her life becomes accidentally intertwined with Adam Corcoran’s – the orphaned son of her beloved friend, whom she takes in.’

‘Adam’s effective adoption could have been some sort of misplaced maternal instinct, to make up for Emilia’s abandonment all those years ago,’ said Nina.

‘Is amateur psychology another one of your talents, along with speaking Russian?’ joked Carliss.

‘One day, the Professor, now retired, advertises for an assistant to help with her latest book.’ Lucia laughed. ‘My maths might be in the gutter, but even I can work out that a tome discussing Soviet versus American cybernetics smells a little fishy. On the Soviet front, she wouldn’t have had access to any information worth publishing unless she was extremely well connected. Along with her creaky Russian, that’s what led me to think she wasn’t the person in her passport. Then Nina dug up her MI6 file, and I knew I was on the right track.’

‘The words Emilia was repeating down at the station. How did she discover Olga didn’t want her anymore?’

‘Patience, David,’ snapped back Lucia, rather more sharply than intended. It was the first time she had called the inspector by his first name since their evening together in Kentish Town. She liked the way it sounded. ‘I’m coming on to that. Separately, Emilia is faced with yet another personal tragedy. Perhaps her parents told her she was adopted, perhaps they didn’t. I’d venture to guess she found out while sorting through their estate after their death. She finds the doll, possibly her birth certificate, and finds out her true identity. Just like we did, she contacts the Belarusian authorities. It takes months, years even, and they finally get back to her with the records we saw for ourselves. What’s to say the paperwork she got sent didn’t contain the reason for the aborted adoption?’

‘It wasn’t in the papers we got sent,’ retorted the inspector.

‘Consider yourself lucky that the public functionaries of Brest deigned to send you anything at all,’ said Nina. ‘You know how slowly these Eastern European bureaucracies work.’

‘OK, what next?’ said Carliss.

‘Emilia tracks down the university photo of Olga and realizes it’s her employer.’ There was a natural break in Lucia’s monologue as she sighed with sadness. ‘I feel for the poor girl. Her behaviour in the aftermath of her parents’ death and the ensuing scandal has clinical depression written all over it – not being able