Killing Eve: Bloodline (24)

The twenty-fourth episode of a new Killing Eve adventure, published exclusively on Substack

            Eve finds the phone by accident, when looking for her shoes the next morning. It's under her bed, with the ringtone turned off. There's no identifying mark, but Eve recognises it as the one that Johnny gave Oxana. This is a relief - it tells Eve that Oxana's disappearance is deliberate, and that she doesn't want to be traced and located - but it also adds a new layer of perplexity, as there is now no line of communication between them, and this, it seems, is what Oxana wants.

            'I'm worried,' Nikolai tells her at breakfast. 'Valentin goes to Russia in a week's time, and there's a lot to do between now and then. I'm due to speak to Anna Volkonskaya later today, and I want to do so certain in the knowledge that I can deliver him as arranged.'

            His casual manner when speaking of Valentin, as if he's some kind of commodity, chills Eve. 'I'm sure Oxana will be in touch this morning,' she says, although certain of no such thing.

            'I hope you’re right,' Nikolai replies tersely, readdressing himself to his toast and marmalade.

            In her room, Eve re-examines Oxana's note.

            Sleep well детка. I'm on the move, keeping our lost sheep from the wolves.

            It strikes her anew that there's a message here. Oxana's not usually one to bother with metaphors, let alone biblical references, so why now? Lost sheep? Wolves? The fact that she's called Eve 'detka' suggests that the message is personal. Something that only Eve will understand.

            She looks up the parable of the lost sheep on her phone, reminding herself of the bible story of the man who leaves his flock of ninety-nine sheep to search for the hundredth, who is lost. The tale is told in the gospels of Matthew and Luke. A link leads her to another parable, this time from the gospel of John. The tale of the good shepherd, who lays down his life for his sheep. Eve stares at the note again, as if to forcibly unlock its meaning, but the words reveal nothing.

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            'Please, don't worry. We'll find him. Yes, absolutely Slava. Yes.' Balice replaces her phone on her desk. Vyacheslav Golovkin is Anna Volkonskaya's press secretary. He was supposed to be meeting Valentin for breakfast today at the Ritz hotel, but Valentin didn't show up and now appears to be uncontactable.

            Balice closes her eyes. This is not a good day to be working from home. Around her, her soon-to-be ex-husband Charlie's removal men are noisily disassembling his exercise machines. Large cardboard boxes of clothes, books, paintings, hi-fi-equipment and cooking accessories stand in uneven stacks. She longs for it all to be gone. She doesn't hate Charlie, or even particularly dislike him, but she's ready to see every trace of him expunged from her life.

            When Balice opens her eyes Bili is standing there. Balice gazes at her for a moment, marvelling at her glowing, Amazonian beauty. 'Hi,' she says, conscious of the ugly splint on her nose.

            'Hi, babe.' Bili is holding a pet container, with something snuffling around inside it. 'Problem?' she asks gently.

            'Just work.'

            Bili touches Balice's hair. 'Tell me.'

            'Someone's gone missing.'

            'Who?'

            'Doesn't matter.' She forces a smile. 'How did it go last night?'

            'I didn't find out much. Vorontsova and the boy weren't there. Just the mother and Polastri.'

            'Ah. Eve. What did she have to say?'

            'Not much. She thought I was just the ratcatcher.'

            'So no one talked about Valentin. Or said where he was?'

            'Is Valentin the person who's missing?'

            Balice says nothing.

            'I caught the rat,' Bili says brightly. She holds up the container.

            Balice's eyes widen. 'Don't tell me... Please don't tell me...'

            'Yes. Here it is.'

            'Take it away, right now. I don't care what you do with it, but...' Balice shudders. 'Just get it out of this building.'

            'No. It's mine. Ours.'

            They lock stares. 'Bili... it's a rat.'

            'You think I should have a child instead?'

            Balice opens her mouth to speak, but no words come. From its container the rat watches her, whiskers twitching.

            Bili extends her index fingers, and touches a rose-pink nail extension to the rat's nose. 'Balice? My love?'

            'Mm.'

            'I think we should have our wedding list at Harrods.'

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            At midday, desperate for fresh air after the overheated stuffiness of the house, Eve goes for a walk in Kensington Gardens. It's a bright, clear day; the wind sings in the oaks and the plane trees, and sends dead leaves whirling across the paths. What the hell is Oxana doing with Valentin? Where are they? Surely he should be at home, recovering his strength. And why the mystery, for heaven's sake.

            Eve buys herself a jam doughnut and a cup of tea at a café, and seating herself at a windblown table, allows herself to consider the worst: that forces hostile to Volkonskaya have abducted and maybe even killed Valentin. The thought distresses her deeply. He's an unwilling player in this game, and a highly vulnerable one.

            It's the fear of Oxana being harmed that really tears at my heart, because Oxana, in her way, is vulnerable too. There was a time when I thought she was invincible, not quite human, but that was then. Now things are different. Now I have to order myself to trust her, and to remember just how resourceful and clever she really is. Leaning back in the metal café chair, I watch the crows and rooks swirling and circling against the racing grey clouds, hanging on the wind, and a thread-like memory snags my attention. Something Valentin said on the night we went to the club, something about how he loved drawing birds. The memory wavers tantalisingly, just out of reach, and then suddenly I have it, and in that moment I understand Oxana's note, and sitting there outside the café, doughnut in hand, tea cooling in the cup, I'm filled with sudden, wild hope.

            At four pm, Vyacheslav Golovkin rings Balice. 'No news of Valentin?'

            'None,' Balice replies. 'Or of Vorontsova.'

            'I see.' Golovkin's voice is steady, but he sounds close to the end of his patience.

            'What about the Polastri woman?'

            'We had her at the Dominik residence this morning, and later in Kensington Gardens. Then...'

            'Yes?'

            'We lost her.'

            'You lost her,' says Golovkin, expressionlessly.

            'She's a former officer of this service, Slava. She knows her tradecraft.'

            'I would remind you that the Volkonskaya pre-election tour starts in less than one week. The Dominik boy will be at Anna's side. No ifs, no buts. He will be there, is that understood?'

            'Perfectly, Slava.' Letting her phone fall from her hand onto the floor, Balice lets out a groan.

            From the sofa, where she is flicking through a Cartier jewellery catalogue, and absently stroking the rat, Billy glances over sympathetically. 'Still can't find him, huh?'

            Balice shakes her head.

            'Come here,' Bili says. 'Let me massage your shoulders.'

            Gratefully, Balice subsides into the sofa beside her. 'Mmm. That's so good. You have the strongest fingers.'

            'I know. And now you're a bit more relaxed, I'm going to put Alice in your lap.'

            'You're sure it's a she?'

            'I'm certain. I said relax, Babe.'

            'You're certain... how?'

            'Well, for a start, male rats don't get pregnant.'