But the object I unwrapped was too shallow to be a ring-box. It was less than an inch deep, made of some glossy, dark wood and hinged down both long edges. I realised I was looking at the back of it and turned it over. It didn’t open like a book. The lid was divided into two halves, held together in the middle by an ornate clasp of yellow metal. I gently pressed the clasp and the two halves of the lid opened. I stared. An exquisite, sloe-eyed Madonna stared back at me, her radiant face framed by a blue veil, her virgin head haloed in gold.

I gazed in stunned silence. I was holding an icon, very beautiful, very old. For a moment I wondered if it was Greek. Then I smiled, as I realised with absolute certainty, that it wasn’t Greek. It was Russian.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

On the phone Inspector Ford sounded almost impressed. ‘Well done, Miss Browne, on finding the icon. It has some interesting prints on it …’

I’d taken the icon over to police headquarters the next morning, feeling very proud of myself, but the inspector hadn’t been around and I’d been forced to hand it over to Cruella DeVille. Her little mini-mouth had worked furiously.

‘Oh?’ I said, trying not to sound excited. I let Bill make himself comfy on my lap.

‘The prints of Albert Evans, for one,’ the inspector went on, ‘and also your friend Sergei Zhotahyehski. In fact, Mr Zhotahyehski has been occupying my attention for most of the weekend.’ The inspector sounded weary.

‘He’s confessed?’

‘Well, he’s talking,’ he went on with a sigh. ‘He knows he’s going to serve time and he’s concerned about where he’s going to serve it. He thinks if he co-operates, it might give him some bargaining power. We’ve enough evidence from the abandoned car to convict him of the murder of Ilya Pietrov, and he’s admitted to his part in the manslaughter of Albert Evans.’

‘Manslaughter?’ I echoed.

‘He claims Evans died of a heart attack, they didn’t intend to kill him, only meant to frighten him.’

‘And Nick?’ I persisted. ‘Has he confessed to killing Nick?’ I felt impatient, wanted to wind the inspector up, like a watch that was ticking too slowly.

He paused before he spoke again. ‘Let me tell you what we’ve been able to piece together so far. It seems that the icon first came into the possession of Mr Evans, possibly legally, although it had certainly been stolen from Mother Russia at some point, maybe as far back as the Second World War. Anyway, knowing that Nick had Russian connections, Evans offered him a share of the proceeds if he could sell it for him.’

‘And he tried to sell it to Vlad? I mean … Zhotahyehski?’