Fiona’s eyes blazed with indignation. “How? How could you possibly know what we’ve gone through?”
Elea dipped her hand into her bag and produced a Polaroid photo of another blonde girl. Wrapped up in her pink winter coat, Liisa sat astride a stout Icelandic pony, a broad grin spread across her face. Fiona and her husband stared at the image before glancing back at their own little girl.
“My daughter.” The weight of Elea’s loss was evident in her tone. “She disappeared ten years ago.”
Surprise registered on the parents’ faces. Here was shared ground.
“I haven’t given up on her,” Elea continued. “And I won’t stop looking for the monster who took Sophie.”
A new understanding rose between them as their eyes met.
“You don’t think...” Fiona’s brow furrowed. “They’re not connected—are they? That’s not why you’re here, is it?”
Mitch shot Elea a warning glance. She wanted to tell Fiona that the small wooden doll her daughter had been found clutching might have belonged first to Liisa. But Swann had warned her not to connect the cases publicly yet.
“We won’t know anything until we speak to your daughter.” It was the most Elea could say. “She’s our only witness, so she’s very precious indeed.”
Fiona gestured towards Sophie, inviting Elea to sit with her. As she settled beside the girl, Mitch looked on, his presence superfluous. The sudden ring of his phone shattered the new-found peace and Elea seized her chance.
“Take it outside. I’ll be there shortly,” she said curtly, her eyes never leaving Sophie.
David escorted Mitch out. As the front door clicked shut, the room fell still and quiet, as if respectful of the traumatised child.
“Sweetheart,” Elea began, her voice a gentle whisper, “I know things have been scary and you’ve beensucha brave girl.” She tried to lock eyes with the child, who was avoiding her gaze. “But there’s someone who needs your help.” She slid two photos before Sophie’s iPad and pointed to the first. “Her name is Liisa. She disappeared in 2016, so she’d be all grown-up now. She pointed to the second, fresher photograph. The blonde-haired girl carried the smallest of smiles in her school photograph. “Her name is Chelsea. This was taken a few months before she disappeared. Have you seen either of these girls? Can you tell us anything about the person who took you?”
She watched Sophie’s eyes, seeking a glimmer of understanding. But the girl shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. Elea withdrew the photos. Caution was needed when dealing with vulnerable victims and she had to be careful not to put words in her mouth. She asked the same question in different ways, her heart beating a little faster at the thought of being so close to the truth. But each time Sophie shook her head.
“Do you remember that little doll you were holding? Where did you get it from?” Elea bit the inside of her bottom lip as she recalled Swann’s warning not to overshare details of the case. “Nothing?” she prompted softly, her heart sinking. She glanced at Fiona and David, their hopeful expressions fading with Sophie’s persistent silence. “We’ll take things slowly,” Elea assured them. Her eyes returned to Sophie. “Did you see their face?”
Sophie stared at her iPad, refusing to engage.
“The person who took you—did they say they’d hurt your family if you talked?”
Sophie’s eyes widened for just a second.There it is, Elea thought. “That’s OK. We won’t let anything happen. But I tell you what,” she continued. “What if a police artist comes? They can help to draw a picture instead. That way you won’t have spoken a word.”
Sophie seemed to think it over as she sat, staring into nothingness.
“Sophie?”
The girl delivered a cautious nod before laying her iPad aside and walking out of the room.
“That’s enough for now,” Fiona insisted, before following her little girl out.
Elea straightened, massaging the knot that had formed between her brows. If only she could tap into Sophie’s memories. She picked up her handbag and handed David her card. “We’ll arrange for a sketch artist. This is my personal number. Call me, day or night, if she says anything at all.”
Elea hadn’t expected Sophie to be waiting at the front door.
“She’s been rooting in my wardrobe upstairs.” Fiona was holding a white plastic bag. “She wants me to give this to you.” In Fiona’s hand was a bag containing a pair of brown Velcro-strap shoes. “I bought them as a joke,” she shrugged. “For a hen-do. We dressed up as old ladies for a laugh.” She glanced at her daughter. “I don’t know what Sophie wants with them, though.”
“Is this for me?” Elea asked, double-checking.
Sophie advanced from behind her mother as she nodded.
“Didtheywear these?” Not “he.” Not “she.” Not her “kidnapper” or “abuser.” It was as close as Elea could get without leading Sophie. She had seen cases fail in court because of errors like these.They’ll go after the police procedure, her boss Heikkinen had once warned.When they’re up against the wall, they’ll pick it apart.Phil Hobbs was quite a different story. But Sophie needed to be handled with finesse. Elea’s blood turned cold as Sophie delivered another nod.
Gingerly the girl took the shoes from Elea’s hands and placed them back inside the bag. Elea watched, mystified, as she tied the handles in a knot before handing them back. “Sophie?” Elea called after her as the girl sprinted back upstairs.
David stood in Elea’s way, finally breaking his silence. “Leave her alone. She’s had enough.”
