The car slows, then grounds to a halt. “We’re here!” the woman cheerily announces.
“Welcome home.” The man watches me intently as he allows me to sit up.
As the car door opens, the nothingness outside crushes me. It’s almost completely dark and the moon illuminates a lone cabin embedded in deep snow, bordered by miles of thick woodlands. I don’t know where I am. The sky is clear, and the air is crisp and silent. There is no sound of chopper blades. No police sirens in the distance. No flashing lights. Nothing but my kidnappers’ boots crushing the snow as they tell me to get out of the car. Hot tears of hopelessness sting my eyes, because I was wrong. I’m alone in the wilderness, toes numb, fingers tingling, and a pain blooms in my chest as panic takes hold. Nobody’s looking for me yet. My kidnappers have got too big a head start. Then I see it in my mind’s eye and all hope dies—my school bag still at the side of the road, buried in snow.
Chapter 2
Lincoln, present day
Swann rested his car keys on the hook in the hall. They’d only lived in Orchard Cottage for three months, but the peaceful Nettleham location suited them better than his previous apartment on the Brayford Wharf. The silence that greeted him confirmed that the twins were down for the night. Alice had given up trying to keep them awake for when he came home. Most men his age had grandchildren, but his eighteen-month-old sons made him feel young. At least that’s what he told Alice. His job tainted his perception of the world, leaving him forever terrified that something awful would happen to his boys. Love gifted fear when you sampled evil in the world at first hand.
He did his best to leave the job at the door, but Operation Turnstile was proving all-consuming. The three girls who went missing in Lincoln rarely left his thoughts. Twelve-year-old Jenny Flynn’s body was discovered partially covered in snow on West Common, three weeks after she disappeared in January 2021. It had been a brutal winter, and his team worked to the point of exhaustion investigating the case. There were no obvious injuries, and nothing to suggest family members had been involved.
Chelsea Hobbs got off the school bus in January 2023, but she never made it home. Chelsea did not have the happy home life afforded to Jenny, and when her belongings were found in an ice patch in Burton Waters Marina, her stepfather was suspected of foul play. However, it was impossible to charge him for her murder when her body was never found. It was presumed that the current had dragged her downriver. But the CPS had argued that the girl could just as easily have abandoned her school bag and run away. Now twelve-year-old Sophie Miller had been found barefoot and shaking in the doorway of Lincoln Cathedral after being picked up by operatives on CCTV. Another winter snatching, it had gained media attention worldwide. She had been missing for twenty days, which was an eternity to her young parents, who had basically camped out in Lincoln police station, waiting for news. They were now by her hospital bed as she recovered from her ordeal. An officer had been posted in the paediatric ward for when she was well enough to talk. Nobody was more surprised than Swann when she was found. Especially when he’d discovered what Sophie was holding in her hand. This new piece of evidence connected the investigation to a case from his past that he would now have to face.
He hung his coat on the hook in the hall and kicked off his shoes, his mood lifting as the smell of garlic bread enticed him inside. Entering the kitchen, he cast an eye across the pan warming on the stove.
“Spaghetti Bolognese,” Alice said, as Swann watched her prepare the food. Alice made everything from scratch.
“Spag Bol? My favourite. You must be after something.”
“It’s a celebratory meal,” Alice said, blowing her long fringe from her eyes. Her brunette hair was piled into a messy ponytail, and splodges of baby food decorated her shirt, but to Swann it made her even more endearing. How she managed to raise the twins and cook proper food every day was beyond him.
He turned to take a bottle of Merlot from the wine rack before looking for the corkscrew in the drawer. “What are we celebrating?” he asked, as Alice handed it to him. He watched her pull a knife from the block.
“Sophie Miller turning up, of course. It’s amazing news. You must be so relieved.” She began to top-and-tail onions on the wooden chopping board.
“I’d be happier if we were the ones who’d found her. Her kidnapper should be behind bars.” The cork of the wine bottle gave a satisfying pop. “But she’s alive, and that’s a start. God knows what she’s been through, but we’ll keep pressing on.” He sat the bottle of Merlot on the kitchen counter to breathe. Not many families ate such heavy meals at midnight, but Alice was used to shift work and scheduled their meals around them. She didn’t eat a lot, but she enjoyed the adult company after a long day with the twins.
“Hasn’t she spoken to anyone yet?” Alice resumed her chopping.
Swann nestled his chin in the dip of her shoulder as he hugged her from behind. The rising stench of onions didn’t quite mask the faint scent of baby lotion on her skin. Alice lived by routines and always gave the twins a bath before bed. He would check in on them later, if they didn’t wake in the meantime. His urge to keep them safe from the world was growing day by day.
“Not a word. I’ve just come from the hospital. She’s dehydrated, so they’re keeping her in overnight.” The sight of Sophie’s frail body attached to a drip had filled him with guilt. Her abductor must have been right under their nose all along. He wanted to ask Alice about the twins, and how her day had been. But he knew where the conversation was leading, and he allowed it to take its course.
“Does this mean you won’t be hiring Elea now?” Alice’s voice became strained. Swann watched his partner chop the onions with a little more force than necessary.
He poured two glasses of wine. A large one for Alice. “No, she’s due to start tomorrow. We still need to find Sophie’s kidnapper. And there are other elements of the case that she can help us with.” These were elements he couldn’t share with anyone, not yet.
“Yes, Eleaisvery helpful, isn’t she? An all-roundhelpfulkind of gal.” She was taking her frustration out on the onions, hacking them into minute pieces.
Swan gently rested his hand on Alice’s, before taking the knife and exchanging it for her glass of wine. “Why don’t you bring this up to the bath and have a soak? I can take over from here.”
Sighing, Alice sipped the wine before resting her glass on the counter. “I shared a bath with the twins.” Her annoyance evaporated as she turned to face him. “I’m fine. And you look beat. Let’s enjoy our meal, because I have a feeling I won’t be seeing a lot of you over the next few days.” She turned back to the onions and plopped them into a sizzling frying pan, along with some garlic and other ingredients she had to hand. Alice was usually understanding, being an ex–police officer herself. But it wasn’t his long hours that was bothering her; it was Elea.
He was about to speak when his mobile phone rang.Saved by the bell. He saw his former boss’s name on the screen and answered quickly. “Commissioner Heikkinen,” Swann said, being careful not to call him “Heineken,” as Alice had nicknamed him. “I’m at home if you want to ring my landline. It’s cheaper than a mobile call.”
“No need,” Heikkinen replied. “This won’t take long. I just wanted to congratulate you. I hear your missing child has turned up safe and well.”
Swann was pleased that his old boss kept in touch. He still addressed him formally, but considered him to be a friend.
“I’d like to take the credit, but I’m afraid I can’t. She managed to escape all by herself.”
“But she’s all right?”
“Physically, she appears unharmed, apart from some flesh wounds. Mentally, she’s traumatised. She hasn’t spoken a word.”
“Hence why you need Elea?” he said, with a smile in his voice.
