“Any...sparks between you?”
“Not a flicker,” Elea lied. “Mum, I’ve got to get ready for work.”
“Have a beautiful day, my darling. Be kind to yourself.” The compassion in her voice made Elea bite her bottom lip hard.Hold it together,she warned herself.
“Will do. Love you.” Elea ended the call. She rested her phone on the hotel bed. Was she as close to finding Liisa as she’d hinted to her mum? She wasn’t sure which was the most frightening prospect: still looking for her daughter when she reached her mother’s age or finding her remains before then. Because common sense—dreadful, brutal common sense—told her that Liisa couldn’t still be alive. Too much time had passed. If the killer had come to England, there was no chance in hell that Liisa was in tow.
She fiddled with the buttons of her crisp white shirt. One question nagged like a painful hangnail that she couldn’t stop playing with. How the hell had he lured Liisa into his car? And there had been a car or a van, or transport of some sort. A witness had reported seeing Liisa walking home on the day she disappeared. Fifteen minutes later another passer-by saw nobody on the lonely stretch of road. Elea didn’t want to think about the level of force someone would have used to make her daughter comply.
She sat at the dressing table and unzipped her make-up bag. She couldn’t imagine her life outside this existence of grief and hope and work. She both loved and hated the police. Loved it for being something she could cling on to; hated it for not being there when she needed it most.
She stared into the mirror, remembering her mother’s advice, “Don’t give up.” She spoke the words that Elea needed to hear. “You’ll find her. She’s still out there.” That was as close to being kind to herself as Elea could get.
Chapter 26
Elea followed Mitch from the police-station car park to the unmarked vehicle he’d booked out for the job. The sky was iron-clad, the sun yet to make an appearance. She was comfortable in her hoodie and tracksuit bottoms, while jeans and a puffer jacket seemed to suit Mitch. They had dressed to pass for a couple on the hunt for a fix. The couple they were visiting would be twitchy about visitors, and paranoid about being watched. She smiled to herself as Mitch shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. In Finland winter wasn’t just a season, it was a force. It wrapped itself around you, quiet and unforgiving as it hung on your every breath. English weather was a little kinder. January brought a creeping discomfort, the chill more of a wet slap than a Finnish icy cut.
“Are you cold?” she spoke with a smile. “Would you like me to buy you some gloves? A scarf, too, perhaps?” She trod carefully on the road, which was coated with a fine sheen of ice. “Or some cosy socks for your chilly little feet?”
“There’s nothing little about my feet.” Mitch pressed the central locking button on the key and the car lights flashed into life. “As well you know.”
Elea bit back her smile as she opened the car door. There were times like these—brief glimmers of amusement—when she felt like a normal person going about her work. She was happy to let them in. She couldn’t be angry twenty-four/seven. She had been there, done that, and set herself on a path of self-destruction that could have cost her more than her job. Heikkinen had been supportive, but even her usually placid boss had lost his patience in the end. It wasn’t her raging hangovers that bothered him, or the strangers she slept with at weekends. It was how she’d constantly crossed the line at work. An angry detective with a loaded gun made for a dangerous cocktail, especially when dealing with crimes involving children. Those suspects invoked an anger that she could not control. She would have ended up killing someone eventually. Heikkinen had forced her to take a holiday. Swann’s call couldn’t have come at a better time. As he kept reminding her, she was no good to her daughter in jail.
She clicked her seatbelt into place as Mitch turned the heating on to full. It was an early start for both of them, to make up for their fruitless stakeout the night before. Everything was arranged. Two colleagues would meet them at Ant and Sienna Thompson’s address. The warm air infused with the Magic Tree car freshener dangling from the mirror was making Elea feel nauseous. She jabbed at the button to turn down the heat. For the last twenty-four hours she had immersed herself in the case files, reading statement after statement from those who had come into contact with the abducted girls: teachers, football coaches, Girl Guide leaders. But the people they were visiting today had never been linked to the case—until now.
“I don’t know why we can’t arrest them,” Elea complained. Mitch was driving too slowly for her liking, cautiously negotiating the frosty Lincoln roads.
“WhyIcan’t arrest them, you mean. I’d be taking responsibility, not you.” Mitch turned back onto the street they’d left the night before. He slowed the car next to the pavement, expertly reversing it into a parking space two doors down from Ant and Sienna’s terraced home.
“There’s no need to be so pedantic.” Elea sniffed, undoing her seatbelt. “You only need suspicion to make the arrests. Bring them both in.”
“And send the rest of their cronies underground? Nah. Not today.”
Mitch had a point. He stared out onto the streets as a pensioner walked past, his terrier wrapped up in a tartan coat. Had Chelsea gone missing a week or even a month ago, then suspects would be apprehended today. But too much time had passed. Whatever they had going on now needed to be handled with care. Secret undercover operations were already ongoing with regards to Ant and his associates. The team hadn’t been aware of it until now. A warning had been issued by senior officers. Elea and Mitch could speak to the couple, but that was it. A gentle, patient approach was the best thing right now. But it didn’t mean Elea felt any better about it.
“I’ll do the talking,” Mitch eyed her sternly as he pressed the rusting buzzer on the door. Police backup had been brought in, in case things took a turn for the worse. An officer had been posted near the back, in case Ant or Sienna tried to do a runner, and DC Ollie Evans sat in an unmarked police car up the road. Mitch updated them both via the police airwaves, his radio discreetly placed inside his coat. Elea had been given a radio too, and she turned the volume down.
It didn’t take long for the door to open, and both Elea and Mitch were met with dismay.
“Whatever you want, the answer’s no,” Ant Thompson said, looking them up and down. He was wearing striped pyjama bottoms, looking slim but toned in a sleeveless white vest. His auburn beard was neatly trimmed, his deep-set blue eyes filled with suspicion.
“Who is it, babe?” The voice of Sienna Thompson trailed from the hall.
Mitch was about to speak when Elea butted in, giving a very discreet flash of her Finnish warrant card. It was quick enough for them not to realise what country it had been issued in. “Here’s the choice. Let us in or we’ll make this public, and you won’t want that.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Ant rolled his eyes. “What do you lot want now?”
“A few minutes of your time, that’s all. And it’s in both of our interests if we do this inside.”
“Let them in,” Sienna said flatly, joining Ant in the hall. She was in her dressing gown, her blonde hair trailing over her shoulders. “We’ve done nuthin’ wrong.” She peered out onto the hostile streets before allowing them both inside. It would not do their reputations any good if the police were seen hanging around their home. Criminals sometimes turned informant for a few extra quid. Sienna and Ant Thompson couldn’t afford such rumours getting out about them.
The house was cleaner than Elea expected. The carpets were thin but spotless, the walls decorated with photos of far-flung places. Images of the cobbled streets of Lincoln were positioned near A4-sized photos of Thailand, Vietnam, and Singapore. Elea recognised them all. The walls were a burnt-orange colour, and as they were led into the living room Elea took in every facet of it. The smell of cannabis tainted the air. No surprise there. A purple bong sat on a coffee table next to an old bookcase. Its shelves contained a mixture of novels, from Colleen Hoover to Stephen King. Elea’s eyes wandered over the Xbox in the corner, accompanied by a variety of war games. But no family photos and, thankfully, no children present.
“Don’t make yourselves comfortable.” Ant glared at them both. “What do you want?”
Mitch cautioned them both before Elea had time to speak. “You’re not under arrest,” he reiterated as he explained that the interview was voluntary. “Does the name Chelsea Hobbs mean anything to you?”
“No. Why should it?”
