“And if it’s good news, you’ll buy me that cigar?”
She’d nodded then, remembering her vow to gift him a Romeo y Julieta from the Havanna-Aitta cigar shop in Helsinki. Determined to keep her spirits buoyant, she’d bought one before she left for the UK. It sat in her suitcase, in an addressed envelope, ready to make the journey back. She hadn’t stopped hoping that Niall would get to share the story that he’d been waiting to handle for a decade.
She stared at the briefing-room whiteboard, its surface littered with images, maps, and case notes, bringing herself back to the present moment with a deep sigh. Today DC Jamal Jones had discussed geographic links and provided maps to identify hotspots where their victims were seen or evidence was found. Timeframes had come into question, and the patterns between disappearances. Then Ness discussed the known predators who had been interviewed. But none of the information that the team shared brought Elea one step closer to her daughter. She needed fresh action, tangible leads.
She thought she’d found them with Sienna, but today they were going over old ground. She hugged the paperwork to her chest as she waited for everyone to leave. The team had been cooperative, including her in every aspect of the investigation, but they danced around her feelings when it came to discussing the Ice Angels, glancing her way as if she was one big open wound. Still, she could not fault them. They had made her feel welcome. But there was one big obstacle to overcome. She cleared her throat as Mitch pushed the door shut. The soft click of the latch finding its home signalled privacy.
“Everything OK?” He gathered up the discarded pieces of paperwork that had been left behind. Soon iPads would take over from paper printouts and Post-it notes.
Elea wasn’t in the mood for pointless questions. “Who’s the head honcho at the EMROCU? I need to speak to them.” She was talking about the specialist police unit tackling serious and organised crime across the East Midlands.
Mitch’s eyebrows rose at the request. “Why?”
“Because I’m buying a new bra and I need lingerie advice.” Sarcasm came naturally to Elea, and she couldn’t stop the words. “Why do you think I want to talk to them?”
Mitch tried, but failed, to hide his smile. “It’s a big organisation. They cover the five East Midlands police forces, not just Lincolnshire.” He turned his attention back to tidying up the space.
“You haven’t answered my question.” Elea’s fingers dug into the paperwork, which had done little to advance the case.
“They’re working with the NCA...” He paused to find the words to explain. “The National Crime Agency. Those names you found—they’re at the bottom of the food chain. You stumbled onto something big. It goes way higher than we first thought. We’re talking organised crime across multiple counties.” He left the pile of paperwork on the table and began to tidy up the chairs.
“And this takes precedence over young girls’ lives? If these people are low-level, then why am I being told to back off?” She ground her molars. “For God’s sake, will you stop with the bloody chairs and look at me!”
“OK, OK.” Mitch raised his hands in mock-surrender. As a DI, he had better things to do. But he was also considerate, trying to leave the room as he found it after everyone had left. He sighed, resting his backside on the edge of the briefing table. “We don’t want to spook off the main players. We’re talking drugs, weapons, human trafficking; the laundering of millions of pounds through shell companies and cryptocurrency. Any contact from us could put undercover officers at risk.”
Elea knew of the challenges that undercover officers faced. She’d been one herself, many years ago. Backstories would have been invented and memorised as false identities were taken on. Fake ID would have been created as officers embedded themselves within the group. Distance from family and friends was necessary at such times. Every interaction would have been logged and backed up with intercepted communications. In the background, specialist officers would have provided monitoring and tracing of suspicious financial transactions. When it came to such big sums of money, the risks were immense. One wrong step could unravel months, or even years, of work. But still, frustration burned like a branding iron in her chest. “There must be someone I can talk to. Sienna knows something. If I could just reason with them.”
“They know that you’re here, Elea, and they know about Sienna, too. It...” He stepped towards her. “It changes nothing.” Mitch’s words were heavy with compassion. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
“Don’t look at me like that.” She spoke with tight conviction. “Like I’m something pitiful. Someone to be fobbed off.”
“Seriously? You couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve tried making headway with the EMROCU.” Their stare remained unbroken. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up. They told me to back the fuck off. It’s delicate, Elea, but try to look at it this way: you’ve got some serious workforce behind this. So let them get on with it, and we’ll investigate the other avenues. Because there’s still a chance that we’re chasing a false lead.”
Elea nodded. He was right. Every decision was crucial. But which one would return to haunt them all?
Chapter 38
The blue sofa cushions seemed to swallow Sophie as she sat beside her mother. Her hands moved restlessly, twisting and untwisting the frayed strings of her oversized pink hoodie. She pulled them taut, then let them go slack, over and over again. The suite was there for vulnerable victims, the cameras discreetly tucked away in each corner of the generously sized room. Toys lay invitingly about the floor, and a vase of artificial flowers added a splash of colour to the space.
“Hello, Sophie.” Elea lowered herself to speak to the girl. “It’s really nice to see you again.”
“Hi,” Sophie whispered, her wide blue eyes never leaving Elea’s face. The sound of the girl’s voice was the most beautiful thing she’d heard all year. Everything was ready. Ness was monitoring the interview and making notes from a separate room. A social worker was present and had agreed to sit in the monitoring room, so as not to overwhelm Sophie. It was important to have her there, to limit the need for Sophie to be asked the same questions time and time again. The small earpiece in Elea’s ear granted communication with Ness, in case she had any questions to raise.
Elea settled into a chair across from Sophie, waiting until the girl was at ease. The first part of an ABE interview was about establishing a rapport. It was in everyone’s interest to achieve the best evidence and get it right the first time round. Elea talked about Sophie’s iPad and the games she played. She mentioned her own daughter, forever twelve in her mind, then talked about Liisa’s love of ponies, and Sophie spoke of her own riding lessons. Finally, when Sophie’s shoulders relaxed, Elea leaned towards her. “I’m going to ask you some questions, OK? You’re safe. There’s nothing to worry about anymore.”
Sophie glanced at her mother, who nodded encouragingly. She had come a long way since their first meeting.
“What happened the day you disappeared, Sophie?” Elea asked gently. She followed up with the time and date, more for the benefit of the recording than anything else. This was the section of the interview in which Sophie would be encouraged to give a free recall of events. The finer details would come later. When interviewing a child, interruptions were kept to a minimum.
Sophie continued to work the ends of her hoodie strings between her fingers. “I was walking home from school. There was this man. I...I knew him—from before.”
Sophie’s young mother, Fiona, frowned. She was about to speak when Elea delivered a small shake of the head. She’d been briefed before the interview. She was there to provide comfort only.
“I...I don’t know his name,” Sophie continued, “but he had a dog. Just like the one I wanted.” Sophie glanced up at Fiona. “A Yorkie.” She told Elea about the furry Yorkie keyring that her friend had bought her, and how she’d attached it to her school bag. Elea’s breath quickened. This was a premeditated kidnapping, exactly as Liisa’s had been, when her mother’s car tyres had been slashed. But was the kidnapper a human trafficker or working alone?
“His dog was nice,” Sophie continued. “Her name was Trixie. She had a pink collar. He said it belonged to his daughter. He used to let me stroke her.” Sophie glanced at Elea, who gave her an encouraging smile.
Elea thought of Ness, who was probably multitasking, quickly sending an email to the team as well as monitoring each word that was said.
