“Your taxi is waiting, ma’am.”
She looked up at Swann, a giant of a man, commanding in his suit and tie. Still smiling, still possessing the power to make her heart lurch. It was amazing how this man in his fifties, who had high blood pressure and an expanding waistline, could still make her feel that way.
“You couldn’t have texted me to say you were here in the first place, could you?” Her words were delivered with a smile, and she sighed as she relaxed into his embrace. Most Finnish people weren’t tactile by nature, and Elea reserved physical contact for the very few. But Swann’s quiet strength and comforting presence made her feel at ease. They had history. And as much as they would try to go in opposite directions, fate brought them together again. It was why she was struggling to accept his request for a divorce. A small part of her hoped that they would reunite.
“I’m parked over here.” This part of the Brayford seemed to be mainly pedestrianised. He guided her to his Mercedes parked nearby. “I’ll fill you in on the way to HQ. It’s a ten-minute drive away.”
“Looks like it’s time to earn my pay,” she remarked, her mood lifting in his company. “Congratulations on the promotion. How does it feel to be a DCI?”
“Oh, you know...same job, just more pressure for results.”
They sat in comfortable silence as Swann negotiated the morning traffic. He braked as they waited at the traffic lights on Lucy Tower Street.
“Had a good run this morning, did you?”
“Please don’t tell me you were watching.” Elea groaned at the thought. She couldn’t risk running too fast because of the night frost.
“Certainly not; it’s hard enough to leave the house on time these days. Did you try Steep Hill? That will give your calves a good workout.”
“I already have.” Elea had the stiff muscles to prove it. “Tell me about the case.” She didn’t have time for chatter, even with people she loved.
Swann’s face grew serious as he negotiated the streets of Lincoln. Traffic was busy coming in at the roundabout, but mercifully quicker driving out. The windscreen wipers came on automatically as another snow shower blotted their view. “Three girls this bastard has taken. Always in winter. Always in broad daylight.”
Elea was familiar with the guts of the story, having avidly followed the news reports on TV. Jenny Flynn, Chelsea Hobbs, and Sophie Miller. Three blonde girls of the same age who disappeared on their way home from school. The gaps between each case were wide enough for the public to forget. For parents to relax. For children to grow complacent. Until it happened again. Winter was the kidnapper’s friend, and Elea’s blood had run cold when Swann told her about the feathers that had been sent to the families. The link was enough for her to say yes when he asked her to consult on the case.
Elea’s silky white feather had arrived in a small black envelope. Exactly as with Maria, Elea’s home address had been printed, the postmark from Helsinki. There was no other correspondence inside. Elea tracked down staff who had been working in the children’s home the week that Venla disappeared. They remembered receiving a white feather, but hadn’t informed the police. Three missing children. Three feathers. Investigators had not spent too long working on that lead, convinced it was a wild goose chase. But now it was happening in the UK. Each family of a missing child had received a white feather, each black envelope carrying an English postmark.
As Swann turned off at another roundabout, Elea asked him if there had been any other connections.
“I’m still not one hundred per cent positive that Liisa’s kidnapper is in the UK...despite the evidence.” His brow creased in a familiar way as he threw Elea a look of concern. When they had first formed a relationship she’d been so broken, and he’d helped put the pieces back together again. But their marriage had been cursed from the start. How could anything good emerge from so much pain? Had he not been investigating Liisa’s case, they never would have met.
“What are you saying, then?” Elea’s words were clipped.
“Thereissomething,” he confirmed. “But whoever’s behind it could be a copycat. You know Liisa, Venla, and Anu’s cases inside out. I had a choice: I could spend weeks reacquainting myself with the paperwork or I could fly you over here. Granted, boxes of files wouldn’t be as much of a pain in my backside...”
Elea stared out at the pretty tree-lined country road. “You know what they say: In need, you know a friend.”
Swann didn’t disagree as he turned onto Deepdale Lane, following the sign for the police and fire services HQ. There were several car parks, each one occupied by vehicles caked in a light dusting of snow. A couple of uniformed officers passed them on foot, each one giving Swann a nod of respect. He continued to his parking spot, finally bringing his Mercedes to a halt. The building ahead of them loomed over the landscape. The façade was punctuated by countless rows of uniform windows. As the sun rose higher in the sky it created a display of light and shadow, offering a glimpse of the world within. But it was lost on Elea, who was anxiously waiting for Swann to speak. Her stomach clenched as she met his eyes. He’d looked at her with the same fixed expression on the day he informed her that they’d found Liisa’s school bag in the snow. She clasped her fingers together and squeezed tightly.
“It’s because you’re a friend that I brought you here,” he said, his eyes still bright with concern. “When I called you, we were looking for Sophie. But now that she’s turned up, I know I’ve done the right thing. She might even lead us to Chelsea, when we can persuade Sophie to speak. But before we go inside I need to tell you what we’ve found.”
He glanced up at the vast building, then back to Elea, as if the presence of the police headquarters would give him the strength to carry on.
“Out with it then!” Elea barked, unable to wait a second more.
“Sophie was holding a small wooden doll.”
Elea’s heart jolted in her chest.
Swann sighed, his discomfort evident as his face creased in concern. “Don’t get carried away. Anyone could have sent those feathers, and the doll—it might not be the same one.”
“What sort of doll?” She dug her fingers into his arm, ready to shake the truth out of him. “Tell me.”
“A Martta doll. It’s being tested for forensics, but I’ve got a picture...” He rooted for his iPhone.
Elea’s hand trembled as she rested it lightly over her mouth. To think that they’d been laughing and chatting just moments before. Why had he waited until now to share the news? The pretty wooden Martta dolls were a rare commodity from Finnish company Kupittaan Savi, designed by Okki Laine in the sixties. There were whole families of them, all hand painted. At just nineteen centimetres tall, the dolls were stamped for authenticity with “made in Finland” on the base. Liisa’s had been a gift from her grandmother, and she’d treated it with the respect it deserved.
“Do you think...” Elea paused for breath as the temperature dipped in the car. “Could it be Liisa’s?” Because while her captors might have disposed of her school bag, her daughter had kept the little doll in her coat pocket and carried it everywhere she went.
