Chapter 41
Swann sat with his team, breathing in recycled air in the back of the police van. This was where he loved to be, on the cusp of a discovery. This was what he’d joined the job for. His phone was on silent, his senses heightened. They were parked in the nearest car park to the suspect’s location. He was the head of this operation, and he would not put a foot wrong. He’d seen what happened when cases were botched. The ones that made it to court didn’t go any further, as the perpetrator’s defence lawyers pulled apart the police procedure. Frustration didn’t come close to describing it. But there was a balance to be met. Time was of the essence, and, given the nature of the case, they had to move fast.
He had already performed a quick tactical briefing and now they were waiting for the go-ahead. Adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream. Whatever happened next would fall on his shoulders. It had taken some persuading to get Elea to leave the suspect’s address. Now she sat in the van with the rest of them, staring into space, fists clenched on her lap. She was too professional to sulk, but beneath the surface there was a dark, brooding resentment at having to take a step back. Had Swann thought children were inside the house, he would have smashed the door in himself. But according to Sophie, her kidnapper was leaving the area when she escaped from his van. The property was a rental, paid up to the end of the month. But there was no vehicle on the drive, no signs of life, according to the officer who had discreetly posed as a delivery driver. Firearms officers had been called down. The tactical team had been briefed. It was highly unlikely anyone was still inside. The question was: what awaited them? What had the suspect left behind?
Surveillance officers were still in place, discreetly dotted around the area, keeping an eye on all comings and goings relating to the address. The last thing they wanted was the suspect being tipped off. A search warrant had been obtained by Mitch in record time. He had presented his findings to a local magistrate, explaining the urgency of the situation and the potential valuable evidence that could be disposed of. Nearby uniformed officers were on alert, ready to act as backup if needed.
Swann went through the dynamic risk assessment one more time with his team. They had already assessed the threat level and planned the safest approach. The tactical support group was in position. The time was almost upon them. This was a dangerous offender. If the suspectwereinside, he wasn’t getting away. Swann listened to raised voices outside as people complained about the cost of the car park. They had no awareness of what was going on within the confines of the police van.
“Bloody daylight robbery!” a woman exclaimed.
“It’s cheaper after six,” the man in her company concluded.
They seemed to linger for a moment. Swann listened as a cigarette lighter flicked, then they moved on at a steady pace. In his job he had always felt separate from ordinary life. If he wasn’t investigating crime, it was playing on his mind. He went over a mental checklist one more time.
A negotiation strategy had also been considered, included the likelihood of a hostage situation. Had Elea been thinking clearly, these were all things that she would have considered, too. They had planned a soft approach in order to preserve as much forensic evidence as possible. Elea was allowed to tail along, but only on the periphery. Swann’s muscles tensed as the call came in on his airwaves. He nodded to his team. It was time to go.
Chapter 42
Elea stood at the double entrance gates situated at the side of the property. The building stood out from the others. Cheerful bright-yellow painted walls with white gloss timber windows and hanging baskets on either side of a red door. The contents of the baskets were dead, the brown, thready stems of whatever flower lay within now shrivelled and hanging to one side. Unlike the other properties on the street, this house faced away from its neighbours, its entrance having a wide gravel drive. A tall red-brick wall gained it further privacy.
But there was life all around: cars, pedestrians, students on their way home from college, and now the sound of police officers, both uniformed and plain-clothes, as they searched the property. They hadn’t needed the code to the key-box next to the door, not when officers had been able to swiftly take it apart. It had taken just seconds to gain entry, and the tactical officers had cleared every room. But it was the basement they were interested in, and they had wasted no time in heading down there. Plans of the property had been obtained online by the intelligence team. If their suspect was hiding out, this was where he would be.
Dressed in her forensic suit, Elea hovered, ready to go in. Her heart was a steady drumbeat as she waited for updates. The material of her baggy white oversuit rustled as she moved, the face-mask claustrophobic against her skin. If she were to see her daughter again, she didn’t want it to be like this. But Swann had been strict in implementing the rules. She went in on his terms or not at all.
“You all right?” Mitch asked, as they both watched for movement. He had most likely been tasked with accompanying her while Swann and the team went inside.
Elea felt a rocket trip to the moon away from all right, but she offered him an “Mmm” and a nod of the head. He would not be entering the property; it wasn’t a free-for-all. “Locard’s Exchange Principle” had been rammed down their throat during their training—both in the UK and in Finland. Every contact gives and takes away something from a crime scene. Each cough, each touch, each fingerprint or footprint could have a devastating forensic effect. The weight of a step could crush fibres. A touch on a door could smudge or destroy fingerprints. The movement of objects could destroy theories. The opening of windows could mean releasing insects that might have been of forensic value later on. Even flies had their part to play. But Elea had waited ten years for this moment.
They listened as each room was cleared, until finally an update came through on the police airwaves. “We’ve found something...”
Elea’s heart jumped into her throat. Why had they stopped talking? She imagined Swann stemming their words, because this was not good. A separate airways channel had been designated for the operation, but their commanding officers would be listening in. She went to move forward, but Mitch placed a hand on her forearm.
“Wait. Just one more minute.”
But this was killing her. “I can’t...” she began to say. She took in Swann’s face as he emerged from the building.
His eyes were haunted as he joined her. He dropped his mask to his chin.
“What is it? Is she in there? What have you found?” The words tumbled from Elea’s lips. She wished she could shut the hell up, so that Swann could tell her what she needed to know. But once she started speaking, she couldn’t stop.
Swann exchanged a glance with Mitch. A get-her-back-to-the-station-before-she-loses-it look.
Elea closed her eyes. Unclenched her fists. Took a soothing breath and started again. “I’m OK.” She spoke with as much calmness as she could muster. Today she had to be a police officer first, and a mother second. Because Liisa’s mother would be racing through that building right now, screaming her daughter’s name. She tilted her chin upwards. Brought her shoulders back a touch. Kept her voice steady and devoid of the emotions running riot inside her. “There’s a body inside, isn’t there?”
Swann nodded.
Another breath. Elea detached herself from the situation. Yes, she was a police officer simply doing her job. This was any other case. “Very well. Blonde, female, I take it?”
“It appears so.” Already CSI were entering the building, being careful not to walk over the tyre tracks left in the gravel driveway by the last occupant of the home. Stepping plates were being put down. The property was already cordoned off. People were being suited up, but numbers would be limited. The property owners were being spoken to. Updates were coming in on the radio. This was a crime scene now. “You don’t have to go in.”
“Is it Liisa? What age is she? Have you identified her?”
“It’s...doubtful that it’s Liisa.”
“Christ, Swann! It’s either Liisa or it’s not? The twelve-year-old body of Chelsea Hobbs or the remains of a young woman—can’t you tell the damned difference?” Heads swivelled as Elea’s voice rose. She took another breath, her chest rising and falling as frustration took hold. So much for remaining calm.
Swann remained steadfast. “She’s a child, but she’s in a freezer, Elea. Caked in ice. That’s why we don’t know for sure. It’s unlikely to be Liisa, after all this time.” Then he talked about the logistics of a perp transporting Liisa to the UK when she was twelve years old, but Elea couldn’t take it in. She had waited, as instructed. She’d held herself back. But not anymore. Her name should be on the log. Her heart was pounding so fast she couldn’t stand still.
