Chapter 8
Elea knocked on the door of the two-bedroomed ground-floor flat.
She waited as soft shuffling footsteps approached on the other side.
A chain was pulled across and a latch clicked open.
Then she was face-to-face with Karen Hobbs, mother of three children: one missing, two taken into care.
Her hair hung limply around her thin face, and a faint yellow bruise dappled her cheekbone.
But the most striking thing was how small the woman was.
She had the build of a twelve-year-old child.
Elea had seen the map of injuries on her body from past domestic-incident reports. Her husband must have towered over her.
Phil Hobbs was a known domestic abuser with a history of offences under his belt. Such was his violence that the police were convinced his stepdaughter Chelsea died at his hands.
“Karen?” Elea flashed a perfect smile as she faked a British accent. “Phillipa Laine. Rio magazine. I spoke to your husband online.” She glanced over Karen’s shoulder into the narrow hall. Her message to Phil Hobbs had been delivered from a fake Facebook profile that had come in handy in the past.
Karen stared ahead, her eyes lifeless, her expression flat.
After checking with her husband, she eventually allowed Elea inside.
Elea found the offer of money nearly always opened doors.
She was led into a poky sitting room and her predictions proved to be correct.
Can of Stella in one hand and remote control in the other, Phil Hobbs sat on his throne, which in his case was a grubby leather recliner that had seen better days.
His T-shirt was speckled with crisp crumbs, his tracksuit bottoms stained from wear.
The ceiling was stained yellow from nicotine, and the stink of cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air.
Elea cast her gaze over the litany of empty beer cans and crisp packets littering the floor.
She took a seat on the edge of the leather sofa as Phil muted the TV, finally acknowledging her presence.
She wasn’t leaving this flat without answers.
“Thanks for seeing me at such short notice.” She forced herself to be pleasant to the man before her.
“As I said, I’d like to write a piece for Rio magazine on your missing daughter.
It’s part of a bigger story about the missing girls. ”
“You’ve got ’alf an hour,” Phil replied, punctuating his sentence with a loud belch.
Elea wrinkled her nose as the stench of Stella came her way. “We’d better get started, then.” She switched on her mobile-phone recording app. “I think it’s best we start from the beginning. Tell me about your relationship with Chelsea.”
“Hang on a minute.” Phil adjusted his recliner to an upright position as he asserted himself. “We want cash up front. This is a big story. I’m saying nothing without money in my pocket first.”
Elea gazed at the man intensely, making no effort to hide her disgust. “It’s not a big story—that’s the problem. Your daughter disappeared in 2023 . . .”
“Stepdaughter,” Phil corrected.
“Fine, stepdaughter,” Elea continued. “There’s nothing about her in the media. People have forgotten who she is.”
“She’s dead,” Phil blurted, swigging from his can. “Got to be.” A thin drool of beer streaked down his unshaven face. “And even if she’s found, she ain’t coming back here.”
“Let me clarify,” Elea responded. “You’re saying that you’re not bothered about Chelsea being found, as long as you profit from it?”
She turned to Karen. “Do you feel the same?”
Elea expected Karen to back him up. She’d given up her children to be with Phil, after all. But instead her face crumpled, and she sobbed into her hand. “Please. I don’t care about the money if you help me find my little girl.”
Phil snorted. “She ain’t so little now. That’s presuming she’s still alive.”
Elea ignored the man before her as her fake accent fell away.
She was surprised that she’d managed to keep the act going this long.
“I can help, Karen. But you need to help yourself too, yes? Because Chelsea won’t be allowed back here.
It doesn’t need to be anything fancy, just not with him.
The women’s refuge will help you start again. ”
“What the fuck are you on about?” Phil slammed his can on the coffee table as Elea snatched up her phone. “You’re no reporter. You’re a cop. Get out!”
“Why?” Elea stood. “What are you hiding?” Her temper rose as Phil tried to intimidate them both.
“Fuck off out of my house. The cheek of it, coming into my gaff pretending to be a reporter.”
Karen flinched as he threw a hand in the air.
“Go,” Elea said to her. “Pack a bag, make it quick. I’ll find you somewhere to stay.”
Karen looked at her uncertainly.
“Go!” Elea exclaimed. “I’ll take care of him.”
As Karen turned to leave, Phil reached out a meaty hand to grab her hoodie and Elea kicked him firmly on the shin. It felt like kicking a wall, but judging by Phil’s shocked expression, she’d left her mark. Karen stared, disbelieving, before running off to her room.
“What the fuck!” Phil roared indignantly. He wobbled slightly as the effects of too many cans of Stella, combined with the pain of the kick, took hold. “I’ll ’ave your badge for this! You can’t hurt me! Coming into my home under false . . . false—”
“I think the word you’re grappling for is ‘pretences,’” Elea said drily.
“And I’m not leaving until you tell me about your involvement in Chelsea’s disappearance.
” She was following a hunch, bluffing her way through their conversation after her chat with Gary.
But Elea had read the case file inside out.
Phil mixed with the underbelly of society.
People who would sell their own grandmothers for a quick payout.
“If I say you’re leaving, you’re fucking leaving.” Phil swiped a meaty paw to grab for Elea, but she was quicker as she stamped the heel of her boot on his foot, then pulled his arm behind his back.
“Not so nice when you’re on the other side of it, eh?
” A smile crept onto her face as she pushed his fingers backwards.
“You think you’re a hard man, beating up women half your size .
. . Looks like that crumpled old chicken has come home to roost.” With a sudden leg sweep, she twisted his body and sent him crashing to the floor.
She straddled his back and restrained his wrists using her own belt.
“Police brutality!” Phil screamed. “Karen! Get back in here and call the old Bill. This tart’s fucking nuts!”
But there was no response, only silence.
“You’re going down for this,” he grunted. “You’ll never work in the police again.”
Elea pressed her face close enough to smell the beer on his breath.
“There you go again, making assumptions, you stupid piece of shit. I’m not a police constable in this country of yours.
If you want to keep your fingers intact, then tell me.
Who took Chelsea the day she disappeared?
” It wasn’t really a lie. Elea’s base was in Finland, after all.
The more she read about Chelsea’s case, the more certain she was that Phil had to be involved.
He hadn’t been with Karen long before they tied the knot, and when Chelsea disappeared she was due to be taken into care.
Her younger siblings were already settled in foster homes.
“You thought that if Chelsea was going anyway, you might as well make some cash from her by offering her up to the highest bidder. You were heavily on the gear and in a shitload of debt, which is why you went to the pub for an alibi instead of picking her up from school.” Elea yanked Phil’s arm an inch until he roared in pain.
“Don’t think I won’t break it. It wouldn’t be the first time.
And at least it will give some poor cow a rest from your punches for a while. ”
She checked over her shoulder as she sensed movement behind her. Karen was standing there, holding a pair of socks. “Did you mean it? Can the refuge help me find somewhere to live?”
“Yes.” Elea kept a firm grip on the man beneath her. “And I’ll keep you updated on Chelsea. One way or another, we’ll find her.” Big promises were needed to remove Karen from the dangerous situation she was in.
“Here.” Karen handed her the rolled-up socks. “Stuff these in his gob until he’s ready to confess.”
Elea was beginning to like Karen more and more.
Gritting her teeth, she forced the socks into his mouth to earn them a little more time.
She didn’t need his wails attracting attention.
“Right,” she said, “you’re not taking me seriously, so let me prove this isn’t an empty threat.
” She reached for his index finger. It took surprisingly little effort to pull it back until it snapped.
Sweat beaded the man’s brow as he screamed into his gag.
Elea wrinkled her nose as the smell of his body odour rose.
“Now are you going to tell the truth or will it be finger number two?”
Karen ran round the room, packing bits into a big brown holdall. She seemed brighter than before. Elea pulled the sock from Phil’s mouth, and he yelled a string of obscenities. “I’ll kill you. Both of you bitches!”
“Uh-uh,” she mimicked the sound of a game-show buzzer.
“Wrong answer.” She forced the socks back into his mouth and stretched another finger back until it released with a snap.
Another muffled scream was returned. The man’s shoulders shuddered as pain kicked in.
“Oh dear,” Elea spoke without sympathy. “You’re crying already?
What will you do when I break your arm?” She leaned over, whispering in his ear.
“Or I could use my gun. Right between the balls.”
He was sweating profusely now, blood trickling from his mouth from where he had bitten down hard.
A part of her was enjoying the experience.
She didn’t have a gun, at least not here.
But people like Phil thought they could do what they liked to girls like Chelsea.
Girls like Liisa, too. “Last chance,” she whispered darkly, removing the sock.
“You’re crazy,” he whined.
“You’ve no idea,” Elea retorted. At least the screaming had stopped. She moved to reinsert the sock, wondering if she had got things wrong. If Swann found out about this, he’d place her under arrest.
“Wait!” Phil’s nostrils flared as he inhaled a few strong breaths. “I might have said something when I was pissed. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
“To who, Phil?” Elea reached for his third finger as he failed to respond.
“W-wait!” Phil stuttered. “One of my old dealers. I owed him money, and he was hassling me down the phone . . . I can’t remember which one.
” He gulped for breath, a trickle of sweat rolling down his face.
“I said Chelsea was being taken into care. That we had a lot on our plate. A waste, he called it.”
“I’m going to need more.” Elea gave up on his finger and wrenched back his arm.
“He asked what school she went to. What time she got home. I was so pissed I didn’t know what he was getting at, so I told him. That’s it. I didn’t agree to nothing!”
“Yet soon after she was gone.” Elea felt resistance as she pushed his arm higher behind his back. “You set the whole thing up to pay off a drugs debt, didn’t you? I know what you’ve been up to, you cowardly shit!”
“Go ahead, break it,” Phil cried miserably. “Because it’s better than what they’ll do to me if they find out I’ve blabbed to the cops.”
“I told you, I’m not police.”
“I don’t care if you’re Mrs. fucking Claus. It’ll get back to them.” His words were interrupted by a swift kick between the legs.
“You little bastard,” Karen screamed. “I’ll kill you!”
Suddenly Elea had a situation on her hands. Broken fingers she could manage. But she couldn’t afford for Phil to be murdered on her watch.
“Stop!” she shouted to Karen, panting from her exertions. “Trust me. This isn’t the way.” Karen had most likely dreamed about this moment for years.
“Where is she, you bastard? Who has her?” Spittle flew from Karen’s lips.
“I swear,” he replied miserably. “I don’t know.” Tears and snot drizzled down his face. “Oh God, it hurts so bad.” But he wasn’t crying for Chelsea, he was crying for himself.
“Hang on,” Karen said. “I have a list of all his dealers. It’s in his notebook.”
“No!” Phil shouted. “Don’t!”
Elea decided that she’d got enough out of him and shoved the sock back in his mouth.
“You brought this upon yourself. If you’d been honest with the police, they might have been able to get her back.
” She leaned down, pushing her knee between his shoulder blades.
“Now you listen to me. I wasn’t here; this didn’t happen.
I won’t rat you out if you don’t rat me out.
” It was a phrase she liked to use, having picked it up from a black-and-white gangster movie when she was a kid dreaming of being a detective.
She stepped off Phil’s hulking body and turned to Karen. “Ready?”
“God, yes.” Karen wiped her tears with the back of her tracksuit sleeve.
Curled up in a foetal position, Phil was recovering from the battering he deserved. Elea only hoped that the ferocity of her questioning wouldn’t get back to Swann.