Chapter 25
Elea closed her eyes against the cascading water of her rainfall shower.
She’d had to drag herself outside for her morning run, but she felt better for it now.
A short sleep had delivered scattered nightmares and a lingering sense of unease.
Her daughter’s yellow school bag was part of a recurring narrative that wouldn’t let go.
Every night in vivid colour she was presented with the image of that damned yellow rucksack rotting in the heavy snow.
If only someone had seen it that day. Too much time had been wasted searching in the wrong places and knocking on neighbouring doors.
Because it was Porvoo, right? A place where a neighbour would let you use their phone or even give a child a lift home.
The town had convinced itself that what had happened to Anu and Venla could never happen again.
Yet it had, years later, on the same date.
With her thick towelling robe wrapped around her, Elea stood at her hotel window, staring at the silvery-grey clouds that seemed to be a permanent fixture in the Lincoln skies.
She clutched her mug of coffee, tendrils of steam carrying the scent of instant granules that tasted like tar.
Her thoughts firmly in Porvoo, she pictured the small wooden sauna at the side of her home.
She missed the ritual of heating the sauna stones, the hiss of steam as she ladled water and the comfort of being enveloped in a soothing cloud of warmth.
She missed sitting in quiet reflection, the firmness of the wooden bench beneath her body as she relaxed.
And oh, how she missed the invigorating shock of stepping into the cold, crisp air.
Her sauna had been her sweaty sanctuary from the world.
Nestled along the Porvoonjoki river, her house sat amongst a mosaic of pretty pastel-coloured wooden houses with cobblestone streets full of storybook charm.
Her buttermilk-coloured two-storey abode came with cute trimmed window boxes that hosted a variety of flowers soaking up the summer sun.
Being a single parent, she didn’t have a lot of money, but her life had been idyllic.
She just didn’t realise it at the time. But now she was deep in the belly of grief, after being plucked from her happy existence and swallowed whole.
She sipped her coffee, grimacing at its bitterness.
Swann was right: she really needed a place of her own.
Somewhere she could make a decent brew, at the very least. She turned away from the window.
This room was too small, too restrictive.
She tipped her coffee down the porcelain bathroom sink, watching the dark-brown liquid circle the drain.
Soon. She would move into his flat. That’s if Alice didn’t find out and set the place alight first.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” her mother asked. “You sound tired.”
“I’m fine. Been up since five.” Elea walked to her bedroom and stood before the wardrobe. “How are you? Still beating Otso at chess?”
Her mother exhaled a chuckle. “He gets so cross. I let him win sometimes.”
“Men and their pride.” Hilma and Otso had been lifelong friends.
Otso, with his kind face, oversized glasses, and shiny white dentures.
It comforted Elea that her mother wasn’t alone while she herself was busy chasing answers thousands of miles away.
Silence passed between them. This was the space Hilma always gave her before bringing up Liisa.
Her mother’s devotion to Buddhism had got her through the toughest of times.
Elea envied her calm ability to accept whatever life threw at her, even when it hurt like hell.
“How’s it going?” Hilma probed gently. “Any more leads?”
“I don’t want to jinx it.” Elea stood before the wardrobe, working out what she was going to wear. “But we’re close.” She pulled out a Filippa K tailored blazer, matching it with a white shirt and slim-fitting black trousers.
“Meditate,” her mother advised. “It’s food for the soul.
” Hilma’s words were soft, but focused. She was the kind of person that it felt good to be around.
She had cried for three days solid after Liisa disappeared, blaming herself for not being able to pick her up on time.
It took her another two weeks to pull herself from the mire of despair.
Elea knew her mother would never get over what happened, far less forgive herself for not being there.
Elea didn’t have the capability to help her at the time. Otso had been her rock.
“You’re Buddhist. You don’t believe in souls.” Elea slipped off her robe.
Hilma exhaled the type of patient sighs usually reserved for four-year-olds. “You know what I mean. How’s Richard?” She had a soft spot for Swann.
“You know very well how he is.” Hilma had met Swann’s mother when she first visited Helsinki, and they had kept in touch ever since.
Elea cradled the phone on her shoulder as she stepped into her underwear.
Her clothes were carefully orchestrated, but her bras and knickers rarely matched.
She didn’t have that much free time on her hands.
“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.