Chapter 37
Elea waited patiently for the officers to filter out of the briefing room.
Their chatter was low as they talked between themselves.
Heads down, Kelly and Ollie were comparing their workloads, while Ness, who had arrived late, was sorting out her paperwork, which she had dropped on the carpeted floor.
Elea glanced at Mitch, who had agreed to her request for five minutes alone.
Today Swann had left him to take the helm.
Swann had booked the rest day the week before, but Elea had it on good authority that he had popped back in to see the Corporate Communications Team.
Helsinki Police had a similar team, which handled press enquiries.
Their jobs involved disseminating information between journalists and investigating officers and, most of all, protecting the department’s public image.
Over the years, Elea had got to know the staff by their first names.
Her mind drifted back to a day that she often revisited.
Niall was the longest-standing member of the Helsinki communications unit, an ageing Irish man with a penchant for cigars.
She recalled the last time she saw him, before she left for the UK.
He was leaving work, a cloud of smoke in his wake.
The evening was crisp and clear, and their bodies were illuminated beneath the streetlights as she caught up with him.
The lines on his face deepened into a smile.
“I hear you’re off soon,” he’d said, puffing on his cigar.
He was dressed for the weather, his woollen hat pulled down over his silver hair.
The potent, earthy smell of cigar smoke wrapped itself around Elea as they briefly chatted about her trip to England and her consultation on the case.
“Liisa’s story . . .” The tip of his cigar glowed orange as he puffed.
“Don’t keep me waiting any longer, eh? You promised I’d be the one to handle it.
” There was no pity in his voice, just the quiet, unshakeable kindness that kept him steady through every tragic story that the department had shared.
Elea gave him a look that said more than words could. “Of course.”
“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?