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.
She marched up to a young uniformed officer holding a clipboard.
“Give me that,” she said, snatching it off him.
Swann nodded as Elea took it from his hands and scribbled down her name.
Her shaky writing looked as if a spider had limped across the page.
She thrust the log of names back to the officer before turning towards the building.
One by one, she took each stepping plate, Swann close behind.
She would identify the girl in the ice, and then they would take it from there.