Chapter 44
Elea always knew that she could be called to identify her daughter’s body.
It’s why she never travelled too far. Australia was out for sure, as was any long-haul holiday.
She had travelled to Bangkok once and spent every night checking her phone.
She didn’t want to believe that Liisa was dead.
She’d never allowed the flame of hope to extinguish.
But the small, practical side of her nature had a voice, too.
Nobody but her should be granted the task of identifying her daughter’s body when it came down to it.
She saw the pitiful looks from the police officers as she approached the scene.
Their quiet reverence was almost too much to bear.
She wasn’t having any of it. She delivered a nod of acknowledgement, her face stony.
She pulled the forensic mask over her mouth, glancing upwards at the house.
What had happened within these walls? He’d been under their noses, but for how long?
Could she have made it here sooner? In, out .
. . She reminded herself to breathe as the stepping plates shifted on the gravel beneath her feet.
She was shadowed inside the building. The ground was solid, so why did the world feel like it was still moving beneath her weight?
Her footsteps echoed down the long, narrow corridor, the cold air stifling as it wrapped itself around her.
Elea took in her surroundings. Yellow walls. A white dado rail. Pictures of the Lincolnshire wolds. A mop sticking out of a metal bucket near the door. The building was old but clean, the faint smell of bleach hanging in the air. A hush fell as she followed Swann to the end of the corridor.
“Down here,” he said, rustling ahead of her.
Elea kept walking, pausing when Swann stopped.
“Are you . . .”
“Yes, I’m ready.” Elea gave him a stern look.
The one that said it was time to get on with it.
They were all on a countdown. Every second mattered.
But each step down to the basement felt as if they were a million miles apart.
She glanced at the cobwebs lining the old wooden beams. At the stained brown lino on the floor.
A dusty wine shelf took up a whole wall, empty apart from cobwebs.
Boxes lined the other side, as well as some rusted garden furniture that had been stored away for the winter. The air smelt of damp.
She looked at the CSI officers as they cleared a path for her.
There, against the wall, was an industrial-sized chest freezer.
There was a dent on the front. Smudges of dirt on the lid.
The insectile buzz of its motor as it preserved what was inside.
Her throat clicked as she swallowed, her tongue feeling like it was stuck to the roof of her mouth.
She couldn’t speak now, even if she wanted to.
Swann gestured to guide her forwards, a world of emotion behind his eyes.
The smell of the mask on her face was making Elea feel sick.
She was too confined in this place. The soft creak of the freezer lid focused her thoughts as an officer opened it.
She stepped forward. Stared at the sight inside.
“Jumalauta,” she whispered beneath her breath.
But it was too late for God to help her now.
“Can I brush away the ice?” She spoke to the crime-scene officer, looking deep into her grey-blue eyes.
She was female, from what Elea could tell beneath the confines of her forensic bunny suit.
“Yes,” she said simply, handing Elea a soft brush. “Just the face, if that’s OK.” They needed to preserve forensics for more in-depth examination, but equally an identification was of the essence now.
Elea took in the young girl’s form, forcing her lungs to breathe.
The child was lying in a foetal position, head bowed into her knees, elbows by her side.
Her feet were splayed upwards in unnatural angles, most likely broken to fit inside the compact space.
Her long blonde hair covered her features.
Her dress . . . Elea leaned forward. A light was switched on, making everything glisten.
The open door was causing the freezer to ice up and she didn’t have long.
Swann kept a respectful distance as Elea took everything in.
White lace and netting, like a communion dress.
Like the one Jenny Flynn had been wearing when she was found.
It couldn’t be her Liisa . . . could it?
This child, frozen in time. With a shaking gloved hand, Elea gently pulled the frozen strands of blonde hair back from the girl’s face.
Another thought jostled for attention. Logistically, it could be Liisa.
He could have taken her to the UK when she was alive. He could have found a way to—
Elea exhaled the breath that had been burning her lungs as the girl’s frozen face came into view.