Chapter 50
The atmosphere had changed in the station since finding Chelsea’s body.
There was no more banter, or the usual black humour that helped keep their spirits afloat.
Officers moved quietly around the station, delivering a solemn nod of acknowledgement as they passed each other in the hall.
Swann felt their muted sorrow, intermingled with a sense of urgency to bring the killer in.
There was guilt, too. Guilt for not protecting Chelsea, a vulnerable young girl who dreamed of playing for England one day.
Swann straightened his tie before entering the press briefing room, which was just down the corridor of police HQ.
Being the main police hub in Lincoln, the secure building was ideal for such gatherings.
As the senior investigator, this was part of Swann’s job role.
Delivering a press conference live on TV set his nerves on edge, but at least he was on his home turf.
Superintendent Jess Collins was already there, along with the police-and-crime commissioner, sitting at either end of the table, which was laid out with microphones and glasses of water.
A navy-blue tablecloth brought a sense of ceremony and the Lincolnshire Police emblem, along with its motto “Policing with Pride,” was positioned at the back.
Swann glanced across the room, breathing in the lukewarm air.
The heat had been pumped out by radiators overnight as a cold snap hit.
It was a good turnout, with rows of reporters and three TV cameras at the back of the room.
“Before we begin . . .” The chatter came to a halt as he spoke.
“This is a fast-changing situation. I’ll take questions at the end, but please speak with sensitivity, keeping the families of the victims in mind. ”
He sipped from his glass of water. Waited for the seconds to count down as he prepared to begin.
Sensitivity went out of the window for those keen to get the best possible story.
Chelsea’s initial disappearance had been overshadowed by events in the news, but now word of the girl found in the freezer had captured their interest. The discovery of a body was making headline news.
Swann hated the inevitable leaks that came from working with so many people.
He knew of journalists who dated police officers specifically to further their career.
Checking that everyone was ready, he took a deep breath, leaning slightly into the microphone.
The red tally light atop the TV cameras illuminated, signalling they were recording live.
“As you know, twelve-year-old Chelsea Hobbs disappeared on her way home from school in January 2023.” Swann glanced around the room, the click and whirr of cameras punctuating his words.
“We can now confirm that a body has been discovered in a freezer in the basement of a property here in Lincoln, which has been identified as that of Chelsea Hobbs. While I can’t go into specific details right now, I can confirm that we are treating her death as suspicious and as part of an ongoing criminal investigation.
” He paused, watching the journalists hurriedly tapping into their laptops and making notes.
“We also believe that Chelsea’s case may be connected to the death of twelve-year-old Jenny Flynn, whose body was discovered on West Common in 2021; and to the abduction of Sophie Miller, who recently escaped after being reported missing in January of this year.
The investigation into these cases is ongoing and we are actively pursuing new leads.
For operational reasons, I cannot go into detail about these at this time.
But I would like to reassure the public that our team is working tirelessly to bring those responsible to justice. ”
Swann gesticulated with his hands to bring his point home.
“Lincolnshire Police is committed to ensuring the safety of our community. We would like to extend our sympathies to the families of the victims involved, and we ask for your patience and cooperation as we continue this complex investigation.” He sat back in his chair, waiting for the inevitable barrage of questions that would follow.
He only hoped the announcement wouldn’t send their suspects underground.
Several hands shot up, with a local journalist getting his question in first.
“David Fitzpatrick, Lincoln Tribune.” A bearded man in a crumpled suit introduced himself as he half sat, half stood. “Is it true that this investigation is linked to the Ice Angels case in Finland?”
A ripple of murmurs spread throughout the room.
Swann stalled, very aware that he was on national TV. He kept his expression neutral, choosing his words carefully. “At this stage we are following multiple active lines of enquiry, and the investigation is making significant progress.”
“But . . .” Fitzpatrick followed up, “Elea Baker, the mother of one of the missing Finnish children, is consulting on this case, isn’t she?”
Swann glanced around the room, aware that speculation would run wild, regardless of what he said.
Leaks were sometimes inevitable in such high-profile cases, and he chose each word with care.
“As soon as we’re in a position to update you on any developments, we will do so.
But at this time, I cannot comment further on operational matters.
” He turned to another journalist before Fitzpatrick could push for more. “Next question.”
Swann checked his emails as he sat in his office for the first time that day.
He hadn’t stopped since the press briefing, which was now being aired worldwide.
There were no follow-up questions with regards to Elea’s involvement, but Fitzpatrick had earned himself a black mark in Swann’s copybook.
Speculation on Elea’s involvement was already gaining traction online.
But there was something more pressing on his mind: keeping up his end of the bargain.
He’d promised the public a quick conclusion to the case.
His team was closing in, but where was Elea?
It wasn’t like her to be so late, not with so much going on.
Was she upset by the press appeal? But Elea wasn’t shy when it came to the press.
There had to be more to her absence than that.
He couldn’t stop caring, no matter how hard he tried.
He frowned to himself as he recalled how they had parted in the early hours.
How at ease he had been in her company. How he hadn’t wanted the night to end.
He hadn’t made a pass. He wasn’t some letch; he was her husband.
It wasn’t about sex; it was just about being in Elea’s orbit.
He thought their marriage still meant something, but now she was willing to give him a divorce.
He’d been a fool. He was far too late. Regret rested heavily on his shoulders.
She’d stood at the office door, and he’d lingered in her presence, inhaling the sweetness of her perfume.
She’d heard him on the phone, telling Alice he would be home late.
But Swann wouldn’t betray the mother of his children, and as long as he was with Alice, Elea would not get involved.
Family meant everything to them both. Finding her daughter—dead or alive—was the most important thing he could do for her right now.
But where the hell was Elea? The briefing was starting soon, and she wasn’t answering her phone.
He glanced up at Mitch as he poked his head into the office.
Technically it was his office; Swann simply hadn’t been able to bring himself to move out yet.
“We’re heading out for briefing, boss.” Mitch was wearing his usual smile. Swann had never met anyone so amicable. He didn’t know a single person who disliked the bloke.
“Have you seen Elea?” Swann looked beyond him, out at the team.
At Ness, who was handing out cups of tea and coffee.
At Sergeant Davies, who was frowning from behind his computer screen.
At Ollie and Kelly, who were deep in conversation with Jamal Jones, who seemed to be making notes.
Everyone was there except Elea. Something felt off.
He looked back at Mitch, who had yet to answer his question. He seemed twitchy today. “Mitch?”
The DI blinked twice in quick succession. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Elea. Is she in yet?”
“Um . . .” Mitch followed his gaze into the main office. “I don’t think so.”
“You’ve not seen her?”
“I’ve not seen her this morning, no.” He checked his watch. “Is that the time? We’d better get a move on. Lots to work through. I’ll let you know when she comes in.”
Then he was gone, out into the office, taking a mug from Ness’s tray.
Elea wouldn’t be happy if she found Ness making tea yet again.
Swann rang Elea’s number once more, this time leaving a message.
“Where are you? Everything all right? We’re about to start the briefing. Just,” he exhaled, “give me a ring.”
He thought about the last time he saw Elea.
She’d been putting on her usual brave front.
But he could see past the mask. Seeing Chelsea’s body in the freezer had hit her hard.
Then having to break the news to Chelsea’s mother.
He knew that was a bad idea, but would Elea listen?
Once she made up her mind, there was no changing it.
What if it had all been too much? What if she’d given up hope and decided to end it all?
What if she couldn’t face finding Liisa like that?
Swann’s frown deepened. Surely not. The outer office began to clear as each member of his team left for the main briefing room.
Elea’s text came promptly. I’m fine. Slept in. See you later.
Exhaling a relieved breath, Swann secreted his phone in his suit pocket and joined his team.
They were all ready, sitting in the front rows of plastic bucket chairs.
The functional space was big enough to accommodate around fifty officers.
He waited for everyone to filter in until it was standing room only.
Swann walked to the head of the room and stood before the wall-mounted digital screen that dominated the room.
It displayed everything from CCTV footage to suspect profiles, but the two large whiteboards that they’d used in their office had also been wheeled in.
Swann appreciated technology, but would not allow it to take over.
His brain processed physical evidence better than the digital information that flashed up on the screen.
One whiteboard covered timelines, the other focused on the victims and their locations to date.
A low murmur served as a backdrop, but there was an air of focus.
Superintendent Jessica Collins sidled in.
Officers parted to give her space. Swann scanned the room.
Almost everyone was here. The forensic team would provide guidance on the evidence being processed, and CSI officers would update them on their finds.
The family liaison officer’s job was to support the families involved and liaise with the child-protection unit.
They would update on any contact they’d had so far.
Then there were the uniformed officers who provided boots on the ground, knocking on doors and giving local reassurance.
Eileen was also there: the press officer was a godsend when it came to handling high-profile cases and he was grateful for her help earlier in the day.
And Sean, their criminal profiler, would advise on behavioural assessment and patterns.
Deep in Swann’s gut, his intuition nagged. Elea didn’t sleep in. She wouldn’t have missed this for the world. But he was the senior investigating officer, and he was exactly where he was meant to be. He cleared his throat and the room fell quiet.