Day One

Den

There were about thirty people in the courtyard by the time he got there. It was a sombre gathering. A guy in a tracksuit moved through the crowd handing out flyers. He gave Den a clump of them – there was the now familiar picture of Mina and a number to ring if you had any information. ‘We’re looking anywhere we can, round the garages, in the park, and posting these through letter boxes, putting them up on lampposts, okay?’

‘Cool. Hey, I’m from the Corner Café. We’re offering a free hot drink to anyone who joins the search. Perhaps you can tell people?’

‘Wow, that’s great.’ The guy high-fived him and then disappeared into the crowd.

There was a mixture of ‘civilians’ and police, with some press and photographers hanging round the edge of things. More people were joining all the time, swelling the search party to seventy or more. There was a group of teenagers to one side, hoods up, shoulders hunched, half of them on bikes, just watching. Danno and Vince were among them. Danno’s dog was snuffling about at some rubbish under a bench. At five past seven, the guy in the high-vis jacket who had been in the café earlier climbed up on a small wall. He fumbled in his pocket, took out a whistle and blew it hard. The low hubbub that had been building up stopped and everyone turned to look at him. He spoke with authority and assurance.

‘Thank you to everyone for coming this evening. Fantastic response from our community. We’re just volunteers, right, and we all want to find Mina as quickly as possible. So I’m gonna hand over to Sergeant Taylor who will tell us how we can help.’

He gave way to a uniformed officer who joined him standing on the wall. ‘Thank you, Marlon. It’s great to see everyone. Children go missing all the time for all sorts of reasons. There is absolutely no need for anyone in this community to panic. However, Mina is only eleven, she’s small for her age and she’s been missing since yesterday afternoon—’ a ripple of concern went through the crowd ‘—so we do need to find her. Let’s get her back home. I’d like you to concentrate on posting the flyers through people’s doors. We need to get Mina’s face seen. Obviously, keep your eyes peeled as you’re walking round. If you see anything suspicious, call one of the officers over. We’ll be walking with you. We won’t be far away. Okay, we’re aiming to be out until ten. Thanks again, everyone.’

There was a man with a film camera perched on his shoulder a few metres behind Den, recording the talks, and a woman next to him, in a smart coat and bright scarf. Den thought he vaguely recognised her from the local news. Now, as everyone milled around, waiting to set off, the pair approached Den, who felt a twinge of discomfort as he realised he was being filmed.

‘Hi there,’ she said, ‘BBC News, can I have a few words?’

Den could hear Dad’s voice in his head: Keep your head down. Was there a polite way to say no?

‘Um, sure.’ His nervous laugh was there. He was painfully aware it had been caught on camera now. He mustn’t do it again.

‘So, you’re helping to look for little Mina this evening. Can you tell us why you’re here?’

It was kind of a dumb question. Was it a trick?

‘I just … well, obviously, if a kid goes missing everyone wants to find them as quickly as possible and I want to do my bit. I work in the café round the corner from here. It feels very close to home.’ He could feel a smile twitching on his lips, even though he was willing himself not to.

‘So, do you know Mina?’

‘Well, um, yes. She comes in, like everybody. We serve the community here.’

‘What’s she like?’

‘She’s just, you know, just a young girl. Kind of quiet. I really hope she’s home soon.’

‘Thank you very much.’ Interview over, she turned to the cameraman and made a twirling gesture with her finger. ‘Can I just take your name, sir?’

‘Den. Den Hammond, from the Corner Café.’

‘Brilliant. Thank you, Den.’

She moved on through the crowd, looking for her next victim. Despite the cold wind funnelling between the tower blocks, Den found that he was sweating. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He wondered if he should go after the reporter, ask her not to use his interview, but it was too late now. He hadn’t said anything wrong anyway, had he? The gang of youths had turned their backs on the gathering and started moving away. Everyone else was starting to form groups. Den joined a cluster of half a dozen people, who seemed to have their own assigned officer. Marlon was part of it. He recognised Den and shook his hand.

‘Hi, Den, good to see you.’

The police officer explained to the group that they would be leafleting in the nearest block of flats. Den looked up. It was only three storeys tall, but quite long and sprawling, with two wings extending from a central staircase. Recessed lamps created pools of light dotted along the walkways. Here and there you could see people leaning on the concrete ledges, looking down. As he scanned the third floor, he saw a silhouette – Mrs C, the woman who’d done a search of her own a couple of hours ago. Turned out she’d been right to be worried. Would any of this have been different if they had raised the alarm when she was in the café earlier? They say every minute counts, don’t they?

She was standing quite still, taking it all in. Den thought he caught her looking his way and raised his hand. She waved back and he wondered whether it would be weird to call in on her sometime, check that she was okay. He didn’t like to think of her fretting all on her own. She turned away and retreated into her flat and he realised that the group had moved off and was nearly at the entrance to the stairway. He ran to catch up.