They started the interview again, but somehow breaking down had given Den new strength. The tension had gone; he was calmer. Every time they fired another question at him, he took a deep breath before replying and then he gave his answer.
He didn’t have his phone with him, so he had very little idea how long he’d been there. All part of their plan, he supposed: shut you in a windowless room, disorientate you. They kept going back over the same ground, and he sensed their growing frustration with him when there was a knock on the door and another plain-clothes officer stepped in.
‘Can I have a word, Sarge?’
Sergeant Fisher got up and left the room. When he came back he was carrying something in a clear plastic bag.
‘Would you mind taking a look at this?’ he said, putting it on the table in front of Den with an air of triumph.
Den peered at the bag. It didn’t take him long to realise that the object inside was an umbrella, some of the spokes at strange angles like the broken wing of a bird.
‘It was found in the bin outside your café. Does that jog your memory?’
Den swallowed hard, trying to trick his face muscles into stopping smiling. It didn’t work. ‘Yes, of course. I found that on Thursday. It was on the pavement near the bin. I picked it up and put it in. That was all.’
‘You didn’t think it might be significant?’
‘No. Not when I found it. I never gave it a second thought.’
‘But it will have your fingerprints on it?’
Den shrugged. ‘Yeah, I suppose. Unless they’ve washed off. Wait a minute, is it hers? Is it Mina’s?’
‘You tell us.’
‘How would I know? An umbrella’s an umbrella. Is it hers?’
‘We’re going to run some tests, but her mother has identified it, yes. So tell us again where you found it?’ He emphasised the word ‘found’ so heavily that Den could hear the scepticism.
Den’s calmness was dissolving. There was a tremor in his voice as he recounted the event.
‘It was Thursday afternoon. Mina’s neighbour, Mrs C, had been in, asking about her, and I held the door for her and spotted the umbrella on the ground. We keep our bit of pavement clean and tidy, so, of course, I picked it up. It looked broken, so I put it in the bin.’
‘Mina was in your café on Wednesday. It was raining. She was soaked. And yet you say you found her umbrella on Thursday, a whole twenty-four hours later. That doesn’t add up, does it? You had her umbrella somewhere in the shop or in the flat, didn’t you? Did you have her bag too? Have you still got it? And the girl. Where’s Mina, Den? Where is she?’
‘I don’t know!’ His smile had finally gone, shocked away by the enormity of what was happening. ‘I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know where she is, I wish I did! I picked up her umbrella on Thursday afternoon. You’ve got to believe me.’