They emerged from the lift and Fisher peeled off into an office, while Waite conducted Den along a corridor and through some doors, which he unlocked with a swipe of his ID card. As soon as they were through Den heard someone shout his name, and there, on a chair in a rather forlorn row underneath some Crimestoppers posters, was Dad. He leaped to his feet and Den started running towards him. There was a moment’s hesitation and then they hugged each other, Den resting his head on Dad’s shoulder and trying very hard not to cry. Dad’s hand squeezed his neck.
‘Hey, son. It’s all right,’ he said into Den’s ear.
They pulled apart. ‘I didn’t know you were here, Dad.’
‘I was just about to ring a solicitor. You’ve been here nearly five hours. They’ve told me nothing. Nothing,’ he repeated, turning up the volume and addressing the woman behind the desk. She looked up and gave him the sort of fixed smile she clearly reserved for her more trying customers. ‘Let’s get you home. The van’s out front. There are some reporters outside. Keep calm. Don’t say a word, head down, into the van.’
‘Reporters? Why? For me?’
‘Yeah. Sorry, son. The police haven’t released your name, but it’s out there anyway now. Common knowledge.’
Den felt like the ground was moving beneath his feet, but really it was his legs threatening to give way. ‘I don’t know if I can do this, Dad.’
Dad put his hand on Den’s shoulder and gripped hard.
‘Come on, son. Grow some balls. It’s a storm in a teacup. It’ll die down. It’ll be okay.’ He fished in his pocket for the keys to the van. ‘Ready?’
Before Den could protest, Dad was heading rapidly for the door. Den trotted behind him, trying to keep up. As soon as the door opened, the shouting began. People were shoving cameras in their faces and firing questions at them.
‘Do you know where Mina is, Den?’
‘Are you going to make a statement?’
‘Were you the last person to see her?’
People were pushing and shoving, trying to block their path. ‘Dad!’ Den shouted. He was some way ahead now, almost at the van. He turned around.
‘Hey, get out of his way, you fucking animals!’ He started back towards Den, like a rodeo bull charging out of the gates, and making a similar sort of noise. The crowd parted miraculously, and Den darted forward. Dad grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the van, bundled him into the passenger seat and ran round to the other side. He started the engine and they were off, slowly at first as he tried to negotiate their exit without running anyone over. He kept up a running commentary, gesticulating wildly, until they were clear of the scrum and out on the open road.
‘Get out of the fucking way! Clear the road! Move yourselves!’
Thankfully, traffic was light and, as Den looked in the wing mirror, he could soon see the remnants of the press pack on the pavement, receding into the background.
‘“Keep calm. Don’t say a word, head down.” Good job, Dad!’
‘Ha! That was for you! I never said I’d keep calm. How can I, with those fucking vultures pecking at you? They were round the café too, asking questions, phone ringing all the time. We didn’t open up today.’
That, more than anything, brought Den up short. ‘You didn’t open up?’
‘Not today, son.’
‘But we never close. That’s our thing, our USP. We can’t afford to lose a day’s takings.’
‘It’s only one day, Den. This’ll all blow over. Hey, it means we get to watch the cricket.’
Dad’s expression was stoic, but Den could see a little muscle at the corner of his eye twitching rapidly.
‘I’m so sorry, Dad.’
‘It’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong. People will have forgotten it by tomorrow. You’ll see. Text your mum – tell her we’re on our way.’