Den didn’t go back to bed after Dad drove off in the van. He sat in the office, going over the CCTV again and again, freezing frames, wishing he could freeze time, rewind it, do things differently. He would make Mina the hot chocolate and invite her to sit at the table nearest the counter. Encourage her to chat as she drank it, ask about her day, ask if there was anything worrying her. He was well aware that if he had done that and it was all on film, things would look even worse for him, but perhaps no one would ever have seen that tape. There would have been no need. Mina could have told him if something was wrong. She wouldn’t have gone missing.
No point dwelling on it, but what else could he do? He knew so little about Mina, but maybe he could find out a bit more. Maybe he had some information right here. He started sifting through the CCTV videos, starting with Tuesday and working backwards, watching each one for ten minutes either side of half past three. She wasn’t there every day, but she popped in once or twice a week, always on her own. Den became completely absorbed in his task. He copied the sections of film as he came upon them and put them all together in one file. He was pasting one snippet in when the final frame caught his eye. Someone was coming into the picture, a hand and leg, frozen as they walked towards the counter. He went back to the original footage and pressed play. Mina was turning towards the door. The man coming in stopped her. They were talking for just over a minute.
Den replayed the footage. It was a difficult angle, but the man was tall, with a clean-shaven head, and he was wearing work clothes and a high-vis jacket.
The clock in the right-hand corner of the screen ticked on. It was after four now. Where had Dad gone? He was used to Dad’s insomnia, the pacing, the dark shadows under his eyes in the mornings, and, yes, he came and went at odd times of the night. But to do it when the whole estate was in agony over a missing girl. What was going on?
The more he thought about it, the worse it seemed.
At ten past five, Den heard a noise at the side door. He was determined to confront Dad, have it out with him, not to let him slink upstairs this time and pretend nothing was happening. He pushed the chair back, jumped up and went through to the hallway.
There was a small plastic bag on the floor. It was open and Den knew what was in it before he even got close – the smell was unmistakeable. He nudged it to one side with the tip of his slipper and yanked open the door, adrenaline surging through him. He stepped out in the street and looked around. He saw a figure running round the corner of the alleyway. It was too dark to distinguish much about them – if he was pushed he’d say male, tall, but that wouldn’t narrow things down much, would it?
He stepped back inside, quickly fetched some rubber gloves from the kitchen and picked up the bag. Wincing, he tied the handles into a knot and, holding it at arm’s length, went out again to put it in the dustbin. As he was closing the lid, he heard the familiar sound of their van’s engine and, sure enough, it came round the corner and pulled into their parking space.
Dad got out. He walked over to Den slowly, shoulders hunched.
‘What are you doing up? We’re not opening today.’
‘I was waiting for you, Dad, and then I was dealing with the present that someone posted through the door.’
‘The what?’
‘Someone posted a bag of shit through the door just now. I’ve put it in the bin. You can see it there if you don’t believe me.’
‘No, no, I believe you. Just now? Come on, let’s get in the van, see if we can find them. They can’t be far away.’
He was already halfway back to the driver’s door.
‘And then what? Beat the crap out of him? Have a nice man-to-man chat and sort it all out with a bit of banter?’
Dad stopped. ‘Somewhere in between. Just make this stop. Make all this stop.’ There was something different about Dad. He’d lost his normal bullishness. He looked smaller, emptier, almost defeated. Den found him difficult to deal with in normal times, but this version was worse. This Dad made the knot in his stomach twist and tighten.
‘Dad—’ He was on the edge of asking him. Where did you go at four o’clock on Wednesday? Where do you go in the middle of the night?
‘What?’
He couldn’t do it. ‘I think we should open today.’
‘I don’t know, son. I don’t want to invite abuse.’
‘What happened to “When they go low, we go high”, Dad? Rise above it and all that.’
Dad stepped towards him, put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. ‘Ha! Maybe you’re right. Perhaps you’re growing a spine at last,’ he said.
He always knew how to hurt him. Was it deliberate or just a pattern they’d fallen into? Den wished that just once he could make Dad proud of him. This close, Den could smell the sourness of Dad’s stale sweat.
‘Do you want to go and get showered while I get ready to open up?’ he said.
Dad looked at him. ‘Yeah. Okay, son.’
He walked to the bottom of the stairs.
‘Dad!’
Dad stopped and looked back. ‘Yeah?’
‘You’ve never asked me if I had anything to do with this.’
‘I don’t need to ask, Den. I know you would never harm anyone.’
‘Because I haven’t got the balls,’ Den said, getting in there before his dad could.
‘No, mate. Because you are a decent man. I reckon you’ve got your mum to thank for that. It didn’t come from me.’