He tried Dad’s number one more time. Nothing. The fire crews were training their hoses through the first-floor windows now, trying to quench the flames from above. The café and the flat were gone, but Den hoped to God they could stop it spreading to either side.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun round. It was Marlon in his high-vis jacket.
‘I’m so sorry about the café, man.’
Den looked at him. Those words. They could be sympathy or apology. Den searched the other man’s face for clues. What was going on here?
‘Are you?’ he said. ‘Sorry?’
Marlon looked surprised. ‘Yeah … ’course.’
‘Well, just keep it to yourself.’
‘Den, that’s enough,’ Mum said.
Marlon held his hands up. ‘Hey, mate, just being a good neighbour.’
‘You’re not welcome here.’ Den repeated Marlon’s words back to him.
‘Den!’
Marlon started walking away, saying, ‘It’s okay. It’s cool.’ He was almost out of earshot when Den heard the stinger: ‘Hell of a way to get rid of evidence, though.’
Den narrowed his eyes. He could feel Mum’s hand on his arm but nothing would stop him now.
‘What did you say?’
Marlon turned his head. A little smile was flickering at the corner of his mouth. He was laughing at him. A red surge of fury ripped through Den. All the frustration and anger and hurt of the past few days crystallised in this moment. He barged at Marlon with both hands out and shoved him hard in the middle of his ribcage. Caught off guard, Marlon staggered sideways, lost his footing and fell to the ground.
Den stood over him, fighting the urge to kick his head and keep kicking. The man was sprawled out at an awkward angle. Den looked down at Marlon’s work boots. They were spattered with paint. Nothing unusual there, he supposed, except that in the glow of the fire it looked as if it was red. Red paint. Like the stuff that had been daubed across their shutters, that was now, no doubt, blistering against the metal as it twisted and buckled.
Red paint. Dog mess. Their tormentor had been a grown man, not a bunch of kids. Did he hate them enough to set fire to the café? What if Marlon had wanted to get rid of the CCTV footage? Could this really be his work and not Dad’s after all?
‘Did you do this? Was this you?’ Den shouted, his outstretched arm indicating the burning building.
Marlon held his arm across his forehead, shielding himself. ‘No, mate. You’ve got me all wrong.’
Den pulled his foot back, ready to aim a kick.
Mum grabbed his arm. ‘Den, what are you doing?’
‘This guy,’ he said. ‘He’s the one harassing us – the paint and everything. He was talking to Mina a few days before she disappeared. It was on our CCTV. I reckon it was him hanging about the school too.’
People were gathering round now. A uniformed police officer had joined them. Den recognised her as Jodie, one of the ones liaising with Sandy.
‘You need to search the building site in Sycamore Road,’ he said. ‘I think that’s where he’s got her. He’s in and out there seven days a week.’
Marlon was sitting up now, holding his hands up as if in surrender. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa – I might have sprayed a bit of paint around, but I never took that little girl. Yeah, I spoke to her, but she’s in my daughter’s class; I wanted her to give Rosa a message. I’m in and out of the site because I live there. I’ve had nowhere else to go since my wife kicked me out.’
Jodie stepped forward. ‘I need you to come with me, sir. I’m arresting you on suspicion of criminal damage.’ That’ll do for starters, Den thought. There were jeers coming from the crowd as Marlon got to his feet, some of them aimed at Jodie, others at Marlon.
‘Leave him. He hasn’t done anything! That’s harassment. This is the guy that attacked him!’ one of Marlon’s mates shouted, gesturing at Den.
But others had Mina uppermost in their minds. ‘They’ve got him!’ someone shouted. ‘He’s the one!’
People were starting to push and shove. There was an edge to it all, like things could really kick off. Den could see that Jodie was determined but there was a glint of uncertainty in her eyes, even fear. She radioed for help, as she was jostled in the back and nearly lost her footing.
Marlon, towering over her, put his hand under her elbow to support her. Then he looked around at the crowd. ‘Hey, it’s all cool. I’m going. It’s fine. Everyone calm down.’ It seemed he wasn’t ready to relinquish his community leader status yet and his words had some effect on the people nearest to them.
The crowd parted and Den watched as Marlon let himself be led towards a squad car.
Was this nearly tied up now? Was Marlon telling the truth or would a search of the site finally find Mina? Den looked towards the wreckage of his home and a thought that had been niggling him earlier, before he went to see Kath, was back again.
Now he remembered what he’d wanted to ask her. The umbrella. Mina had it with her, tucked into her bag on Wednesday. If she had dumped it when leaving the café, Harry, the relief cleaner, would have picked it up when he was doing the bins on Thursday morning. So it must have appeared sometime on Thursday. If Mina had left it there, she would have been seen. Someone else had put it there. Someone had planted it.
Thursday was the day that more evidence had turned up in the form of Mina’s scrunchie, too. He or Dad swept the floor every night after closing. They never went upstairs without leaving the café spick and span. How, then, had Kath spotted it on the floor by a table on Thursday afternoon? Kath, with her glasses as thick as bottle ends, her wheezy chest and dodgy knees. She’d somehow seen the scrunchie, which was right next to her, and made great efforts to lean down and pick it up. He could see it now, and in his mind’s eye he zoomed in on her hand. It would be so easy to pretend to pick up something that you were already holding.
A squad car was moving slowly off now, light flashing, siren going, but Den headed in the opposite direction, shoving his way through the crowd until he broke free and started running, faster than he’d ever run in his life before, towards Nelson House.