Marty hammered on the door.

The man who opened it matched Mr Whitlaw’s description. Young with messy blond hair, dressed in muddy rugby shorts and socks.

A look of recognition flashed across Parrish’s face and his eyes widened. He began pushing the door closed.

‘Do you have her?’ Marty demanded, jamming his foot into the gap. ‘Do you have my daughter?’

‘No, of course not.’ Fear danced across the man’s face.

‘You were there when she went missing,’ Marty shouted. ‘You were at the shops.’

‘No—I was at school all day.’

Parrish tried again to push the door shut. Marty rammed his weight against it, knocking the younger man off balance and sending him sprawling backwards onto the tiled floor.

‘What the hell?’ Brendan groaned. ‘You can’t come in here. I’ll call the police.’

The edge of the door had caught him, cutting the skin. Blood dripped down his forehead.

Adrenaline pumping, Marty stepped around the slumped man and raced along the short hallway. He thrust open the first door into a room with a desk and chair.

‘Bella, where are you?’ Marty shouted.

The only hiding place was under the desk. Once he’d seen that was clear, Marty moved on. Bathroom. Toilet. Bedroom. Yanking back the doona. Crouching to check under the bed. Empty. Slamming open the mirrored sliding doors on the built-in cupboard. Marty rifled through the clothes, pulling the hangers to one side as he searched for spots where a child could be hidden.

‘I’m calling the police right now,’ he heard the teacher yell behind him. ‘Don’t touch my stuff. Get out of my study. Get out of my house!’

Marty spotted a shed in the backyard. There! She must be in there. Running across the grass, he imagined Bella locked inside, crying in the dark. He was going to kill the fucker. The shed had a large padlock wrapped around a bolt on the metal door. Marty banged against it.

‘Bella, are you in there? It’s Dadda, I’m coming to get you.’

Jiggling the padlock, Marty realised he couldn’t break it off. He retraced his steps to the small kitchen. The man was holding a clump of tissues against his forehead, the phone in his other hand.

‘Give me the key to the shed,’ Marty hissed.

The fucker recoiled, shrinking behind a kitchen stool.

‘Don’t you dare touch me. The police will be here any minute.’

‘Get me the key!’

Snivelling, the teacher inched over to the cutlery drawer and pulled a key ring from it.

‘I told you, I don’t know anything about Bella,’ he said as he tossed the key towards Marty. ‘You’ve got this all wrong. She’s not here.’

Ignoring the man’s entreaties, Marty sprinted back to the shed. His hands were shaking and it took a few moments to get the key into the lock.

‘I’m coming, Bella. I’m coming.’