“Hey, you kids! What are you doing in here?” A man in a set of blue overalls, singed and stained all over, a yellow hard-hat on his head, strode along the side of the building. He held a cigarette in one hand. He looked angry at the sight of them. “You can't come in here. I'll call the police.”
It was Danny that replied, using the polite voice he reserved for teachers and other old people. “No, it's OK. This is Cait Weerd. Her father was killed in the fire here two years ago. The guard on the gate said we could come in and look around. Cait needs to … come to terms with what happened.”
It was a huge gamble. The man might not have worked here back then. And the lie about the guard would be easy to disprove. But the man looked unsure of himself. They might get away with it. Cait glanced at
