His thoughts drifted then to K and the woman he’d brought with him last time they’d met, his boss. Salim had been surprised by the level of security they’d insisted on for meetings and had wondered if it was all done to impress him. But the more he got into his work for K, the more he saw the point of it. For the first time he was beginning to feel anxious, scared even. It wasn’t just because of Abdi Bakri’s frostiness and the way his pale brown eyes seemed to bore into Salim, looking for his secrets. In the study group the others had never been particularly friendly or welcoming, but the previous day they hadn’t spoken to him at all, just turned their backs on him with barely concealed hostility. Yes, he felt scared, and suddenly he thought of Jamila; he didn’t want to put her into any danger. He decided he must tell K about all this and look for reassurance. He sat up slightly taller in his seat. He didn’t want to stop his work for K and his lady boss. It was worth the danger if it kept innocent people from being killed.
Salim’s stop was approaching, and he got up from his seat and edged towards the stairs. The whole bus was packed. People were even standing on the upper deck and on the stairs themselves. He worked his way slowly down, muttering repeated apologies as he trod on toes and elbowed other passengers. At last he reached the steel-ridged platform at the bottom where he found himself wedged between a fat black woman with shopping bags to either side of her, and a businessman in a suit and tie, who was holding a briefcase in one hand while his other gripped the pole on the platform. Salim slid his hand on to the pole awkwardly, just above the man’s, and steadied himself as the bus bumped along.
Then they slowed down, and he turned to the back edge of the platform, ready to get off. But there was still a hundred yards to go, and the bus suddenly accelerated, lurching forward so that Salim had to struggle to keep his balance. He was being pressed from behind by the small crowd of people standing around him on the platform. He gripped the pole more tightly, but the pressure didn’t ease, and when he tried to turn, he found his shoulders were wedged tightly against the fat woman and the businessman. Swivelling his head, he caught a glimpse of a man behind him: an Asian, bearded, young as Salim himself, and familiar. Was he from the mosque? Or was he the man Salim had just seen in his uncle’s shop? He tried to get a better look, but the pressure on his back was growing more intense and he simply couldn’t move.
He turned to the fat woman to ask her to move over, but stopped when a sharp shove in the small of his back made him arch backwards. Then he felt an excruciating stinging sensation in the hand that was gripping the pole. Automatically he let go, and at the same moment felt one of his feet slide on the steel platform. To his astonishment, he realised that he was being swept off the back of the bus.
He hit the street half-standing, landing on one foot as if he had jumped off the bus. But his leg crumpled underneath him and he fell heavily to one side, his elbow cracking against the kerb. And then his head hit the hard asphalt surface of the road.
A dim recollection of an egg being cracked ran through his mind as pain seared through both temples. The breath was knocked out of him as he rolled over the street. He was dimly aware of lights coming towards him. It’s a van, he thought vaguely, and managed to lift up one arm, half in protest, half in self-defence, just before he blacked out.
It was 5 in the morning when the phone rang but Liz wasn’t asleep. She’d done no more than doze all night. She’d got back to her flat at midnight feeling intensely frustrated. Dave Armstrong hadn’t been able to raise Boatman on his mobile; he’d finally rung the landline at his house and got his wife, who turned out not to have heard from her husband either and was worried sick. As was Liz.
Now it was Dave again, and Liz heard the urgency in his voice. ‘Liz, it’s me. I’ve located Boatman. He’s had an accident.’
‘How bad?’
‘Bad, but not terminal. The hospital thought he’d fractured his skull but the X-ray’s come back negative. He’s got a broken arm and jaw and another hairline fracture, but he’s conscious again, and the doctor says he’ll recover fully in time.’
‘What happened?’
‘He fell off the back of a bus. Literally.’
‘Fell?’
‘The hospital’s choice of words.There were plenty of witnesses – the bus was packed. Apparently, he’d come down the stairs at the back and was standing on the platform, waiting for his stop. Somehow he lost his footing – he was lucky not to get run over.’
‘When was this?’
‘Yesterday evening on his way home from work. He’s been in hospital ever since. Luckily there was a policeman nearby in the street when it happened, and he must have had some doubts about how Boatman came to fall off the bus. He made some inquiries, word got back to DI Fontana, and he rang me. That was an hour ago.’
