Bakri was tall and very dark, towering in his long white robes; his big sepia-coloured eyes were staring out from behind simple gold-rimmed spectacles. Salim had heard he was Sudanese, but he had never spoken to the imam alone before, and felt nervous in the presence of this daunting figure. He hoped the cleric would put his nervousness down to his being alone with him, rather than to anything else.
‘Yes?’ Abdi Bakri’s voice was mild.
‘Forgive me, but I was wondering if you had ever had a student called Amir Khan,’ Salim replied, stuttering slightly.
Abdi Bakri’s eyes studied him carefully. Then he said, ‘The name is not unfamiliar.’
Salim nodded and tried to smile. ‘I was hoping to make contact with him. It turns out he is a cousin of mine.’
Abdi Bakri did not return the smile. ‘We are all brothers here, as I have taught you.’
‘Of course,’ said Salim hastily. ‘But I thought… it would be polite to say hello.’
The imam shook his head. ‘I do not know where he is now. He left the city some time ago.’ He paused then said pointedly, ‘I would suggest you make no further enquiries.’
Salim felt the strange sepia eyes scrutinising him, and sweat beaded his upper lip. He thanked the imam and left the mosque in a hurry, not waiting for prayers. He was sure now that the imam knew where Amir Khan had gone; sure also that he was not going to pass the information on. But at least Salim could tell K when they met the following evening that, yes, Khan had definitely been a student at the mosque.
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.
Chapter 37
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.’
‘Is Boatman safe there?’
‘Fontana’s had him moved to a private room on the pretext that he needs quiet, and he’s put a Special Branch officer in plain clothes, who’s pretending to be a relative, inside with him. I don’t think we’ve any worries on that score. It’s when he gets out that I’ll be concerned.’
‘Me too.’ Liz was fully awake now. ‘Listen, I’m going to drive up. I’ll come straight to the hospital. Can you meet me there in two hours or so?’
‘That’s where I am now. I’ll wait here unless something else crops up.’
‘What about his wife? We can’t leave her out there. She may not be safe.’
‘Fontana’s gone to pick her up. He’s told her to pack a few things in a suitcase but he’s leaving the detailed explanations to us. He’s told her not to tell anyone else what’s happened for the time being.’
‘Good. Let’s hope that holds the situation for now. Any media interest?’
‘Not so far. The hospital press office has been told to play it low-key – just a straightforward accident.’
‘OK, Dave. Thanks. I’ll talk to Mrs Boatman when I get there but it looks like a full-scale exfiltration job. I’ll get Peggy to alert the team to expect a hospital case and a shell-shocked wife. That’ll give them something to think about!’
The ward was in a small two-storey wing, tucked away behind the enormous main block of the hospital. From reception Liz could see Dave standing by the nurse’s station, and he came down the corridor to greet her, saying, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’