‘We’ve lost them.’
Lamb’s voice came over the radio just as Fontana pulled up at the back entrance to the park. By coming this way, he’d managed to avoid the worst of the traffic. ‘no access to concert’ read a makeshift notice stuck on the gate. A couple of stewards wearing armbands were directing hopefuls around to the other side of the park.
The radio crackled and Lamb’s voice came through again: ‘Both targets were together outside the entrance gates two minutes ago, but we lost them in the crowd.’
‘Damn!’ said Fontana, banging his hand on the steering wheel in frustration.
‘Come on,’ said Liz. ‘Everyone’s looking for them. Let’s go and help.’
They left the car by the entrance. Fontana flashed his badge at the stewards and one of them opened the gate to let them in. The combined noise of the music and the audience was ear-splitting, even here behind the stage. Liz could see the vast crowd gathered in front of it, swaying to the music as the girls began to sing. A group of roadies stood smoking by the short flight of steps that led up to the rear of the stage. As a policeman walked towards them, waving his arm, they ground their cigarettes out in the grass.
Fontana was on his radio, talking to the crowd-control officer in charge of the concert, who was saying, ‘Four armed officers in the front few rows, ready to intercept anyone trying to reach the stage. The others combing the crowd. All uniform have the description of the suspect and the girl.’
The officer went on, ‘We’ve taken the decision to let the concert carry on. There’s a serious risk the crowd will panic and stampede for the exit if we make any announcement or try to stop it now.’
Fontana shook his head. ‘I’m sure he’s right,’ he said to Liz. ‘But I’m glad it’s his call and not mine.’
From where she now stood, by the side of the open-air stage, Liz had a clear view of the crowd. At the front it was overwhelmingly female, young Asian girls happily singing along with the group. Many of them were dancing to the music; a few sat on the shoulders of their friends, waving their hands from side to side in time to the rhythm. Finding anyone in this throng was like looking for a needle in a haystack. The only hope was that a single male figure would stick out in this predominantly female crowd. But the audience stretched almost to Stratford Road, and further back there were couples and families. If Tahira and Malik were still together and towards the back of the crowd, finding them would be well-nigh impossible. Liz did a rough calculation and reckoned there must be five thousand people in the park.
And then, incredibly, she saw Tahira. She was standing by herself to one side, just outside the ropes that cordoned off the audience enclosure, near a huge television screen. She was holding something in her hand, and looking to one side. There was no sign of Malik.
‘I see the girl,’ Liz shouted at Fontana over the din. ‘Tell your men Malik will be on his own.’
She ran along the edge of the vast crowd, outside the ropes. No one paid any attention to her; all eyes were glued to the stage as Banditti began to sing a new song. The noise was deafening, and when Liz shouted at Tahira as she drew closer, it was like shouting into the mouth of a gale. Liz could see the girl clearly now; she was holding her mobile, looking as if she were trying to make a call. When Liz reached her, out of breath and panting, Tahira still hadn’t seen her. She tapped her on the shoulder and Tahira looked up in astonishment.
‘I was just ringing you,’ she said.
‘Where’s Malik?’
‘He’s gone.’
Fontana joined them as Liz asked urgently, ‘Did he leave the park?’ Tahira shook her head. ‘He started to, but then he moved into the crowd.’ She pointed at the semi-hysterical mass of girls.
Fontana shook his head. ‘How are we going to find him in that?’
‘You might spot him,’ said Tahira. ‘He’s wearing a baseball cap now. He put it on when we got inside the gates. It’s orange.’
Fontana began shouting into his radio while Liz scanned the audience. Her heart sank as she scanned a sea of pulsating bodies and countless flashes of orange – baseball caps, and Chick Peas T-shirts emblazoned on the back with the band’s bright orange logo.
Then she felt a sharp nudge in her ribs. ‘I can see him,’ cried an agitated Tahira. ‘He’s taken his cap off. Look, he’s that one there, pushing through the crowd.’ She gestured towards the middle of the audience, about halfway between where they stood and the stage. Liz peered at the waving throng, then she suddenly spotted a bareheaded man, moving through the crowd, slowly working his way towards the stage. It was Malik.
‘Look, can you see him?’ Liz said to Fontana, lifting her arm to point to the figure forcing his way through the onlookers.
Fontana stared and stared, then suddenly said, ‘Got him!’ He spoke into his radio, and listened to the response crackling back. He shook his head in frustration. ‘There’s no one near him. We’re going to lose him again.’
But Malik was clearly visible now. He was no longer heading for the stage, but was moving slowly towards the rope cordoning off their side of the crowd. Fontana was on the radio again, giving a running commentary. ‘He’s coming out of the crowd. Left-hand side facing the stage… halfway down…’
He turned to Liz. ‘He must have found he couldn’t get through all those people.’
They stood watching, the distant figure becoming clearer with every second that passed. Two armed policeman came running from the side of the stage just as Malik – distinguishable now in his suit jacket – pushed his way out of the heaving mob of girls and started to run along beside the rope towards the stage.
Then he saw the two policemen ahead of him and hesitated. One hand moved towards his jacket pocket, and for a moment Liz thought he was going to blow himself up right there. One of the policemen shouted at him – Liz could see his lips working furiously. His colleague was crouching, his weapon held in both hands, aimed and ready to fire.
But Malik must have changed his mind. His hand came out of his pocket again and he turned round, now facing their little group of three, less than a hundred yards away. He started running towards them, moving awkwardly in his heavy jacket.
Liz heard Tahira shriek, and Fontana stepped in front to shield them. The two policemen sprinting after Malik were catching up fast. Both had their weapons out now, and both were shouting – though with the music so loud there was no chance Malik would hear them.
He was now only fifty yards away from Liz and Tahira, but the two Special Branch men were very close behind. They were trying to get into a position where they could fire away from the crowd and avoid hitting Liz and her two companions.
Malik was within thirty yards now and suddenly his hand moved quickly into his jacket again. Both policemen fired. The Glock pistols made a flat metallic noise, hardly audible over the beat of the Chick Peas’ backing band.
As Tahira screamed Malik fell, flat on his face. He lay unmoving on the ground as blood seeped slowly out of his head.