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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.’