Anyone seeing us would probably have thought we were old college friends off to a reunion, especially as once again Kenny Rogers was blasting through the squeaky speakers, Muddy and O singing along happily. We were happy with ourselves and with life. For the first time it looked like we might not only survive the case but also break it. All I needed was to get Joshua a little rattled. My phone rang. It was a Nairobi number that I didn’t know. I answered. It was Abu Jamal, and even before I heard what he had to say I knew it was going to be bad news. ‘Listen, man, you are in hot soup, as you Americans say,’ he began. In spite of his convoluted way of speaking there was an urgency in his voice and I immediately turned down the Kenny Rogers so that I could hear him properly. O and Muddy started to protest but the look on my face silenced them. ‘What are you saying, Jamal?’ I asked. ‘I’m on my way out?’ ‘Look behind you.’ I looked at the traffic behind us in the wing mirror but could see nothing out of the ordinary.
