In the Evil Day Read Online Free Page B

longhaired man into Zander’s path. The man went to one knee. Zander tried to avoid him but he couldn’t. His left leg made contact with the man. He lost his balance, fell sideways, bounced off the ground, came to his feet like a marionette pulled up by strings.
    It was too late. The boy was gone, the crowd closed behind him. Zander paused, uncertain, looked back. Serrano had joined the woman, outrage and desperation on his face, both arms in the air. Zander got the message, turned to take off after the boy again, realised it was hopeless, stopped and walked back to Serrano. Serrano was enraged. Anselm could see spit leave his mouth, see Zander recoil. Neither of them looked at the woman, she’d failed them.
    Two policemen arrived, one talking into his throat mike. The woman was on her feet, nose bleeding a little, blood black in the artificial light, her right hand massaging her breastbone. Her hair had come loose and she had to brush it back with her left hand. She looked much younger, like a teenager.
    A third policeman appeared, told the crowd to get moving, the excitement was over.
    The woman was telling her story to the two cops. They were shaking their heads.
    Anselm looked at Tilders, who was looking at his watch. Anselm felt the inner trembling, a bad sign. He went over to the newspaper kiosk, bought an Abendblatt . The economy was slowing, the metalworkers’ union was making threats, another political bribery scandal in the making. He went back, stood behind Tilders.
    ‘How long?’
    ‘Five minutes.’
    Serrano and Zander were arguing, the short man’s hands moving, Zander tossing his head, arms slack at his sides. Serrano made a dismissive gesture, final.
    Anselm said, ‘I think we’re at the limit here.’
    A tall man was coming through the crowd, a man wearing a cap, a blue-collar worker by his appearance. The throng parted for him. In one hand, he had the gypsy boy by the scruff of the neck, in the other, he had the photographer’s case, held up as if weightless.
    The woman and the policemen went towards them. When they were a few metres away, the boy squirmed like a cat, turned towards his captor, stamped on his left instep, punched him in the stomach. The man’s face contorted, he lost his grip on his captive and the boy was gone, flying back the way he had first fled.
    ‘What can you do?’ said the man to the woman. ‘The scum are taking over the whole world. Is this yours?’
    Serrano came up behind the woman. He was flushed, had money in his hand, notes, a wad, offered it. The man in the cap shrugged, uncertain. ‘It’s not necessary,’ he said. ‘It’s a citizen’s duty.’
    ‘Many thanks,’ said Serrano, taking the case. ‘Take the money. You deserve it.’
    The man took the money, looked at it, put it in his hip pocket. ‘I’ll buy the children something,’ he said. He turned and walked back the way he’d come, limping a little from the stomp.
    Tilders went on his way. Anselm forced himself to take his time leaving, found the car parked in a no-standing zone, engine running. In Mittelweg, Fat Otto, the man who had bumped the innocent commuter into Zander’s path, said, ‘Kid’s something, isn’t he? Deserves a bonus.’
    ‘Deserves to be jailed now before he’s even more dangerous,’ said Anselm.
    His mobile rang. Tilders, the expressionless tone. ‘They got about fifty pages. Out of two hundred, they guess.’
    ‘That’s good. Get it printed.’
    ‘The reason it took three to transport the case,’ said Tilders, ‘is probably the diamonds.’
    ‘Ah.’
    Anselm took out his mobile and rang Bowden International. O’Malley was in this time. ‘About fifty pages. Out of perhaps two hundred.’
    ‘Good on you. As much as could be expected. I’ll send someone.’
    This is the moment, Anselm thought. ‘We’ll need the account settled in full on delivery,’ he said. ‘Including bonus.’
    ‘What’s this? We don’t pay our bills?’
    Anselm closed his eyes. He’d