He kept surveying the area but there appeared to be no imminent danger to the principal. Just people dancing, gossiping and joking with one another. A normal, noisy, drunken wedding party.

Seguma barked at a waiter and held up his empty glass, making the universal gesture for a refill. To the west, at the edge of the ballroom, Lungu sat tapping out messages on her phone.

Then a scream pierced the air.

Six

Six

The scream came from across the ballroom. From the direction of the dance floor. Bowman swung his gaze back to the president. Seguma sat rigid, still holding his whisky tumbler. Staring at the body seven or eight metres away.

Freddie Lang.

The mobster lay sprawled on his back to the right of the dance floor. Arms locked at his sides, his body writhing spasmodically. Broken glass scattered around him. Some of the guests hurriedly backed away from Lang. Putting a safe distance between themselves and whatever was happening to him. Others stood transfixed. On the stage, the band was still playing a Bonnie Tyler cover.

Bowman leaped up and dashed across the room, shouting at the top of his voice. ‘Out of my way!’ he yelled. ‘Security services! Stand back!’

He cleared a path through the crowd. Kember hurried after him, shoving people aside. They knelt down either side of Lang while Bowman made a quick assessment. The guy was in a bad way. His skin was pallid. His glasses had slipped off; his eyes were like egg whites, his pupils the size of pinpricks. His jaw was so tight it looked as if it had been wired shut. His clothes were soaked through with sweat.

‘Mr Lang?’ Bowman peered into his eyes. They were drowsy, vacant, dull. ‘Can you hear me? Are you OK?’

Lang made a choking sound. Bowman fixed his gaze on one of Wentworth’s mates. A chubby, round-faced guy with curly dark hair. He stared at Lang, as if in a trance.

‘You. Call an ambulance,’ Bowman said. ‘Everyone else, get back! Back, now!’

The chubby guy fumbled for his phone in his jacket pocket. Lang started convulsing.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Kember asked. ‘Drug overdose?’

‘I don’t understand,’ Wentworth cut in. ‘He was fine a few minutes ago. Then he came out of the washroom and started going on about how someone had mugged him.’

Bowman looked up at him. ‘Who?’

‘He didn’t say. I just thought he’d had too much to drink. Or someone might have been playing a joke on him.’

Bowman glanced over at the door leading to the foyer and the toilets. He thought about the two BGs he’d seen. The strap, hanging out of Bucket Head’s jacket pocket. He remembered what Kember had said about the washroom being closed off.