Death By Dangerous (19 page)

The lift was broken again. By the time he'd walked across Manchester and made his way up to Adey's flat, Anderson was exhausted. The smell of Adey's cooking welcomed him.

‘I thought I'd do a traditional Somali dish for you,' she shouted cheerfully from the kitchen. ‘
Cambuulo
, it's made from azuki beans.'

Anderson's eyes welled up. Any gesture, even a hot meal, meant so much. A bundle of emotions, he was at breaking point.

‘Jesus, you look terrible, what's happened? Hussain said you had quite a good day with Tilly and Connor?'

Anderson updated her, his voice giving out several times.

Without thinking she pulled him into her arms.

For the first time in his adult life, John Anderson cried.

‘Let it out,' she whispered. It felt alien to her, to hold someone. She gave Anderson a rare smile, took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

‘What about the azuki beans?' he whispered.

She laughed. ‘Don't worry, they have to boil for hours.'

That evening John Anderson forgot everything, and afterwards, at long last, they both slept soundly.

‘Knock once more,' Taylor said to the team of officers outside number four on the second floor. The run down Victorian building in Burnage, converted into bedsits, was well known to the police. Any property in Manchester with a landlord who accepted cash and asked no questions attracted all sorts of itinerants and illegals.

Still no answer.

‘Right, force it,' he ordered.

The door smashed open and the officers went inside.

Taylor knew that smell – death.

They found Tredwell in the lounge, hanging from a beam, wearing only underpants. Eyes bulging out of his disfigured face and tongue dangling from his mouth, Taylor thought he resembled a toad. An upturned stool lay on the floor.

Taylor touched Tredwell's foot. ‘Stone bloody cold. I want to know how long he's been like this and I want all forensic results by morning. Clear?'

‘You'll be lucky, gov,' muttered Waters.

Taylor knew only too well what a strain there was on resources at GMP. ‘All right then, prioritise any weapons. Blood and DNA. If he killed Ahmed, I want to know about it as soon as.'

‘Get that down you, gov,' said Waters the next morning, putting a coffee on the desk.

A bleary-eyed Taylor hardly acknowledged the gesture. Chasing phones for Anderson, and now this development in the Ahmed murder. Another all-nighter; the missus wouldn't be happy. At least he'd booked the week in Marmaris. Hotel with a pool. He remembered how the kids went mad when they saw the brochure. Never used to plan anything, but for some reason the Anderson case had altered his outlook, made him realise how things can change in the blink of an eye. He shook his head in disbelief. Not even a murder and yet it had affected Taylor so profoundly.

Waters took a call. He shared the information with Taylor: ‘There's a lockdown, searching now.'

‘Good,' Taylor replied, getting wearily to his feet and taking a swig of coffee. ‘I'd better get over to Bradford and let everyone know the latest. I want to be updated the minute you find anything.'

‘And last night's corpse?'

‘As soon as the post-mortem is done, bury him.'

‘OK, gov.'

‘By the way, well done for getting the billing so quickly – these things never go unnoticed.'

Waters acknowledged the compliment. Unlike Taylor, he liked and respected his boss.

‘Got a minute?' DCI Armstrong called out to Taylor on his way out.

Taylor let out a surreptitious sigh and changed direction.

‘Come in, shut the door.'

Taylor obliged. Was it a bollocking or just checking up on him? He couldn't stand being monitored all the time. He wasn't a kid.

‘Congratulations on the Ahmed case.'

‘Thank you, but none necessary,' replied Taylor, surprised at the praise. ‘After all, we were too late to get our man.'

‘That's not down to you, or MIT. What about Anderson, how's that going?'

‘As expected.' Taylor's monosyllabic response made it obvious he was keen to make tracks.

The DCI nodded. ‘No surprises then?'

‘Only the phone calls, but they are unrelated. There's something about the case I just don't like.'

‘What?'

‘I dunno, call it a copper's nous.'

DCI Armstrong gave a condescending smile. ‘Why is it every detective hits his mid-forties and starts going soft?'

‘I've just never done a case before that's gone to trial when we only know half the story.'

‘The half we need to know – the driving. I know he was one of the good guys, but the long arm of the law touches us all.'

‘Anderson's team have found Butt's flat. It hasn't helped us to formally identify her. Our lack of resources is allowing them to steer this case.'

Armstrong appeared concerned. ‘Did it come out in court?'

‘Well, yes, but not that they found it. Hussain spared me that indignity.'

‘You know I haven't got the resources to send you on some wild goose chase.' Armstrong paused. ‘And anyway, sounds like we got away with it. Least said, soonest mended.'

‘There's nothing here, gov, is there? No disclosure they haven't had I should know about?'

Armstrong scoffed. ‘Relax, officer. No smoke and mirrors here.' Then: ‘That'll be all,' as if dismissing him from the headmaster's office.

Nothing was said. They both hated goodbyes. Not even a clinch at the door before Anderson set off. What was the point of acknowledging it might have been their first and last night together? In fact, nothing had been discussed at all. The age gap, their different histories, the fact Anderson was technically still married. Was it just two desperately lonely people reaching out? Needing comfort? To be held? Or was it more than that? There was too much going on to think things through.

A concerned Hussain greeted Anderson on the landing at Bradford Crown Court. Adey had updated Hussain about Anderson's latest trauma with the anonymous caller. ‘Mia and the kids OK?'

‘Yes. Shaken up, but they're fine.'

‘Any more calls?'

He shook his head.

‘Come on, Taylor wants to give us a load of info.'

‘What about?'

‘No idea.'

Hannah Stapleton chaired the meeting in the conference room, with Taylor and the CPS lawyers standing behind her. ‘There have been a few developments. I don't think they're disclosable because they don't assist your case, but because you are obsessed with conspiracy theories, and out of courtesy if nothing else, we are going to disclose some information.'

Hussain and Anderson exchanged glances.

‘First of all, Tahir, you are no longer a suspect in the Ahmed murder.'

The tension lifted immediately. Anderson placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. ‘That's great news.'

Stapleton continued: ‘A man you will both know was found dead this morning. Hanged himself. Martin Tredwell. As you know, DI Taylor is the OIC in that case. They believe Tredwell killed Ahmed.'

‘How so?' Hussain asked Taylor directly.

Taylor got the nod from Stapleton. ‘We found a mixed DNA profile at the murder scene, matching Tredwell. Once we'd located his latest address, we found a kitchen knife that matched the wounds on Ahmed's chest. Obviously been cleaned thoroughly, but ingrained in the wooden handle was a speck of blood, invisible to the naked eye – Ahmed's.'

Anderson was still catching up: ‘Tredwell killed himself?'

‘We think so.'

‘Why?'

Taylor shrugged. ‘Who knows? Crazy, wasn't he?'

Hussain and Anderson stood silently, taking it all in.

‘Tell them about the phone, officer,' said Stapleton.

Anderson guessed: ‘It was Tredwell who made that call yesterday?'

‘No, actually we don't think so,' replied Taylor. ‘He'd been dead at least twenty-four hours, probably longer. My team worked all last night on the number Mr Anderson gave me. We've been trying to do some cell-siting. It isn't an exact science, but when a mobile phone makes a call the signal usually goes via the nearest mast or cell-site.'

‘We understand the science, officer,' Anderson replied, desperate to know his findings.

‘When that number called your phone it went to a mast next to Her Majesty's Prison, Manchester.'

‘Strangeways?' exclaimed Anderson.

‘Yes. We got them to instigate a lockdown and they found the sim card only an hour ago, behind some grouting in the showers on E wing.'

‘We're going to need names of everyone on E wing,' demanded Hussain.

‘Forget it,' replied Stapleton. ‘That is highly sensitive and besides, any prisoner could use someone to conceal items on another wing. There are over 1200 inmates in Strangeways. We've only told you this to put Mr Anderson's mind at rest. DI Taylor's hunch that these crank calls were down to someone he prosecuted appears to have some merit. And we wanted Mr Anderson to know, before he gives evidence − so that he can concentrate − that this person is safely behind lock and key.'

Anderson appreciated the sentiment. ‘Thank you.'

Stapleton got up to leave. ‘We'll let you discuss matters and if you want I will recall DI Taylor.'

Once the prosecution team had left, Anderson spoke first: ‘It's a mistake to have Taylor recalled, that's why Stapleton offered.'

‘I agree. We can't demonstrate any link to your driving within these new revelations, it would look desperate.

‘Yes, let's stick with the Crown's paucity of evidence on tiredness.' Anderson thought again for a moment. ‘You know what really scares me on top of everything else, Tahir? That psycho is waiting for me in Strangeways.'

‘Try not to worry about that. If the worst happens, you'd probably go to Leeds from this court – Armley.'

That was some comfort to Anderson. He couldn't believe they were talking in these terms. Prison, surely not?

The usher knocked on the door then opened it. ‘Ten-thirty, into court please. Oh, and there's a gentleman here.'

Orlando West barged past her. ‘Hello, old chum,' he said, giving Anderson a hearty pat on the back and ignoring Hussain completely. ‘Your character witness here, ready to go.'

Anderson thanked his old pupil-master, feeling guilty for wondering whether he would actually show up.

‘Got to be in Liverpool for twelve. Abandoned my junior on a murder. I've spoken to Hannah, she's agreed to interpose me first thing, if that's all right with you, John?'

Anderson redirected the question to his lawyer.

Hussain agreed.

Anderson just had time to make a quick call to Mia. There was no point staying at her mother's any longer if this guy was locked up.

She was relieved to hear the news, and although the call was rushed, Anderson was surprised that she hadn't yet bothered to ask about the trial. Was she really that uninterested in his fate?

‘All parties in Anderson to Court One,' came through the tannoy.

As Anderson went through the door to the courtroom, Hussain pulled him back. ‘One thing, John, when you're in the box.'

Anderson registered Hussain's anxiety. ‘What?'

‘The lie in your police interview. I know it's unlikely, but Stapleton might spot it. She might ask if you lied.'

‘I know.'

‘I can't tell you to say you only remembered about Tilly in the second interview. That you didn't lie.' Hussain hesitated. ‘But if you admit the deception, the jury might not forgive you. You know that, don't you?'

Anderson ushered his lawyer into the courtroom. ‘Don't worry, Tahir. I'm sure she won't ask about it,' he said, failing to reveal that such concerns had been on his mind too.

West was magnificent in the box. Earnest and charming, he described his former pupil in glowing terms. Even Hussain thought so. As godfather to Anderson's wonderful children, he emphasised his friend's great integrity, honesty and sense of fair play, values he had held dear all his life. Stapleton didn't even cross-examine. It was the perfect platform for Anderson to give evidence.

West gave him a confident wink on his way out of court.

Then Hussain finally said the words Anderson had been dreading for weeks: ‘I call the defendant, John Anderson.'

The jury scrutinized Anderson as he made his way to the witness box. The usher put a bible in his trembling hand. ‘I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give…'

The same thought kept rattling around his head − he had absolutely no recollection of the drive home. What was he supposed to say? He caught sight of the Grangers sitting in the public gallery.

All eyes were on John Anderson.

Hussain began by steering the client through his career, careful not to overplay it or adduce anything of Anderson's privileged background. Then they came to the fateful day.

Anderson described going for a coffee with Tilly and how he left to watch his son play football − the last thing he could remember. He said that he wasn't tired; long days and late nights were commonplace, something which he had always handled with great ease. Hussain asked the usher to show Anderson the post-mortem photograph of Heena Butt. Anderson insisted that he'd never seen her before. He explained to the jury how he saw her face every night in his sleep and how he would never forget it.

‘It's the Crown's case, Mr Anderson,' Hussain asked with a final flurry, ‘that you are making this all up. You knew Miss Butt, you were tired and you knew you were tired. That you are pretending you can't remember anything. Is that true?'

Anderson directed his answer straight at the jury. ‘No, it is not true.' With his voice cracking up, he added: ‘I cannot remember that journey at all and I wish I knew why.'

Hussain sat down, elated at how well it had gone in chief. The jury had seen the real John Anderson. A sincere and broken man. Only the hardest of hearts could have failed to connect with the defendant.

Hannah Stapleton QC rose slowly to her feet, pulling her gown up around her shoulders and gently adjusting her wig. She knew this was where cases were won and lost. ‘Orlando West is an impressive man?'

‘Yes, he is.'

‘And a close friend of yours?'

‘Yes,' Anderson replied, full of emotion, recalling how West gave his evidence in support.

‘He thinks you are a man of great integrity. An honest man?'

Anderson blushed.

‘In fact he doesn't really know you at all, does he?'

Where was this going? ‘What do you mean?'

‘When you were first interviewed by the police you said the last thing you remember was leaving court?'

Oh no! Anderson could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knew what was coming. ‘Yes, I did.'

‘When, in your second interview, you were presented with evidence of someone seeing you with Tilly at Starbucks, you claimed that piece of information had slipped your mind, but then you remembered it?'

‘Yes.'

‘Do you believe in the criminal justice system, Mr Anderson?'

‘Yes I do.'

‘Did the oath that you took today mean anything to you?'

‘Yes it did.'

‘So, remembering that you are under oath, answer me this: did you lie in your first interview? Did you pretend that you couldn't remember going to Starbucks with Tilly because you didn't want anyone to know you were having a cosy tête-à-tête with a pretty young barrister?'

Anderson didn't answer. He looked across at Hussain, who was willing him to lie.

Anderson wrestled with his conscience.
It doesn't matter, you're innocent. Just lie. You're home and dry. A white lie. The end justifies the means.

‘Well, Mr Anderson?' Stapleton pressed.

Finally, John Anderson gave the only answer he could: ‘I panicked. I'm sorry.'

‘You lied?'

‘Yes.'

Game changer.

Hussain looked heavenwards and closed his eyes.

‘Did you tell Mr West that you lied to the police?'

‘No, I didn't.'

‘He doesn't really know you like we do, does he?' She cast a conspiratorial eye across to the jury.

Anderson didn't reply.

‘Mr Anderson?'

Silence.

‘Not only are you in fact a liar, you lied in this very case, didn't you?'

With a hint of irritation at Stapleton's persistence: ‘Yes, I've accepted I lied.'

‘And you expect the jury to believe that you can't remember anything else?'

Anderson could only shrug.

‘You remember what suits you, when it suits you, don't you, Mr Anderson?'

Whispers amongst the jury.

Hussain was crestfallen.

Everyone in court, including Anderson, knew the importance of what had just happened.

It would take a miracle to save him now.