Anderson was flattered.
‘I’ve got every lawyer and trainee in the firm working on your case, waiting in the conference room. Come through.’
Anderson followed Hussain into the back room. Peeling, white wallpaper and a dirty red carpet in the centre of which was an oval-shaped wooden dining table with six mismatched chairs. Only one seat was taken – by Adey Tuur.
‘Hi, only me I’m afraid,’ she said, expecting disappointment.
Her instincts were wrong. He’d hoped she would be at the conference.
‘Take a seat, John. You remember Adey, don’t you? She will be doing the day-to-day case prep as well as some digging.’
Anderson was sure he blushed as he gave her an appreciative smile.
Wasting no time on pleasantries, she asked, ‘Who did that to your face?’
‘It’s nothing. I was drunk.’ Anderson was embarrassed by his pathetic explanation.
Adey tutted. She didn’t like being lied to.
Hussain changed the subject. ‘Right, let’s get started. You’ll be pleased to hear that I stayed behind at court and managed to beg a full bundle of deps and transcripts of both interviews. It’s not paginated and I haven’t got the unused material, but it’s a start. I’ve only skimmed it, but Adey’s had a proper read.’
Adey handed Anderson a copy of the bundle. ‘You’ll see that they haven’t been able to formally identify the deceased yet. It’s clear from your interview that the police are assuming it’s someone called Heena Butt. So we’ll work on that basis for now.’
Hussain agreed. ‘There were probably some documents on her. They’ll be in the unused material. We’ll let you know when the schedule is served.’
‘OK. Initial thoughts?’ Anderson asked.
‘A very compelling case compounded by two terrible interviews.’ Hussain saw Anderson’s disappointment at the analysis, then added: ‘I won’t lie to you.’
Anderson agreed with the approach.
‘The Crown’s case is that you drove knowingly tired, fell asleep, veered across the carriageway into a vehicle travelling in the nearside lane, causing the death of rear seat passenger Molly Granger, and your own passenger, Heena Butt.’
Anderson winced every time he heard the enormity of the allegations against him.
‘John, before we start going down the road of potential defences, is there anything that you didn’t tell the police that we should know?’ Hussain paused. ‘Or any lies you told?’
Anderson hadn’t expected this so soon. It was a critical moment. If he didn’t come clean with his legal team, his whole case would be based on a false premise. And if it came out later, all trust between them would be lost. He dreaded having to admit it.
No choice, he had to grasp the nettle: ‘There was a lie in my interview.’
‘OK, which was?’
To Anderson’s relief, Hussain seemed unsurprised by the admission. ‘I didn’t mention Tilly in the first interview. I always remembered going for a coffee with her. The last thing I remember, always remembered, was leaving Starbucks.’
‘Why lie?’
‘I didn’t want anyone to know I’d been having a quiet drink with a twenty-five-year-old woman. People might have thought…’ He checked himself. ‘Mia might have thought that I was having an affair.’
‘And were you?’
‘No.’
‘Were you hoping to?’
‘Maybe. Yes,’ Anderson replied. ‘But I changed my mind and left.’
‘Got cold feet, did you?’ Adey asked, grinning. ‘If you’d shagged her you might not be in this mess.’
‘That thought hadn’t escaped me,’ he replied. Adey’s frankness, as well as his own, was curiously liberating.
‘Anything else?’ asked Hussain.
‘No that’s it.’
‘OK, do you have any medical conditions?’
‘Not that I am aware of.’
‘All right, so there are three potential defences here. The first is medical. Something happened, beyond your control, that caused you to lose consciousness; some kind of seizure, or neurological event. Or possibly a pre-existing medical condition of which you were unaware, such as sleep apnoea.’
‘Which would raise the defence of non-insane automatism?’
‘Yes. We’ll have you examined over the next week or so by various medical experts.’
‘OK,’ replied Anderson, pleased with the way his lawyers were attacking the case. ‘And the other two defences?’
‘That Butt was in some way responsible. Whether it was a robbery, a fight or whatever. And the third,’ he said, getting up and going over to a white board fixed to the wall, ‘is that somehow you were set up.’ He picked up a marker pen and wrote at the top: ‘Suspects’. ‘Adey is going to see what she can turn up. It’s a massive job, so let’s try and narrow down the field for her?’ Hussain wrote the name Heena Butt.
Anderson was in no doubt about the next name on the list. ‘You can add Waqar Ahmed to that list.’
Hussain wrote the name, then said, ‘The third name is my own.’ He wrote ‘Tahir Hussain’.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Anderson. ‘I know you didn’t have anything to do with it.’
‘Do you? You think I’m a bent lawyer, too close to my clients. Acquittal for Ahmed was acquittal for me. Don’t tell me it didn’t cross your mind that I was involved?’
Anderson was embarrassed. ‘OK, it did briefly, but now I know better. Know you better. Cross it out.’
‘There’s no room for sentiment here, John. Only an unanswerable argument will remove any name from the list.’
Anderson felt ashamed. Out of practice, he racked his brain for an argument. Eventually: ‘All right then, you’re not mentally unstable, so your motive could only have been ambition or money. Not being caught would be crucial. My pleading guilty would have ensured that, buried the truth, and yet you came to court and persuaded me to change my plea. That would risk exposing you in the trial process. Doesn’t make sense.’
Hussain smiled. ‘Very good.’ He crossed out his name.
Anderson was impressed. Right at the start, Hussain had smoked out any nagging doubts Anderson had about his lawyer and then cleared the air. ‘Following that through, a lot of people advised me to plead guilty: Dewi Morgan, Forster, my head of chambers, and even my father.’ It pained him to reveal his lack of support from elsewhere.
‘I think we need more than just negative advice on plea at this stage to make them a suspect. After all, the evidence is, on the face of it, overwhelming.’
Anderson was relieved, particularly about his father; not that he thought for a moment he could be responsible.
‘What about your wife?’ suggested Adey, again with a cheeky grin.
‘Mia? Why?’
‘I heard she’s thrown you out. This is one way to get you out of the picture.’
‘Who told you that? It was because of the crash that we separated, and besides, she’d be destroying her only form of income.’
‘What’s she living on now?’ she asked.
Anderson paused before answering: ‘I don’t know.’
‘I don’t think we can eliminate her yet,’ said Hussain. He wrote the name Mia Anderson.
Adey didn’t hide her amusement.
Anderson couldn’t figure her out at all.
‘Anyone with opportunity?’ asked Hussain.
Anderson considered the question. ‘I don’t know what that means? I suppose you would have to say Tilly Henley-Smith. She was the last person to see me before the crash. But opportunity to do what? Hit me over the head? Drug me? When you say set me up, does that include trying to kill me?’
‘We’ll work that one out later. For now she goes on the list.’
Anderson typed the names on his iPad, as did Adey.
Hussain continued: ‘Does anyone hate you enough to do this to you?’
Anderson scoffed. ‘Of course not.’ On reflection, in jest, he offered, ‘Unless
you count Sam Connor? He told me the other day how much he dislikes me.’
‘And he got to take over for the prosecution in Ahmed,’ said Hussain.
‘And he saw you cosying up to his pupil in Starbucks,’ said Adey.
‘What?’ asked Anderson in surprise.
‘His statement is in the full bundle. He saw you there with Tilly. The statement you thought Tahir gave to the police − it was actually Connor.’
Anderson leaned back in his chair and took in the information. ‘Connor? Why would he come back? He said he was going back to chambers, and his car was in the opposite direction. He thought Tilly had gone home. They both turned down my offer of a coffee. Then Tilly came back.’
‘To avoid her pupil-master finding out she wanted a servicing from you?’ observed Adey. She had an uncanny insight into human nature.
‘Probably,’ replied Anderson.
‘Maybe Connor changed his mind? Felt bad, came back to join you?’
‘No chance,’ said Anderson.
Hussain added Sam Connor to the list. ‘Anyone else?’
‘Yes,’ said Adey. ‘Everyone Anderson has ever prosecuted to conviction.’
‘Everyone?’ Anderson replied. His head was full of the worst kind of memories. It came with the job. He’d seen the photos, heard the testimony of countless victims, parents. So much depravity had been pushed into his head over the years, he even felt uncomfortable bathing his own kids.
Hussain considered Adey’s suggestion. ‘Let’s limit it to everyone that got sent down. I know it will be lengthy, John, but you’ve got the time to do it. Write on the list the sentence they got so that we can know if they were still serving on the date of the crash.’
Anderson agreed to undertake the task.
‘John, Adey will take a full proof from you in due course, but is there anything else we need to know now?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Anderson was encouraged by the methodology of their preparation, compared to that of Dewi Morgan, who seemed to have done absolutely nothing.
‘There’s something else,’ said Adey.
‘Go on,’ replied Hussain.
‘The central feature of this case is the mystery of Heena Butt. Who was she and why you don’t know who she was.’
‘Yes, I agree,’ said Anderson, pleased that someone was getting to the heart of the matter.
‘It may be suggested that she was a prostitute you’d just picked up. You know, kerb crawling, and maybe you lost your memory of that due to the head injury?’
‘I’m glad you asked me that,’ he replied, looking deep into Adey’s eyes. ‘Dewi Morgan was of the same view. There’s just no way. I was going home to watch my son play football, but also, I don’t use prostitutes. Why would I suddenly change the habit of a lifetime?’
‘Everyone has a dark side, you know? Secrets? You can tell us.’
‘There’s nothing more to tell, I swear to you.’
Adey appeared to accept his answer.
They all agreed to have another meeting the following week to monitor progress.
Anderson expressed his heartfelt thanks to both of them.
Things were finally moving.
*
Anderson caught the bus back to town. He sat down on the top deck and phoned Mia. He wanted to speak to the boys before bed. As usual she fobbed him off. Lately, they were always out, asleep or busy doing something important. He offered an apology about his inability to give her any maintenance. Maybe that was why she was making contact with the boys so difficult, but she seemed so relaxed about it. She had to be getting money from somewhere.
He listened to his voicemail. Only a message from Orlando West saying that he’d heard about the plea, that he understood Anderson’s decision and that he was there to help in any way he could. It was a relief to know someone from chambers was still in his corner.
He opened his iPad and read the list of suspects:
Heena Butt
Waqar Ahmed
Tahir Hussain
Mia Anderson
Tilly Henley-Smith
Sam Connor
Everyone I ever prosecuted to conviction – and went to prison.
The conference with Hussain had given Anderson’s paranoia some credence. Was it really possible he’d been set up? Worse still, had someone tried to murder him?
And if so, was that person on the list?
Chapter 37
Tahir Hussain made a detour on his way home. Waqar Ahmed had asked for a meeting. The Little Taj, a sit-down restaurant on the Curry Mile was another of Ahmed’s businesses. A much bigger concern than the Kashmiri Palace; Ahmed used a relative as a dummy director.
The waiters greeted Hussain with much pomp and ceremony. He was something of a celebrity as far as Ahmed’s crew were concerned.
‘I’m not here to eat. I need to see Mr Ahmed.’
‘Of course, Mr Hussain,’ replied one of the waiters in Punjabi, showing the solicitor to a stool at the bar.
A waiter handed him a bottle of Cobra. ‘Please, on house.’
Hussain left the drink but reached into some mints on the bar, then thought better of it, remembering he’d read in some magazine that they were always covered in different people’s piss – customers who hadn’t washed their hands.
Several minutes later Ahmed appeared with outstretched arms. ‘Tahir Hussain, the best lawyer in Manchester. I’m honoured by your visit. Come, my friend, sit down.’
Hussain followed him to a table in a secluded corner. A waiter quickly removed the cutlery, leaving only a fraying red table cloth and two paper napkins folded into swans. Hussain sat down opposite his best client. He loathed having to associate with the man. Ahmed was like a cancer: once he had a hold over someone, he would gradually spread into every aspect of their life. Hussain wasted no more time on formalities: ‘You wanted to see me, Waqar?’
‘Yes, to see how it’s going and to congratulate you.’
‘Congratulate me?’
Ahmed sniggered. ‘On getting him to accept you as his brief. Can’t have been easy.’
Ashamed of his duplicity, Hussain forgot himself. ‘Someone beat the crap out of him. Was that you?’
Ahmed didn’t give an answer. ‘Does he have a defence to killing those people?’
Hussain ignored the question but posed one of his own: ‘Did you have something to do with what happened in that car?’
Ahmed’s expression twisted into one of anger, then contempt. ‘You dare to come into my restaurant and ask me that?’
No going back now: ‘Well, did you?’
Ahmed leaned across the table. ‘Just make sure you lose.’
‘What?’ Hussain’s mouth went dry. ‘That wasn’t part of the deal. You said just get the brief. Tell you what’s going on. Nothing bent. I won’t lose it on purpose. I can’t do that to him.’
‘Then I think it’s time for you to pay back my money.’
‘You know I haven’t got it.’
‘You’ve got two choices: get my money, or lose the trial. Understood?’
There was nothing else to say.
Hussain got up to leave.
What the hell was he going to do?
Chapter 38
Standing in front of total strangers in a pair of pyjamas was extremely difficult for John Anderson, but he had to go through with it.
Professor Cutler didn’t notice his patient’s blushes. His own attire was entirely functional. Reading glasses hanging on string so as to prevent misplacement, over a white coat; all pockets stuffed with pens, a thermometer and a ruler. Having studied some apparatus and twiddled a few knobs, he instructed Anderson to lie on the bed, then placed some belts across Anderson’s abdomen and chest. ‘This procedure is called a polysomnography. Please try and relax.’
A nurse attached electrodes to Anderson’s face and scalp whilst the doctor continued to explain. ‘We are testing you for a condition called sleep apnoea. You need to try and sleep until morning.’
<
br /> ‘What are the symptoms?’ Anderson asked, trying to take his mind off his predicament.
‘Well, it’s a sleep disorder characterized by abnormal pauses in breathing. Each pause can last as long as a few minutes.’
‘I’m sure I’d know if I had it.’
‘You’d be surprised. The sufferer is often unaware. He becomes conditioned over time to daytime sleepiness and fatigue. Becomes the norm, you see.’
‘So, if I’ve got it I could have fallen asleep whilst driving, without realising I was tired?’
‘Exactly! Giving you a defence which you lawyers call non-insane automatism.’
‘How likely is it that I’ve got it?’
The doctor smiled. ‘We’ll have to wait for the results but it’s more common than you might think. Studies have shown that one in six of Britain’s 100,000 lorry drivers are undiagnosed sufferers. A terrifying thought, don’t you think?’ He finished attaching the last few electrodes. ‘Sweet dreams, Mr Anderson.’
Anderson stared up at the ceiling, afraid to move. It reminded him of when he woke up in hospital after the crash. The memory of it made him anxious; Mia crying. Were her tears for him, or the life she was losing? Thoughts whirring around; his head was crammed.
John Anderson prayed for sleep.
Chapter 39
Adey lit another cigarette to break the monotony and jiggled about to stop the frozen night from settling in her bones. She had a good view of Anderson’s house from her vantage point at the end of the garden. A Victorian semi. She’d expected something even grander for a barrister. She’d been amazed to hear how little Anderson had actually been earning over the last few years, unaware that the cuts in legal aid had hit barristers so hard. And the size of the mortgage. Perhaps Mia had been disappointed? Adey had to stop herself feeling sorry for Anderson. But the case was drawing her in. Why had Sam Connor gone back to Starbucks? Why was there no evidence about Heena Butt and who she was?
Death By Dangerous Page 11
