He had never felt so alone.
Chapter 68
The Bradford Club − upstairs in an old building in the centre of town; a small bar and a shabby dining room was the home of most of the Bradford judiciary at lunchtime. A last, fading remnant of the grand old days when Bradford was the wool capital of the world.
The judges hung on Stapleton’s every word. Still a looker at forty-eight, she flirted outrageously while they guffawed and leched. Ignored, Hussain remained silent throughout the lunch. Unconcerned with their chatter, his mind was elsewhere.
As the coffees were handed out, Cranston deigned to speak to him: ‘Terribly sad all this. Met his father a couple of times. Nice chap. Must be awfully disappointed.’
‘I was surprised not to see him at court,’ said Hussain. ‘You know, supporting his son.’ Cranston sneered at Hussain’s remark about a brother judge. Then: ‘I heard about that other matter you were suspected of. I hear it’s gone away, for now?’
‘Yes, they had the wrong man. Seems to be happening rather a lot lately.’
Cranston didn’t like Hussain one bit. No concept of how things were done. Didn’t revere the judiciary at all. ‘Hadn’t you better get back?’ Cranston said through a faux smile, then added: ‘If he’s convicted, I won’t be adjourning for reports. I’ll sentence today.’
‘But of course, judge,’ Hussain replied. ‘If he’s convicted.’
Chapter 69
He cut a lone figure, thought Adey as she made her way over to Anderson. ‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hi, are you OK? Hussain told me what happened.’
‘I grew up in Moss Side – course I’m OK.’
‘Not to mention Mogadishu.’
A wistful smile. ‘I heard it didn’t get us anywhere. I’m sorry.’
‘Listen, I know you tried everything, and then some.’
She believed in him, completely. That was enough for Anderson.
‘I’m glad you came, Adey. About us…’
She’d been waiting for this.
‘I don’t know what will be left of me when I get out. Prison changes people. We’ve both seen that.’
She thought of Bahdoon and who he used to be. ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. Isn’t that what pompous lawyers say?’
They both forced a smile.
‘All parties to Court One immediately.’
Verdict.
This was it. ‘Good luck, John.’ Adey could hardly get her words out. ‘Aren’t quick verdicts usually acquittals?’
Anderson shrugged.
The landing was soon full of press and public, jostling to get into the courtroom.
Someone was calling out: ‘John! John!’
Anderson stopped at the door of the court to see who it was.
Out of breath and panting, his brother, Stephen Anderson, marched across the landing. ‘John, I rang the court, they said you’d get a verdict today. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here before – work.’
‘I understand. I’m amazed you could get up here at all. I keep seeing you on telly giving some opinion about the latest government policy. It’s great to see you doing so well.’
‘I’m sorry about Mum and Dad. You know what they’re like.’
Anderson nodded.
‘But I wanted you to know, whatever happens, I’m here for you. Whatever you need, let me know. Anything.’
Holding back the tears, they hugged.
Anderson was ready to face the music.
As Anderson was about to enter the courtroom, Hussain came up the stairs, still pulling on his gown.
Anderson waited for him. ‘I just wanted to say thanks again for everything, my friend. Win or lose.’
‘But I persuaded you to have a trial, John. Will you still thank me if you are convicted?’ he asked anxiously.
Anderson smiled. ‘Of course. It was the right thing to do. I could never have lived with myself. I needed to know what actually happened. You earned me a “careless”. I made the decision to reject it, not you.’
‘But we still don’t know what happened.’
‘But at least we tried.’
‘Yes, I tried my best – you know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’ Anderson sensed something more. ‘What is it, Tahir?’
‘It doesn’t make any difference now, but you have a right to know.’
‘Know what?’
The usher came out of the courtroom: ‘Mr Hussain, didn’t you hear the tannoy? Can I ask you to bring your client in immediately, we have a verdict.’
‘We’re coming,’ he replied. ‘Just a moment.’
The usher glowered at him, then went back into court.
‘Ahmed was blackmailing me.’
‘I know, about withdrawing from the case?’
‘I didn’t give you the full story. He actually wanted me to defend you and to lose the trial.’
‘What?’ Confused, Anderson took a few seconds to process the information.
Hussain could see his client’s disappointment.
Anderson recalled how Hussain was instructed. ‘That’s why you came to Bradford to see me at the prelim? Ahmed sent you?’
‘Yes, but I wanted to defend you. I could’ve just let you plead guilty.’
‘And Adey?’
‘She has no idea.’
Anderson was too shocked to be angry, which made Hussain feel even worse. ‘Why are you telling me now?’
‘Because you became my friend. It was easier to keep it from you when I didn’t know you. I’m sorry.’
‘Did Ahmed have anything to do with the crash?’
‘I don’t know. Really. I challenged him several times. He admitted nothing. And you know, there’s no evidence against him.’
The usher came back out and this time physically pushed them through the door.
The courtroom was at bursting point. Even the judge was surprised when he came in. Counsels’ rows were full of barristers from other courts, eager to see the outcome.
Anderson was oblivious to the hoards of people, still reeling from this new revelation.
When everyone was seated, the jurors came into court and took their seats.
A prison officer, standing next to Anderson in the dock, nudged him to his feet.
The court clerk addressed the jury: ‘Would the foreman please stand?’
A middle-aged man with glasses stood up. He had the appearance of being educated. Maybe that was a good sign, thought Hussain.
‘How do you find the defendant on count one, guilty or not guilty?’
Hussain prayed for an acquittal.
The courtroom held its breath.
‘Guilty.’
Gasps from the gallery.
Guilty? Anderson’s legs gave way.
The dock officer, used to such events, pulled him back up and held Anderson until he could bear his own weight.
‘How do you find the defendant on count two?’
‘Guilty.’
Anderson’s ashen face was blank.
The judge wasted no time: ‘A custodial sentence is inevitable. The defendant’s previous character has been well demonstrated during the trial so I see no need to adjourn for a pre-sentence report from the probation service.’
Anderson could see the judge’s mouth was moving, but he could take nothing in.
‘Anything you’d like to say, Mr Hussain?’
In shock, Hussain struggled to get his words out. Never had a verdict mattered so much to him. ‘No. Your Honour is aware of the Sentencing Council guidelines in this case?’
‘Yes, I am. Mr Anderson, this is a very serious offence that led to the death of a young woman and a five-year-old child. Nothing will bring them back and no sentence I pass on you can ever be measured against the loss of life. In my view you ran a cynical defence when it was obvious to all, including the jury, that you fell asleep whilst driving. Although I can’t hold your right to have a trial against you, I cannot afford you the credit that wou
ld have been due on a guilty plea. I must also conclude that you show no remorse for this crime. Taking into account the guidelines of the Sentencing Council, the total sentence is five years’ imprisonment, to run concurrently on each count. Take him down.’
The dock officer cuffed a shell-shocked Anderson and pushed him down the stairs inside the dock that led to the cells, and into another world.
Part III
Chapter 70
Adey dropped a file onto Hussain’s desk. ‘Con at four in Peter Hawkins. Crim damage.’
Hussain pushed it to the side and carried on daydreaming. Nothing had been the same since R v Anderson. Neither of them could focus on other cases. Even the possibility that the firm might go under couldn’t shake them into action.
Only Adey had seen Anderson since the verdict – ten minutes afterwards in the court cells before he was transported to HMP Armley. Hussain hadn’t been able to face him.
Anderson had made it quite clear he was to be left alone and had refused all visits since. As with any recently convicted prisoner, hope was hard to endure. Rather than discuss frivolous appeals with his legal team, Anderson wanted to get his head down and serve the sentence. As a criminal lawyer, Anderson would know there were no grounds of appeal. No misdirections on law by the judge. No irregularities in the trial process.
Adey couldn’t stop worrying about him. How would he cope with the shock of jail in his already fragile mental state?
Hussain had the same concerns, coupled with an overriding sense of guilt. He’d persuaded Anderson to plead not guilty, and then lost the case. Adey had told him a thousand times it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t be persuaded. Four weeks on and the memories of the trial – of Anderson – hung in the air, haunting every aspect of their days.
‘Peter Hawkins, not that toerag. Can’t you see him?’ Hussain protested.
‘Sorry, I’m seeing my brother.’
Any further disagreement was cut short by the arrival of a visitor.
Sam Connor shut the door behind him, shook the rain off his umbrella and stood sheepishly before them. ‘I’ve been a bloody idiot.’
Adey made towards him. ‘You sent a man to jail. A man I believe to be innocent.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry,’ mimicked Adey. ‘Is that all you can say?’
Hussain raised a hand to stop her. ‘What do you want, Mr Connor?’
‘To help. I want to help.’
‘Why?’
Before Connor had a chance to answer, Adey started again: ‘It’s a wind-up.’
‘It’s not, I swear to you. I want to make another statement, saying that I got it wrong about Anderson being tired.’
‘Got it wrong?’ scoffed Adey. ‘Lied, more like.’
‘It’s difficult to explain. I thought I was doing the right thing. I kind of convinced myself he was tired. I can’t believe it now.’
Hussain was more curious than angry. ‘The right thing?’
‘Yes. I know it sounds stupid but Orlando West kept telling me I had a duty to say it.’
‘West?’ Hussain shot Adey a sideways glance. ‘Go on.’
‘He kept saying we couldn’t be seen to be covering up. Had a duty to the court and the criminal justice system. I was weak. West gave me an excuse to bury Anderson, so I could have his practice.’ With eyes cast down: ‘And I took it with both hands.’
Hussain was sceptical. But why make the effort of coming to Rusholme to say all this? ‘Why would West want to stick the knife in?’
‘I don’t know. It’s all about back-stabbing and chambers politics with him. You know, divide and rule. He created a culture of ruthless ambition in chambers; I lived by it for years.’ Connor shook his head. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since the trial.’
Adey had no sympathy. ‘Too late.’
‘Why now?’ asked Hussain.
‘I can’t live with myself. He saved me from a charge of perjury, after what I’d done to him. If I make a new statement maybe we can get leave to appeal on the grounds of fresh evidence?’
Adey was still fuming. She could hardly bear the sight of him. Hussain, more measured, was thinking it through. ‘It’s very weak on its own. What about Tilly?’
‘Not a chance. Chambers refused to give her a tenancy – because of all this.’
‘But your seniority saved you, I suppose?’
Connor turned crimson.
‘Anyway, Anderson would never let you risk your career. You’d have to convince him first.’
‘He refused my visit.’
Hussain exhaled deeply. ‘Not just yours.’
‘Worst of it is,’ said Connor, ‘he asked me to defend him, and I said no. Should’ve been flattered.’
No one offered words of comfort.
Connor lingered despite the uncomfortable silence. He had something else to say. ‘Then let me help with an appeal. Let me read the papers. A fresh take on things.’
Adey burst out laughing. ‘You must be joking!’
‘Hang on, Adey,’ said Hussain. ‘Anderson’s in jail and we’ve got no grounds of appeal. How could things get any worse?’
‘But why should we let him read them?’
‘Because pride is not a reason to say no.’ Hussain picked up the file and handed it to Connor.
‘All right, but the brief stays here,’ said Adey. She led him into the boardroom and made a point of leaving the door wide open so that she could keep an eye on him. ‘No documents leave this room. Oh, and I’ll take that witness statement first, just in case you change your mind.’
Connor put pen to paper in a carefully worded document, not quite accepting that he lied in the box, but that he might have been a little overzealous in his description of Anderson’s tiredness, out of a desire to be impartial. The Court of Appeal would be hard pushed to accept the statement as fresh evidence, but from Connor’s point of view, at least he could save his own skin, and that had to be his first priority.
Hussain got nothing done that afternoon, aware of Adey’s eyes boring into him. Each time he dared to look up he was met with a disapproving glare. He was beginning to regret letting Connor see the papers. But what if they’d missed something?
‘The deceased!’ exclaimed Connor, running out of the boardroom waving a post-mortem photograph of Heena Butt. ‘I’ve seen her before!’
Both Adey and Hussain stopped what they were doing and replied in unison: ‘Where?’
Shaking his hands in the air, Connor replied full of frustration: ‘I can’t bloody remember.’
‘Then try harder,’ demanded Adey.
Chapter 71
The hatch opened.
Anderson raised an arm: ‘I’m fine.’ Better to announce it than make the officer come into the cell and see for himself. On suicide watch since arriving at HMP Armley, these hourly checks served only to remind Anderson of the fragility of his state of mind. He wondered whether he would have the same thoughts that came to him on the platform at Wilmslow station.
Nights were worse. The sounds on the wing created a permanent state of panic. Strange howling noises, shrieking and banging. A constant reminder of the madness and badness that inhabited Armley prison.
Anderson had the luxury of a single cell as his former profession was likely to engender negative feelings in any potential pad-mate. Although a great relief to Anderson at the beginning, the loneliness had become unbearable. Repetitive days of doing nothing. Paradoxically, although he craved company of any sort, during association he cowered in the cell, eyes fixed on the door, too afraid to even go out on the landing. What if they recognised him or didn’t like him? Paralysed with fear, he suffered further dramatic weight loss and nervous exhaustion. At least he wasn’t in Strangeways where half the prison knew him, and where one man in particular was waiting for him.
He’d stopped counting the days until his release. What was the point? Nothing to come out to, only disgrace. His night with Adey felt like a dream. Had it really hap
pened? What could she possibly have seen in him?
Hours spent staring at the same whitewashed walls, Anderson was retreating further into himself, shutting down. A dangerous method of blocking out the realities of the world around him.
He curled up in a ball on his bed, knees tight to his chest, haunted by jagged memories of what he’d lost.
Numb.
Chapter 72
Adey had been to Strangeways hundreds of times, not just to see her brother, but also clients. It never got any easier. She hated the place. The sounds, the smells, everything about it, even the name. Renamed HMP Manchester for political reasons after the infamous riots of 1990, all Mancunians still knew it as Strangeways.
Sitting, waiting for Bahdoon, she thought of Anderson, of how he might be coping in Armley. If only he’d call or send a letter, just to say he was all right. It was different for Bahdoon; he’d spent his teenage years in and out of institutions. All his friends were in jail. Bahdoon’s problem had always been fitting in on the outside. Too scarred by all the violence he had witnessed in Mogadishu, with only a sporadic education and no job prospects, he drifted into crime and found the support for which he yearned in a local gang, The Rusholme Cripz. There was a certain irony in that his name, Bahdoon, meant ‘the one who looks for his clan’. At seventeen, he carried a firearm and played his part in the neighbourhood turf wars with rival gang, Dem Crazy Somalis.
As a result of the lengthy terms of imprisonment handed out to twelve members of the notorious Gooch Gang in 2009, the fight over the void which had opened up was bloodier than anything that had gone before. Bahdoon was caught on CCTV carrying out a drive-by shooting which left a young man dead. In 2011, he started a life sentence with a minimum term of eighteen years.
Adey blamed herself for her inability to keep Bahdoon on the straight and narrow. Truth was, once he’d discovered crack cocaine, all her efforts had been futile.
‘Hello, sis.’ Every inch of Bahdoon was rippling muscle. Not the scrawny young man of a few years ago. Working out passed the time.
‘Been in the gym, I see? How are you?’ she asked with a beaming smile. Adey always tried to appear happy on visits. No point turning up with the weight of the world on her shoulders. That wouldn’t help him. But it made the relationship with Bahdoon feel artificial; neither wanted to worry the other, so prickly small talk was inevitably the order of the day, leaving them both feeling cheated by the end of each painful visit.
Death By Dangerous Page 20
