Death By Dangerous

by Death By Dangerous (epub)

  ‘I’ll need a brief synopsis by morning,’ said West. ‘Got a con at eleven with the CPS. Don’t worry, they know you’re part heard.’

  This time Anderson did hesitate, remembering his commitment to Will. Then: ‘No problem.’ He glanced away to digest the betrayal. Trying to distract himself, he noticed Hussain sitting alone at another table, eating a packed lunch whilst engrossed in some notes, oblivious to the laughing and joking going on around him.

  West’s eyes followed Anderson’s. ‘You’re not home yet, John. He might lack integrity, but he’s not without ability.’

  ‘I know,’ Anderson replied.

  Chapter 9

  ‘All rise!’ cried the usher.

  His Honour Judge Pounder came into court.

  Only Hussain remained on his feet. His nerves were fighting to show themselves. Understandable – a demanding client and a difficult cross-examination to conduct in front of a packed courtroom. All sympathies would lie with the witness. He took a deep breath and told himself that he was an advocate equal to the challenge. ‘Mr Tredwell, firstly, I would like to offer my deepest sympathies.’

  Tredwell gave an imperceptible nod, but wasn’t fooled by Hussain’s gesture; he knew not to let his guard down.

  ‘And I make it clear that nothing I will suggest to you in my cross-examination seeks in any way to undermine the terrible injuries and the suffering which you have endured.’

  Another nod.

  ‘But I will speak plainly, Mr Tredwell.’ A deep breath. ‘You haven’t told the truth to this jury, have you?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Tredwell replied, managing not to lose his cool.

  ‘Let us assume for a moment that your account is true. The love of your life, who you say wanted to marry you, rang the police and gave them information which would inevitably start a chain of events that would culminate in your arrest for controlling prostitution.’

  The witness considered the question. ‘I’ve pleaded guilty to that offence.’

  ‘We know, but that’s not an answer to my question. Why would your fiancée want you to get caught?’

  ‘She didn’t. My safety was more important to her. She must have been worried that something had happened to me at the takeaway, when I told Ahmed about us.’

  ‘Why didn’t she tell the police that?’

  ‘With the greatest of respect, Your Honour,’ Anderson interjected, ‘how can this witness answer as to what someone else was thinking during a telephone call at the making of which he was not present.’

  ‘I agree, Mr Anderson.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll rephrase the question,’ offered Hussain. ‘Do you accept that there is nothing in that telephone call that makes any reference to you being in a relationship with the maker?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It is equally consistent with the maker of the call giving information that would lead to your arrest?’

  Anderson was up again. ‘That is comment, Your Honour.’

  Hussain asked another question before Anderson could slow him down: ‘You see, none of the women from the house that made statements ever said anything about you being in a relationship with Naila.’

  ‘That’s because we kept it a secret. Too dangerous to tell anyone.’

  ‘But they all remember you collecting money from them.’

  ‘I’ve admitted to that.’

  ‘None of them mention ever meeting or being aware of the defendant, Waqar Ahmed.’

  ‘He kept his distance. That’s what bosses do.’

  ‘The only evidence that he is anything other than the legitimate owner of a takeaway called the Kashmiri Palace – is you.’

  ‘I’m telling the truth!’

  ‘You’ve made up Bilal, haven’t you? No such person ever worked there.’

  Tredwell shook his head.

  ‘There are no employee records or any other documents to prove his existence.’

  ‘Ahmed never kept records. All cash in hand.’

  ‘I suggest that when the police arrested you at the Palace, you knew that you were off to prison for the large scale trafficking of prostitutes.’

  Tredwell didn’t bother to respond.

  ‘So you decided to fit up my client?’

  Again, Tredwell shook his head.

  ‘Please answer the question, Mr Tredwell,’ asked the judge. ‘For the tape.’

  ‘I didn’t fit anyone up. I wasn’t in any condition to be thinking like that when they found me.’

  Hussain pressed on: ‘You used the Palace as a base for your criminal activities − because you are a local gangster that can do what you like. Mr Ahmed paid you protection money because he was terrified of what you might do.’

  Tredwell laughed at the suggestion. ‘When did you think this up?’

  ‘By pleading guilty and turning Queen’s evidence against a co-defendant you knew it would keep you out of jail.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘Well, you did know turning QE would keep you out of jail. We can agree on that, can’t we?’

  ‘No promises were made.’

  ‘But your lawyers must have advised you?’

  ‘They said I had a chance of staying out. But that’s not why I did it. It’s for this,’ he said, pointing at his face.

  ‘My client has no idea how your injuries were sustained. A man in your line of business must have plenty of enemies, Mr Tredwell?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Whoever caused that also gave you the perfect foundation on which to blame my client and get yourself off the hook. Every cloud has a silver lining, does it not?’

  ‘Mr Hussain!’ exclaimed the judge. ‘That really is a step too far.’

  Without offering an apology, Hussain sat down.

  Anderson got up to re-examine. It had to be good. The case hung in the balance.

  Connor wanted his leader to make a mess of it, even if it meant losing the case. That was the depth of his jealousy and hatred of the man.

  ‘Mr Tredwell, one thing on which the prosecution and defence agree is that you were given sums of money by the women. Monies they had earned for sexual services?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mr Hussain asserts that this was your criminal enterprise. Your operation. He also says people paid you protection money. So where is all the money?’

  Tredwell understood the point. ‘There isn’t any.’

  ‘Do you own a house?’

  ‘I wish.’

  ‘Where were you living when all this happened?’

  ‘In a room above the Palace.’

  ‘A room above the Palace.’ Anderson glanced off to the jury. ‘Do you own a car, Mr Tredwell?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you have a bank or building society account of any sort?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you own, Mr Tredwell?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Mr Anderson, have those enquiries been made by the Crown?’ asked the judge.

  ‘They have, Your Honour. Any evidence of wealth would have been disclosed to Mr Hussain. There’s nothing. I have no further questions.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ replied the judge. ‘Thank you, Mr Tredwell. Quite an ordeal for you I think. This Court is most grateful to you.’

  ‘Your Honour,’ said Anderson, now in full control of the trial. ‘We now move on to the police interviews, which my junior, Mr Connor, will read to the jury.’

  Connor begrudgingly got to his feet for the mundane task whilst his leader accepted the whispered congratulations of the rest of the team.

  With a good closing speech Anderson felt sure he was home and dry.

  Chapter 10

  4.30pm. The judge rose. Anderson was shattered. The sustained adrenalin levels and nervous energy of a full day in court always took its toll on trial counsel.

  Connor and Tilly followed Anderson out of the building on the short walk across Spinningfields back to chambers. He checked his watch. If he was go
ing to make Will’s football match he would have to leave now. But what about Orlando West? There was something West wanted to tell him. Maybe more good news? About his silk application? He couldn’t let West down. He thought of Will standing there on the landing that morning. The sadness in his cherubic face, longing for attention. Anderson tried to block out the image. He was doing all this for them. To secure their future. ‘Right, who wants a coffee before we go back to the ranch?’ he asked, finally letting his appointment go.

  ‘Not for me, I’ve got too much to do,’ replied Connor, uninterested in anything vaguely social with his leader.

  Tilly hesitated. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to get off – if that’s all right with you, Connor?’

  ‘No problem,’ replied her pupil-master, relieved that she had chosen to reject Anderson’s offer. ‘See you tomorrow, Tilly.’

  Anderson hid his disappointment and headed off inside the coffee shop and ordered an Americano.

  ‘Is that to go?’ asked the barista.

  ‘No, I’ll have it here,’ Anderson replied, catching sight of a discarded copy of the Manchester Evening News on one of the tables. He moved over to it and flicked through looking for a report on the case. Only a short column on page 16. Maybe tomorrow’s reporting of Tredwell’s evidence would do better, he thought. He retrieved his coffee and slumped wearily onto a sofa by the window, took out his iPhone and began to plough through the day’s emails.

  ‘I changed my mind.’ Tilly dropped onto the seat beside him and bestowed an intimate smile.

  Anderson could feel his heart beating. ‘Great, what do you want?’ he said, jumping up.

  ‘Skinny chai tea latte, please.’

  He watched her from the counter whilst he waited for the drink. A beautiful young woman, curves in all the right places. Clever too – hiding her disloyalty from Connor like that. Should he make a move on her? How? He wasn’t good in personal situations. She would have to hand it to him on a plate.

  He took her tea over.

  ‘I thought you were superb in court today, John,’ she began. ‘I’m learning so much during this trial.’

  ‘Pleased to hear it,’ Anderson replied.

  ‘I’d be so grateful for anything else you could teach me. Anything at all.’ A rush of excitement – he was on the verge of suggesting they meet up later, after he’d seen West and done his synopsis. But what about Mia? Why was he even considering it? There had been problems for some time. They hadn’t had sex for months. Or was it years? Deep down, he knew she didn’t love him. Never had. Anderson’s job and parentage had just ticked the right boxes, nothing more.

  Anderson craved a connection with someone and Tilly seemed prepared to fulfil that role. This was exactly what he needed. No one would ever know. ‘Tilly, I’ve got to pop back to chambers for a bit, then perhaps we…’

  Her eyes lit up. She leaned in to hear more.

  Anderson could smell her perfume, glimpse her breasts nestled under her white blouse. Instinctively, he checked around himself for prying eyes. Something caught his attention, outside, across the road. Hussain, greeting a woman, probably his wife. And two young daughters. Hussain lifted one of them up onto his shoulders. All laughing. A happy family.

  Hussain met Anderson’s gaze, only for a split second, then they were away as Hussain steered them up the street.

  Anderson suddenly felt a fool. Ridiculous. What was he doing? Thinking? He looked at his young companion, then stood up, knocking over the remains of his coffee in the process. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve just remembered something,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow,’ he added on his way out.

  Confused, Tilly had no time to react.

  Outside in the cold winter air, Anderson felt a sense of relief. He took out his mobile and rang chambers: ‘Gary, it’s me. I’ve got an urgent appointment – a personal matter.’

  ‘What about the Harrison papers? Mr West needs a synopsis.’

  ‘Tell him not to worry. I’ll be in at 5am. I’ll have it done.’

  Anderson found himself jogging to the car park, chastising himself for the time he’d wasted in the coffee shop. Lusting after a girl fifteen years his junior, when he had a wife and children waiting for him at home. What a bloody idiot he’d been lately. The whole silk thing had taken over his life. He’d lost his perspective. Maybe he’d take his foot off the gas, spend more time with the kids. Find a way to reach out to Mia. Maybe even fall in love.

  He could still make it.

  It wasn’t too late. Anderson knew what he wanted – more than ever.

  Chapter 11

  Five Days Later

  Detective Inspector Mark Taylor ran a team in the Force Major Incident Unit of Greater Manchester Police − murders. What he’d always wanted. A proper copper, investigating serious crime, not pushing a pen. And he was good at it. A quiet, unassuming man, he commanded respect and admiration from his colleagues. Always got the job done. He’d been summoned to the DCI’s office – rarely a pleasant experience.

  Unlike Taylor, Detective Chief Inspector Armstrong utilised a combination of condescension and insincere flattery to gain compliance from his subordinates.

  With people skills like that, Taylor couldn’t understand how he’d risen so high in the ranks. In fact, Armstrong was quite different towards his own superiors – an arse kisser.

  Taylor knocked and waited for the customary, ‘Come.’

  ‘You wanted to see me, Chief?’

  ‘Yes, come in, Mark. Take a seat.’

  Using his first name? A bad sign, thought Taylor.

  ‘How’s the family?’

  Even worse. ‘I’m a bobby, Chief. Hardly see ’em.’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Armstrong didn’t want to open up that sort of discussion. Far too intimate. ‘Got a job for you. Death by dangerous.’

  ‘Death by dangerous?’ Taylor couldn’t hide his outrage. ‘In case you’d forgotten, Chief, I’m FMIT. We don’t investigate driving offences.’

  ‘I know, keep your hair on. This is a very serious case; two people died. A woman and a five-year-old girl.’ Armstrong paused for effect. ‘The suspect is a man called John Anderson. One of Manchester’s most successful prosecution barristers.’

  ‘Yeah, heard of ’im.’

  ‘All very delicate, as you can imagine. We can’t be seen to show any favouritism – quite the opposite. I want this wrapped up as quickly as possible.’

  ‘But why me?’

  ‘You were specifically requested by those in the corridors of power. Can’t have any mistakes on this one – Anderson would be on it in a flash.’

  ‘But I’m snowed under, Chief.’

  ‘You should be flattered. You can have DC Waters for your leg work. That’ll be all, Taylor.’

  Taylor shut the door behind him and stood in the corridor, running a hand across his brow. When was he going to read the file? He checked his watch and sighed.

  Another missed bath time.

  Chapter 12

  Mia opened the passenger door and handed Anderson his crutches. He manoeuvred his leg into position and hauled himself up. With her steadying hand he limped into the house. Felt good to be home.

  Mia fussed around in the lounge, avoiding eye contact with her husband. ‘I’ll get you some water, then I’ve got to collect the boys.’

  Anderson flopped onto a chair and watched her busying herself. He held out an arm as she passed. ‘Mia?’

  She ignored him.

  ‘Mia. Please. Let’s talk.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Everything.’ Anderson’s voice croaked. No one had told him anything yet. He was desperate for information about what happened. Who were they? How old? And he wanted to tell Mia that he was sorry. He’d been doing a lot of thinking in that hospital bed. Was it too late? Was he responsible for the deaths of two people? Could he live with that knowledge? Was that why he wanted to make it work with Mia? Fear of having to cope alone? He braced himself: ‘Who were the people that died?’
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br />   Mia stopped and gave Anderson her full attention. ‘One was a five-year-old girl. Molly Granger.’

  Anderson winced, too much to bear.

  ‘I thought you might know who the woman was?’ She asked more as an accusation than a question.

  ‘Why? What do you mean?’ Anderson was confused.

  ‘She was in your car.’

  ‘What?’ Anderson was stunned. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘The police,’ she replied. ‘They wondered if I might know her.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘What was her name?’ Anderson demanded, unable to disguise his impatience.

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  They held each other’s gaze.

  ‘John, I want you to move out.’

  ‘What? Move out?’

  ‘You can have a week or so to get back on your feet.’

  ‘Mia, please!’

  ‘I’ve already told the boys.’

  ‘But I need you.’ As the words came out he realised how rare it was for him to say it. To express his feelings in words.

  ‘No, John. You didn’t need me before the crash and you don’t now.’ She got up to go.

  ‘I did,’ Anderson protested. ‘I just didn’t know it,’ he said, trying to get out of the chair. ‘Mia, please?’

  ‘It’s too late. Why couldn’t you have just gone to watch your son play football?’ She was crying now. ‘You’d rather have been with her. You bastard, John.’ She left the room.

  Her? Who did she mean? Tilly?

  ‘Mia, wait, please!’ By the time he was up she’d gone.

  For the first time in his life he felt like sobbing. It was all too much to take in: Mia, the crash, his injuries. He balanced uncertainly on his good leg as he surveyed the room, appreciating it for the first time. The family home. Trying to remember rolling around on the floor with the kids. Never seemed to be enough time. He tried to remember fun times with Mia. He couldn’t. Not even in the early days. It had always been about money, material things. What she wanted.

  He caught his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. The first time he’d seen himself since the accident. A beard, with grey flecks in it. The left side of his face had a large rectangular bandage over it. He shuffled closer and rested one hand on the mantlepiece. With the other he slowly removed the bandage. Anderson gulped. A deep red scar snaked down the side of his face. The stitches gave it the appearance of a fishbone. It would serve as a reminder, a marker − not just to him but to everyone – of when his life had changed forever. He quickly covered it.