‘It was just chambers politics. Happens all the time.’
‘Really? Did your pupil-master, Sam Connor, tell you that?’
‘No,’ she replied.
‘So who else in your chambers stabs people in the back?’
‘No one.’
She was beaten.
‘Did you or Connor do anything else that day to ruin John Anderson?’
‘No!’
‘Did you have anything to do with that crash?’
‘Mr Hussain!’ exclaimed the judge. ‘That’s a step too far.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Tilly. ‘I don’t mind answering. I had nothing to do with it and I don’t know anything about it, other than what I read in the newspapers.’
‘No further questions.’ Hussain’s disgust was evident for all to see.
A shamefaced Tilly slunk out of court.
Anderson was buoyed by Hussain’s hatchet job, but would the jury just see it as a sideshow? At least Hussain had muddied the waters.
‘Perhaps that’s a convenient moment for a break, Your Honour?’ suggested Stapleton in the hope it would allow time for Connor to be tipped off before he walked into the same trap.
‘I think we’ll have one more witness before the jury stretch their legs,’ replied the judge.
Hoping now to play down Connor’s evidence, Stapleton rushed him through in chief, moving swiftly on as every laboured assertion about Anderson’s tiredness grated on everyone in the courtroom.
Hussain couldn’t wait for his turn. When it came, he wasted no time: ‘He wasn’t tired at all, was he?’
‘I’ve already answered that,’ Connor replied.
‘You did very well out of Anderson’s downfall, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Let me spell it out for you. You took over the Ahmed case as leader, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t a responsibility I wanted thrust on me like that.’
‘And that big murder brief? What was it called?’
‘I don’t know. Which brief do you mean?’
‘You know, the one Anderson was going to do, but got switched after the crash?’
As if it had only just occurred to him: ‘Harrison?’
‘That’s the one,’ said Hussain. ‘Harrison.’
‘It was just Anderson’s bad luck. I had nothing to do with the decision.’
‘You said in your witness statement that you saw Anderson in Starbucks with Tilly as you walked past.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Where were you going?’
‘What?’
‘Where were you going?’
‘Home, I suppose?’
‘But why go that way? You rent a parking space behind chambers, don’t you?’
‘Er, yes. I can’t remember where I was going, it was weeks ago.’
‘Were you even there? Did you just want the police to think he was having an affair – sling a bit of mud in Anderson’s direction? ’
‘No! Of course I was there. How else would I know they were in Starbucks?’
‘Maybe Tilly told you? You had a plan, didn’t you?’
‘What plan?’
‘To stop Anderson from going to chambers so you could get the Harrison case?’
‘That’s ridiculous!’
‘You were in a relationship with Tilly Henley-Smith, weren’t you?’
Connor opened his mouth to deny it but before he could get his words out a voice shouted, ‘Enough!’
Everyone looked to see Anderson on his feet. Hussain had never had a cross-examination interrupted by his own client before.
‘No more questions,’ Anderson said quietly.
Reluctantly, Hussain nodded. He understood. Connor was a chambers colleague when all was said and done. Anderson couldn’t allow the destruction of a career over a secret affair and personal ambition. Hussain sat down. Anderson never ceased to surprise him.
A confused and flustered Connor stared over at Anderson, then at a tearful Tilly as she came into court and sat in the gallery. It clicked. Anderson had just saved him from a charge of perjury. And his career.
Chapter 57
A breakthrough at last − Adey had rung every estate agent in Manchester, posing as a bailiff trying to trace a debtor, Heena Butt. Adey’s persistence had paid off. The Indian manager of a low-end rental agency in Fallowfield was keen to share his gripe. He disclosed that Butt had paid three months’ rent upfront in cash, but was now two weeks behind. The agent had been unable to make contact. He didn’t have a phone number for her though he’d gone round a few times but she wasn’t in. Obviously unaware of her death, he’d assumed she was giving him the run around. More than happy to divulge her address to a voice on the other end of the phone, Adey couldn’t believe her luck.
‘And if you see her, tell her I going in with key in seven day.’
‘I will,’ Adey assured him.
‘Landlord very cross. Bad for my business.’
Adey tried to seem interested.
‘I take all possessions and sell. Then she will be sorry,’ he went on.
After what seemed like hours of moaning and complaining, Adey was able to end the call. She’d already left her place for Fallowfield.
The one-bed flat was on Thornton Road, spitting distance from the Curry Mile. Long roads of Victorian red-brick terraced houses, some split into flats. She soon located the cheap, chipboard front door, then peered through the letter box. Stairs leading up to the living space.
Adey took the key made from the imprint of the one in Butt’s handbag. She put it in the lock. It fitted. She stopped and reflected for a minute. This was a big call – interfering with a police investigation. Compromising the forensics. Sneaking into a dead person’s home. Adey had inherited her mother’s superstitious disposition. It just felt plain wrong.
She pulled out her phone and rang DI Taylor. ‘You’d better come. I’ve found Butt’s flat.’
Sitting at his desk, Taylor almost choked on a mouthful of Hula Hoops. ‘What? How?’
‘Never mind that. Bring the key from her bag. I’m sure it’ll work. I’m on Thornton Road, in Fallowfield.’
‘But I’m supposed to be going over to Bradford to give evidence in the trial.’
‘Then you’d better hurry up,’ said Adey, predicting that his curiosity, if nothing else, would make him drop everything.
‘All right. I’m in Longsight. I will be there in twenty.’
In fact, he was there in ten, with the key. Taylor didn’t like it when the defence were one step ahead of the investigation. He saw her waving from the pavement and managed to squeeze his Astra into a space right outside. Before he was even out of the car he asked, ‘So how did you find it?’
‘Good old-fashioned police work,’ she teased. ‘Ringing round rental agencies.’
Taylor was impressed, and embarrassed he hadn’t tasked that job. Not that Armstrong would’ve approved what was, on the face of it, a very expensive wild goose chase. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and have a look.’
He pushed the key into the lock.
Chapter 58
Tilly held her face up to the shower head, hoping the jets would wash away the humiliation of what happened in court. She was angry at having been exposed – she’d always been the one to control situations, hide her duplicity. Nobody’s fool, she’d always found it easy to use people to achieve her own ends. Had all the tools since school days: beauty, brains and guile.
She stepped out and patted the towel on her face. Catching sight of her firm body in the mirror, she moved her hips, checking all was still well with her best asset.
She heard the sound of a key in the lock. She’d have to do something about that. Dropping the towel on the bathroom floor she paraded to the top of the stairs. Why not let him see what he’d never have again? An added punishment. His suffering would make her feel a little better.
The front door opened.
&nb
sp; Connor stood at the bottom of the stairs, gawping at her magnificence. ‘Why didn’t you wait, Tilly?’
‘I want my key back.’
‘Why? What do you mean?’
‘You’re toxic. Everyone’s going to be talking about what happened today. I’m just praying I’m young enough to be forgiven. Hoping they’ll think you took advantage of me.’
Always slow to catch on, Connor said, ‘I don’t get it? We’ve got each other. Someone’s already told my missus. And the kids won’t take my calls. I love you.’
Tilly let out a sardonic laugh. ‘You’re a fat, second-rate barrister who I was unfortunate enough to have as my pupil-master.’
‘Tilly, please?’
‘I messed up – backed the wrong horse. You’re going nowhere. You’ve peaked. It’s all downhill for you now and I’m not coming.’ Then she added with a snigger, ‘Not that I ever did.’
Each word caused Connor a physical pain. He cut a ridiculous figure in his pinstriped suit and cashmere coat, being dismissed by someone almost young enough to be his daughter.
Tilly went back into the bathroom. Before shutting the door she called down to him: ‘Leave the key on the stairs and piss off.’
‘You can’t speak to me like that.’
She didn’t bother to respond. It was over.
Connor placed the key on the bottom stair. Then, feeling worthless, he left.
Chapter 59
Having just opened it, Taylor instinctively shut the door, but the stench had already filled their nostrils.
Adey wretched, then asked, ‘What the hell’s that?’
Taylor knew what she was thinking. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not a body. I know that smell well enough. Come on,’ he said, raising a cuff over his mouth and going inside.
After a few seconds of preparing herself, Adey followed him up the stairs.
He’d already opened a window in the kitchen and was tying up a bin liner. ‘Takeaway,’ he explained. ‘Must’ve been rotting all these months.’
As the smell subsided Adey scanned the room. Chipped Formica worktops and old lino, curled up at the corners.
Taylor pulled some plastic gloves out of his pocket and handed Adey a pair before opening the cupboards. Salt and pepper and a few tins. ‘Heena Butt certainly wasn’t living the high life,’ said Taylor.
‘I’d say financially, she was on her arse.’
Taylor grinned on hearing the expression. He went into the bedroom and started going through the drawers. Nothing personal, just a few items of clothing. Thinking out loud: ‘Nothing to identify her. No evidence of a life.’
An Ikea wardrobe, screaming out for an Allen key, listed heavily to the right. Covering her hand with the sleeve of her jean jacket, Adey opened it. Full Muslim dress, including burkas, hung neatly from hangers. ‘She was a strict Muslim?’ Adey couldn’t work it out. ‘Or a fetish hooker? For punters that liked the full garb?’ she suggested, not really believing it.
‘Possibly,’ he replied. ‘Then she wasn’t on the job with Anderson.’
‘How do you know?’
Taylor joined her and ran his gloved hand over the outfits. ‘She was in jeans and a jumper when they pulled her from Anderson’s car.’
‘Really?’ asked Adey, realising that she’d never sought to clarify what clothes Butt had been wearing. She’d only seen the naked post-mortem photos.
‘Yes, I checked with the hospital. They weren’t retained. Had to cut them off her. Covered in blood.’
Adey was relieved that as far as Anderson was concerned, the prostitute angle didn’t seem to have any foundation.
‘And why no ID?’ Then Taylor caught himself. Working with the defence? Sharing ideas? What was he doing? Adey Tuur had a strangely disarming effect on him. Taylor remembered his position, and hers. ‘Right, that’s it. Nothing else to see. Come on,’ he said, ushering her towards the stairs.
‘Hang on. What’s the next step? You going to have the place tested for prints? DNA?’
Taylor laughed. ‘My boss would never approve that. It’s not relevant to the offence − the driving.’
‘But we need to know who she was. How can you leave it like this?’
‘Don’t be so naive,’ Taylor snapped, more annoyed with Armstrong and his damn budget than with Adey. ‘Who’s going to pay for it? Neither the jury, nor the taxpayer need to know who’s been in this flat.’ He winced, realising he sounded like his DCI.
Adey continued to protest as Taylor got into his car: ‘If Anderson gets potted, I hope you can live with yourself, detective.’
‘I’ll cope, love.’
The glib reply infuriated Adey.
Taylor turned on the ignition, then lowered the electric window. ‘Has it occurred to you that Anderson might be guilty? Maybe his prints are all over that flat.’
Adey refused to accept it. She’d switched from being sure of his guilt to being sure of his innocence. There was no evidential basis to justify the change of heart. It was something more powerful. An emotional attachment. Blind faith. She wasn’t prepared to give up on Anderson, and if the police wouldn’t investigate, she would just have to take matters into her own hands.
Adey decided to walk across to Victoria Park to follow up the remaining lead. She’d spent a great deal of time analysing the data recovered from Heena Butt’s phone. Of the four numbers in the contacts, three were no longer in use and all seemed to be pay-as-you-go. The fact that phones seemed to have been ditched suggested only one thing: criminality.
Adey had finally managed to hack into one network provider’s records and, as luck would have it, the one number still in use was on that network. Most of the phone usage was cell-sited to the Victoria Park area, particularly when in contact with Butt’s number. Adey took a walk around to see if anything jumped out; a long shot, but she was out of ideas.
She walked past Manchester Royal Infirmary on Upper Brook Street. Was this the link? Possibly, but the cell-site was slightly further along. After wandering down a few side streets she walked along Upper Park Road. Out of nowhere, rising up before her, Manchester’s Central Mosque. On seeing it she knew. It fitted perfectly with the cell-site. Adey was sure from the call patterns that Butt must have attended this mosque and known someone else who did.
Time was running out for Anderson. She had no choice but to ring the number.
‘Hello?’ The voice was male, Asian.
Adey took the plunge: ‘Oh, hello, who is this?’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m a friend of Heena Butt.’
‘How did you get this number?’
‘I haven’t seen her for ages. Is she OK?’
Silence. Then: ‘Where are you?’
‘At the mosque.’
‘I will meet you there tomorrow at eleven and I will explain. OK?’
‘I’m very worried, can’t we meet today?’
‘No, I’m sorry, not today.’ He hung up.
Adey breathed out. What was she doing? Who was this guy? And why the hell was she putting herself in danger by agreeing to meet him?
She decided not to mention it to the others.
Chapter 60
The last prosecution witness was the officer in the case – Taylor. Hussain was apprehensive about cross-examining a detective who, days ago, had interviewed him on a charge of murder.
Once Stapleton had established the basics of the defendant’s arrest and charge, she tendered him for cross-examination.
Hussain began: ‘There is one very important unanswered question in this case, isn’t there, officer?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Who was the lady that died in the defendant’s car?’
‘It’s certainly unanswered. No disrespect to the deceased, but I don’t know if it’s important. We think her name was Heena Butt.’
‘You are assuming that from a library card found in her belongings?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you know anything else about her
at all? Her job, anything?’
‘Afraid not. Her flat was located today, but it took that part of the investigation no further forward.’ Taylor was almost sympathetic to the defence on this. He was an old-school bobby. He more than anyone was uncomfortable with knowing nothing about the deceased, whether or not it had any relevance to the issues for the jury. ‘Believe me, we’ve tried.’
Hussain chose not to belittle him in front of the jury, or even to point out that it was the defence who found Butt’s flat. It wouldn’t help Anderson. ‘What about her phone? We know some numbers were extracted – four, I think? What enquiries did you make?’
‘Yes, they were all pay-as-you-go, unregistered. We rang the one number that was still in use and left a message. No one called back. That’s as far as we could take it.’
‘That’s odd isn’t it? Three of the four numbers in her contacts no longer in use. Could that indicate a criminal network was operating?’
‘Pure speculation,’ interrupted the judge. ‘Don’t answer that, officer.’
Hussain moved on: ‘Did you check missing persons for a Heena Butt?’
‘Of course. There was no match. I should add that we used the date of birth on the library card and ran a trace through the electoral role and all other lists at our disposal. Nothing.’
‘Possibly a foreign national then?’
‘Maybe, but she didn’t enter our borders using that name – we ran a check.’
‘So you haven’t found anyone that knew her?’
‘No, unless you count Mr Anderson, of course.’
On the face of it, the officer had done all he could. Time to change tack. ‘Would you agree that Mr Anderson had a lot of enemies – because of his job as a prosecution barrister?’
‘Quite possibly.’
‘He even reported receiving anonymous threats by phone whilst awaiting trial?’
‘Yes, that goes with the job. His and mine.’
‘You didn’t find out who that person was?’
‘No, sir.’
‘This note was found in the deceased’s handbag: “John Anderson, Spinningfields Chambers – 05 man.” Have you any idea what that means?’
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