‘No, sir, we don’t.’ Taylor’s frustration was evident. ‘Look, if you are trying to say someone else was responsible for this car crash, then I need to know in what way? Give me something to go on.’
The judge peered at Hussain over his spectacles. ‘Is that what you are saying?’
‘It is, Your Honour, but we cannot provide that information because the defendant has no recollection of events.’
‘Ah, yes of course,’ came His Honour Judge Cranston’s cynical reply.
‘And why doesn’t Mr Anderson know who his passenger was?’ said Taylor. ‘If that’s true then it makes it very difficult for us to investigate his claims that he didn’t fall asleep or get distracted somehow.’
Hussain decided to cut his losses and sit down. He would have to rely on the Crown’s unreliable evidence of tiredness from Tilly and Connor, and a good performance from Anderson in the box. Or was that wishful thinking?
Once the judge had risen for the day, Hussain went over the day’s events with his client in a conference room. Anderson was wired. Too much to consider: Tilly, Connor, the text message, the prospect of giving evidence the following day. The pressure on both men was becoming unbearable. Anderson was a day or two away from years in prison, locked up with countless men he’d put there. Hussain imparted some advice to his client: ‘Get a good night’s sleep tonight, John. You could be in the box for some time. Need your wits about you. Remember, don’t answer back with a question. Don’t be arrogant, the jury will hate that. And you need to come across as scared − terrified even.’
‘That won’t be hard,’ Anderson replied. ‘Could we get verdicts tomorrow?’
‘Possibly. Certainly speeches and summing up.’
‘Might try and see the boys tonight. Might be my last chance for a long time.’
‘If the worst happens, they could visit you?’
‘Definitely not!’ Anderson snapped, then apologised. ‘I couldn’t bear for them to see me like that.’ He sighed. ‘Thanks for everything, Tahir. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Hussain watched what was left of John Anderson shuffle out and down the stairs. He knew then that a guilty verdict would finish him. Not just his career, but the man.
A light smattering of snow coated the square outside the courts. Anderson took deliberate steps to avoid slipping. The crisp evening air stung his ears.
Bradford Interchange was bustling with commuters heading back to Halifax, Ilkley, Huddersfield and the surrounding towns. A row of makeshift stalls, manned by undernourished Asian men selling second-hand shoes, lined the entrance. Up the escalator and onto the platform, the 5.13 was about to leave. He hobbled alongside the train and in through the first door. Standing room only. Once inside the relative peace and quiet of the carriage he realised his mobile was ringing. A feeling of dread. Was it him again? The display revealed a number – the same one. ‘Hello, what do you want?’
‘Another bad day at the office?’
The voice was unfamiliar, but definitely Mancunian and possibly the same person that rang before. As with the text, Anderson was at the station. Was he here on the train, watching? He took in the myriad of faces. He shouted into the phone: ‘Who are you?’
A few passengers looked over at Anderson.
The caller responded with laughter. Then: ‘Mr Anderson, I wanted to be the person to tell you.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘Your children are dead. I ate them.’
Anderson’s blood ran cold. Everything slowed down. The words tripped across his brain, again and again. No! He terminated the call. Hands shaking, he rang Mia. Was he awake or in a dream? A nightmare? Ringing out. Directed to voicemail.
He rang again.
Waiting.
At last, she answered.
‘Mia, it’s John.’
‘Oh, hello. What do you—’
‘Where are the kids?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Where are the kids?’
‘Don’t speak to me like that.’
‘I’m sorry, please.’ Trying to control himself: ‘Are they OK? What are they doing?’
‘Playing in the garden. We had a bit of snow.’
‘Check on them, please. I’ll wait while you do it.’
Sensing the urgency, Mia’s tone changed to one of concern. ‘Why, what is it?’
‘Just do it!’
‘You’re scaring me.’
Anderson could hear Mia open the back door. ‘Boys, can you come in for a minute?’
He pushed the phone hard against his ear. Was she talking to them?
Mia’s voice: ‘Boys, where are you?’
No response.
‘Can you see them?’
‘No.’
Anderson’s body began to shake.
‘John, they’re not here!’ Panic. ‘Where are they?’
‘Oh my God. No, please. God, no.’ Anderson slumped against the compartment door.
‘John?’
He tried to think. ‘Ring the police. Someone’s been making threats.’
‘What? Who? Why didn’t you tell me?’ She yelled out: ‘Angus! Will! Oh, it’s all right. They are here, on the Xbox.’
Relief. Anderson’s face cracked up. Dropping his hands, he slid down the side of the carriage until he hit the floor. His head fell into his free hand. After a few moments he put the phone back to his face. ‘Don’t bother to pack, just get in the car and take the boys. Go to—’ He checked himself and instinctively looked around him at prying eyes. ‘Just go away for a few days. Call me when you are out of town.’
‘But, John?’
‘Just do it.’
‘OK.’ She hung up.
Anderson put his hands over his head, pressed his fingers into his scalp and let out uncontrolled guttural groans.
Some passengers moved away. Those sitting at a safe distance gawped.
He closed his eyes. Jumbled thoughts, daydreams, faces; Angus and Will, Adey, Waqar Ahmed, Tredwell, Heena Butt’s lifeless body. Little Molly Granger. Overload.
‘Mr Anderson, are you all right?’ DI Taylor patted him gently on the shoulder.
Anderson stared at him, face blank.
Taylor helped him to his feet just before the doors opened – Halifax. A mass exodus of commuters freed up some seats. ‘Come on, sit down over here,’ said Taylor.
Snapping out of the initial shock, Anderson blurted: ‘Officer you must help me, I’m begging you, for my children.’ He gave a rambling account of the call and the text that morning.
Taylor had to slow him down a few times, just to make sense of it. Anderson was utterly convincing. One only had to look at him. If it was an elaborate lie, why do it after Taylor had already given evidence? This was real all right, and threats towards children was a different matter. More than just turning up at the zoo. And knowing what he did now about Martin Tredwell, Taylor resolved to step up all efforts to find him.
It took the rest of the train journey, but Taylor managed to bring Anderson back from the edge of the abyss. He calmed him with the logical point that it was all a wind-up by some disgruntled former defendant. After all, the boys were alive. Taylor spent the rest of the journey distracting him with small talk. He couldn’t help but think how odd it all was – to be counselling the defendant in a case he had investigated. No doubt about it, he liked Anderson. There was a question he couldn’t resist though: ‘One thing I can’t understand: you are so establishment. You come from a dynasty of legal royalty. Why use someone as shady as Tahir Hussain to defend you?’
Anderson’s intense gaze held Taylor’s for a moment. ‘He turned out to be the best friend I’ve got.’
Chapter 61
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 az
uki 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.
Chapter 62
‘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.’
Chapter 63
‘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.
Chapter 64
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 Ande
rson 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.’
Death By Dangerous Page 18