Anderson thanked his old pupil-master, feeling guilty for wondering whether he would actually show up.
‘Got to be in Liverpool for twelve. Abandoned my junior on a murder. I’ve spoken to Hannah, she’s agreed to interpose me first thing, if that’s all right with you, John?’
Anderson redirected the question to his lawyer.
Hussain agreed.
Anderson just had time to make a quick call to Mia. There was no point staying at her mother’s any longer if this guy was locked up.
She was relieved to hear the news, and although the call was rushed, Anderson was surprised that she hadn’t yet bothered to ask about the trial. Was she really that uninterested in his fate?
‘All parties in Anderson to Court One,’ came through the tannoy.
As Anderson went through the door to the courtroom, Hussain pulled him back. ‘One thing, John, when you’re in the box.’
Anderson registered Hussain’s anxiety. ‘What?’
‘The lie in your police interview. I know it’s unlikely, but Stapleton might spot it. She might ask if you lied.’
‘I know.’
‘I can’t tell you to say you only remembered about Tilly in the second interview. That you didn’t lie.’ Hussain hesitated. ‘But if you admit the deception, the jury might not forgive you. You know that, don’t you?’
Anderson ushered his lawyer into the courtroom. ‘Don’t worry, Tahir. I’m sure she won’t ask about it,’ he said, failing to reveal that such concerns had been on his mind too.
West was magnificent in the box. Earnest and charming, he described his former pupil in glowing terms. Even Hussain thought so. As godfather to Anderson’s wonderful children, he emphasised his friend’s great integrity, honesty and sense of fair play, values he had held dear all his life. Stapleton didn’t even cross-examine. It was the perfect platform for Anderson to give evidence.
West gave him a confident wink on his way out of court.
Then Hussain finally said the words Anderson had been dreading for weeks: ‘I call the defendant, John Anderson.’
The jury scrutinized Anderson as he made his way to the witness box. The usher put a bible in his trembling hand. ‘I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give…’
The same thought kept rattling around his head − he had absolutely no recollection of the drive home. What was he supposed to say? He caught sight of the Grangers sitting in the public gallery.
All eyes were on John Anderson.
Hussain began by steering the client through his career, careful not to overplay it or adduce anything of Anderson’s privileged background. Then they came to the fateful day.
Anderson described going for a coffee with Tilly and how he left to watch his son play football − the last thing he could remember. He said that he wasn’t tired; long days and late nights were commonplace, something which he had always handled with great ease. Hussain asked the usher to show Anderson the post-mortem photograph of Heena Butt. Anderson insisted that he’d never seen her before. He explained to the jury how he saw her face every night in his sleep and how he would never forget it.
‘It’s the Crown’s case, Mr Anderson,’ Hussain asked with a final flurry, ‘that you are making this all up. You knew Miss Butt, you were tired and you knew you were tired. That you are pretending you can’t remember anything. Is that true?’
Anderson directed his answer straight at the jury. ‘No, it is not true.’ With his voice cracking up, he added: ‘I cannot remember that journey at all and I wish I knew why.’
Hussain sat down, elated at how well it had gone in chief. The jury had seen the real John Anderson. A sincere and broken man. Only the hardest of hearts could have failed to connect with the defendant.
Hannah Stapleton QC rose slowly to her feet, pulling her gown up around her shoulders and gently adjusting her wig. She knew this was where cases were won and lost. ‘Orlando West is an impressive man?’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘And a close friend of yours?’
‘Yes,’ Anderson replied, full of emotion, recalling how West gave his evidence in support.
‘He thinks you are a man of great integrity. An honest man?’
Anderson blushed.
‘In fact he doesn’t really know you at all, does he?’
Where was this going? ‘What do you mean?’
‘When you were first interviewed by the police you said the last thing you remember was leaving court?’
Oh no! Anderson could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knew what was coming. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘When, in your second interview, you were presented with evidence of someone seeing you with Tilly at Starbucks, you claimed that piece of information had slipped your mind, but then you remembered it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you believe in the criminal justice system, Mr Anderson?’
‘Yes I do.’
‘Did the oath that you took today mean anything to you?’
‘Yes it did.’
‘So, remembering that you are under oath, answer me this: did you lie in your first interview? Did you pretend that you couldn’t remember going to Starbucks with Tilly because you didn’t want anyone to know you were having a cosy tête-à-tête with a pretty young barrister?’
Anderson didn’t answer. He looked across at Hussain, who was willing him to lie.
Anderson wrestled with his conscience. It doesn’t matter, you’re innocent. Just lie. You’re home and dry. A white lie. The end justifies the means.
‘Well, Mr Anderson?’ Stapleton pressed.
Finally, John Anderson gave the only answer he could: ‘I panicked. I’m sorry.’
‘You lied?’
‘Yes.’
Game changer.
Hussain looked heavenwards and closed his eyes.
‘Did you tell Mr West that you lied to the police?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘He doesn’t really know you like we do, does he?’ She cast a conspiratorial eye across to the jury.
Anderson didn’t reply.
‘Mr Anderson?’
Silence.
‘Not only are you in fact a liar, you lied in this very case, didn’t you?’
With a hint of irritation at Stapleton’s persistence: ‘Yes, I’ve accepted I lied.’
‘And you expect the jury to believe that you can’t remember anything else?’
Anderson could only shrug.
‘You remember what suits you, when it suits you, don’t you, Mr Anderson?’
Whispers amongst the jury.
Hussain was crestfallen.
Everyone in court, including Anderson, knew the importance of what had just happened.
It would take a miracle to save him now.
Chapter 65
Whoever he was, he was late. Adey paced up and down. She wanted to make it to Bradford for the verdict. She wondered how Anderson was doing in the box. Her mobile rang. ‘Hello?’
‘Walk to the Curry Mile, wait outside the Sanam Sweet Centre.’
He wanted to meet her near the office. Was he just making sure she was alone?
Ten minutes later she was there. Her phone rang again.
‘Walk to Whitworth Park and sit down.’
Adey didn’t like it one bit, but agreed. Already this had the feel of something dangerous. After ten minutes of waiting on a bench and thinking everyone she saw was him she heard a voice from behind her.
‘Hello, I am Shezaad.’ An Asian man, early-thirties with a beard sat down beside her. In traditional Pakistani dress, he wore shalwar trousers and a long kameez shirt under a donkey jacket.
Adey wasted no time: ‘How is Heena?’
Shezaad smiled. ‘You know she is dead.’
Lying was pointless. ‘Yes, what happened?’
Shezaad fiddled with a ring on his finger. After letting out a deep sigh, he began: ‘She was my girlfriend. We were to be married. I loved her very much. But I kn
ow nothing of the world, only of Islam.’
Adey was already sceptical.
He went on: ‘I found out after she died that…’ He paused, repulsed at the forthcoming revelation. ‘That she had been working as a prostitute.’
‘Who told you that?’
With a mixture of anger and sorrow: ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
‘It matters to me. Who told you that?’
Shezaad politely ignored the question. ‘My heart is broken.’
‘So why didn’t you come forward – speak to the police?’
‘I could not. I was here illegally, so was Heena. We are from Pakistan.’ After a moment he continued: ‘The man in the car was a customer. I could not be the one to ruin her reputation.’
Adey jumped up. ‘This is bullshit. I don’t believe you. You delayed seeing me because you had to find out what to say to me. Who do you work for?’
‘I’ve told you the truth.’
Adey began walking away, then whipped her phone out and held it up to take Shezaad’s picture.
‘What are you doing?’ he shouted, putting a palm up to the lens.
She backed away.
Shezaad lunged at her, taking hold of an arm and grabbing at the phone.
Adey kicked him hard between the legs.
He buckled.
Taking her chance, she ran without looking back. People she passed stopped and turned in curiosity at a young woman running for her life through Rusholme.
Only back at the Curry Mile, in the apparent safety of the crowds, did she stop to flag down a passing cab. Breathless, she only just managed to splutter the words: ‘Bradford Crown Court, quick as you can.’
The cabby gave his customer a double take. ‘That’ll be a hundred quid, at least.’
‘Just drive.’ Once they were on their way she checked her phone for the photo. Relief − she had a clean shot. Who the hell was he? And why didn’t he ask her name?
Unless he already knew all about her.
Chapter 66
The jury had heard all the evidence. HHJ Cranston rose for ten minutes to allow the advocates time to prepare for their closing speeches.
Hussain collared Anderson as soon as they were outside the courtroom. ‘Why?’ He was exasperated. ‘Why couldn’t you lie? You would have been acquitted.’
‘But I wouldn’t have been John Anderson anymore. I had to be true to myself.’
Hussain shook his head and said: ‘You are one stubborn bastard, John.’ Hussain had the utmost respect for his client. Despite everything, he had maintained his principles, even though it would probably cost him everything.
The photo of Shezaad came through on Hussain’s iPhone with a short note of the encounter. They disclosed it to Stapleton who in turn showed it to Taylor. No one on the prosecution team recognised him or claimed to have any knowledge of him. Taylor called Shezaad’s number which, unsurprisingly, was now switched off.
Hussain found it unnerving that even at this late stage of the case they were getting new information. ‘What do we do, John?’ he asked his friend. ‘Do we try and ask the judge for time to investigate this further, or get on with speeches?’
Anderson mulled it over. ‘There’s nowhere else to take it. Let’s just get on with it.’
Hussain could see Anderson’s fighting spirit ebbing away. The trial had taken its toll.
‘All parties to Court One.’
The press box and gallery were full. Taylor had to pull rank to get a seat.
Stapleton’s speech was masterly, feigning regret for inviting a conviction of an otherwise law abiding individual. How tragic it all was, but their duty was to find Anderson guilty. She focused on the lack of any positive defence and Anderson’s lie in his police interview. She made only passing reference to Sandra Granger’s dubious evidence of sleep. After twenty minutes, she retook her seat, confident of victory.
Hussain’s speech was longer and full of emotion. He dealt superbly with the lie, turning it on its head, making the point that Anderson couldn’t lie to the jury, which demonstrated his honesty and innocence. He highlighted the lack of evidence of tiredness, coming only from a couple of jealous colleagues, and a mother twisted by grief. The expert evidence was dismissed as vague and inconclusive. He finished on the greatest mystery of the case: ‘Members of the jury, you will remember this case in six months from now. You will even remember it in six years. And when you do, you will still ask yourselves: who was Heena Butt? They never did tell us.
‘When you see on the television or read about terrible miscarriages of justice, people being released from jail after many years of imprisonment for something they didn’t do, you may ask yourselves: what are those jurors who convicted him thinking when they see these news stories? Are they thinking: why were we so sure? Why didn’t we see the signs? Why didn’t we hear the alarm bells ringing?
‘Members of the jury, in this case, the alarm bells are ringing out loud and clear. You cannot be sure of guilt. The only proper verdict, on both counts, is not guilty.’
Anderson was deeply moved, not just by Hussain’s speech, but his whole approach to the case. He’d given it everything, and prioritised his client above all other things. Anderson could have asked for no more.
Still half an hour before the short adjournment, HHJ Cranston decided to get on with his summing up so the jury could retire before lunch, and hopefully deliver verdicts by close of play.
First, there was a matter he raised with counsel in the absence of the jury. ‘Have either of you given any consideration as to whether the lesser alternative of causing death by careless driving should be left to the jury? I am minded to if there’s no objection from either party?’
Both advocates requested five minutes to consider their respective positions.
Anderson and Hussain disappeared into a conference room. ‘Tahir, you know what happens when there are two counts?’
‘Yes, the jury compromise and convict on the lesser count.’
‘Which is why the judge wants it on the indictment. Guarantees a conviction for at least death by careless.’
‘It’s tempting though, John. You need to think about it. Maybe twelve months, eighteen max. You’d only serve half that and you’d be in open conditions within weeks.’
‘But my career would still be over and we’d never know what really happened.’
‘We’ll probably never know, whatever you decide. Like you said, Ahmed’s gone and maybe even Tredwell had something to do with it. You mustn’t lose focus. The primary objective is to get the best result for you.’
‘Sorry to break up the party, chaps.’ Stapleton barged into the room. ‘It’s your lucky day. In light of the judge’s comments, I’ve taken instructions from the CPS and the OIC; not only do we consent to death by careless going on the indictment, we will accept a plea to it and bin the dangerous.’
Hussain was delighted.
Anderson was more cautious: ‘What would Sandra Granger have to say about that?’
‘It’s not her decision, is it?’ Stapleton replied.
‘Why would you accept careless?’
‘Contrary to what you might think, Mr Anderson, I am a fair prosecutor. We are not baying for blood. We accept you went for a coffee to wake you up. You wouldn’t have known it takes twenty minutes to kick in. The facts fit a careless. We all make mistakes, we just have to pay for them, one way or another. Have a chat and let me know.’
Hussain sat down and chucked his wig on the table. ‘Sit down, John.’
Anderson joined him.
‘John, as your lawyer, I have to advise that it’s a no-brainer. A very generous offer. You’ve admitted lying to the police. This is the reward for all our hard work. It justifies your decision to have a trial, and if you plead guilty now, the first time the lesser offence was offered, you’d get full credit, maybe even a suspended sentence.’
It was a big call.
Anderson was unsure of what to do. Eventually: ‘It just doesn’t fe
el right. We’ve come this far.’
Tahir knew Anderson well enough now to predict what was coming next.
‘No, I’ve decided. No deals, no compromises, no death by careless on the indictment. All or nothing.’
Chapter 67
The summing up was fair. No judge wanted to find himself appealed in London for bias. HHJ Cranston made it clear that the jury’s task came down to one question: had the prosecution proved, so that the jury were sure, that Anderson had fallen asleep at the wheel or been distracted so that the vehicle crashed? There was no issue that his driving caused Heena Butt’s and Molly Granger’s deaths and so, if he drove dangerously, it followed that John Anderson would be guilty of causing death by dangerous driving. ‘What is dangerous driving, members of the jury? Well, the legal definition is driving that falls far below the standard of a careful and competent driver. No more, no less.’
At 1.05pm, the jury bailiffs were sworn and the jury filed out to begin their deliberations.
‘I will not take a verdict before 2.15,’ indicated the judge, who had plans to go for lunch at his club now that his summing up was done.
Anderson shook Hussain’s hand outside the courtroom and thanked him for all his efforts.
Keeping the truth from Anderson was more agonising for Hussain with each passing day.
‘Mr Hussain, can I have a word?’ asked the usher. ‘The judge would like you to join him for lunch at the Bradford Club.’
Hussain thanked her then rolled his eyes at Anderson. He detested members’ clubs of any sort, particularly when it involved social contact with the judiciary. ‘Protocol − he’s only invited me because he can’t ask Hannah without the defence being present.’
‘You’d better go then. Need to keep him happy. I used to hate that sort of thing.’ Then with a sheepish grin: ‘Nevertheless, I always went − a right crawler.’
‘I remember,’ Hussain replied with a wink. ‘Sure you’ll be all right?’
‘Yes, I’ll be fine. Go.’ Anderson sat down on one of the seats on the now deserted landing.
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