‘Yes.’ The witness was becoming more agitated.
‘That case, which went all the way to the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg, founded a fundamental principle: that if any state agency had information that one of its citizens, whether in jail or out, was at risk of being killed, the state had a duty to tell them of the threat.’ Anderson banged his fist down on the lectern. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
Pennington had no choice but to answer: ‘Yes.’
‘We as lawyers, and you as MI5 officers, know that as an Osman warning?’
‘Yes.’
Anderson leaned forward and said very slowly: ‘On the 24th January was Heena Butt tasked with giving me an Osman warning?’
Pennington sighed. Eventually, almost in a whisper: ‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t hear you.’
Louder: ‘Yes.’
Stapleton leapt to her feet. ‘My Lord, the prosecution were not aware of this.’
The judges were still reeling from the last answer.
Anderson had the initiative. He pressed on: ‘I will ask you again, did Miss Butt work for MI5?’
‘No, she didn’t.’ Pennington paused, then admitted, ‘She worked for the Pakistani intelligence services. She was with us on secondment. Butt was an alias we gave her.’
Anderson’s team scoffed. Even the judge couldn’t let that one go: ‘Mr Pennington, in future, make sure you are less economical with the truth.’
Pennington turned crimson. ‘My Lord.’
‘Please continue, Mr Anderson.’
Anderson acknowledged the judge’s green light. ‘So Heena Butt, real name I assume is classified, was to warn me that Doran was planning to kill me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Doran say how he was going to do it?’
‘Not exactly, but he said it would involve Rohypnol.’
Anderson closed his eyes for a moment. Gasps from the gallery. Stapleton turned to her team, clearly unaware of this latest revelation. ‘Miss Butt was too late, though, wasn’t she?’
‘I don’t know what you mean?’
Anderson, flabbergasted by that lie, almost shouted the next question. ‘Everything that happened to me on the 24th January, everything I described, is consistent with my being drugged, isn’t it?’
‘I can’t answer that, I’m not an expert.’
‘Come now, Mr Pennington. At the very least you should have disclosed what you knew to the police after the accident, so my blood could have been tested for the presence of Rohypnol?’
‘That wasn’t my decision.’
‘Oh, I see, time to pass the buck.’ For the first time Anderson saw the bigger picture. ‘There were two courses of action open to you; the first was to disclose this at my trial, or if the information was too sensitive to disclose, explain it to the CPS and indicate that I shouldn’t be prosecuted. Why didn’t that happen, Mr Pennington?’
Pennington shrugged.
‘Is it because MI5 knew that Doran was out on licence from a life sentence? He’d breached his licence conditions, hadn’t he, by associating with criminals at the mosque?’ Anderson waited for an answer.
‘Technically, he was in breach, yes.’
‘So you should have notified the parole board, who would have recalled him to prison. But you decided not to compromise the operation, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Doran went on to cause the deaths of two people – Heena Butt and Molly Granger?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was it worth it? Was the secrecy of your operation worth two lives? The life of a child?’
Pennington didn’t reply.
‘You knew that if I wasn’t prosecuted, people would want answers as to why.’ Anderson turned and pointed to Mr and Mrs Granger. ‘In particular, the parents of Molly Granger.’
Tears were streaming down Mrs Granger’s cheeks.
‘You couldn’t risk it getting out that you’d kept quiet about Doran’s criminal activities, so I was sacrificed?’
All Pennington could say was, ‘It wasn’t my decision. I know there were discussions about what to do.’
‘I bet there were,’ Anderson seethed. ‘And then a week after the crash, Doran raped and mutilated an eighteen-year-old girl, didn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now there was definitely no going back. It could never get out, could it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The first decision not to arrest Doran could possibly have been justified as being in the public interest – national security. But once he’d caused two deaths, you had to take him out. Not doing so was a fatal mistake?’
Pennington nodded: ‘Yes.’
‘So the Doran saga was buried. And that meant it had to be hidden from all parties in R v Anderson.’
‘It wasn’t that simple.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘After the offence on the 31st, on the eighteen-year-old girl, he was locked up anyway. And we assumed you knew about the Rohypnol − you’d have the blood tested, so we wouldn’t have to disclose anything.’
‘Why on earth would you think that?’ Anderson fumed.
‘Well, because Butt had given Orlando West an Osman on the morning of the crash − the 24th. Told him about Rohypnol. He was your leader in the Doran case. He’d had the same threats.’
Silence smashed around the courtroom.
Everyone stared at West, who was still sitting in the gallery. Mia, distressed, did the same, then stood up and staggered out of court. West appeared frozen to the spot.
Anderson couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His closest friend had known all along; watched him go to jail. Lied in the witness box.
Anderson had to stay focused. ‘But when you realised West wasn’t going to share that information, you still kept your mouths shut and watched me drown?’
‘I have to accept that.’
Anderson handed the usher the photo Adey had taken of the man who chased her. ‘Mr Pennington, who is this?’
He glanced at the exhibit. ‘An MI5 operative.’
‘Even during my trial you were still trying to put my lawyers off the scent, weren’t you?’
Pennington hung his head in shame.
‘Mr Pennington, I spent seventeen years prosecuting criminals for my country. I gave it everything, day in, day out; it’s an ugly business. Always at risk of someone trying to take revenge. Screws up your relationships, your life.’ Anderson’s voice broke up. ‘You were supposed to protect me. Look at me, Mr Pennington.’
Pennington raised his head.
‘I was abandoned in the blink of an eye, like I was nothing. I demand to know who made that decision?’
Pennington could keep it in no more. ‘It wasn’t MI5. It was a hot potato right from the start. We couldn’t authorise the continued freedom of a psychopath like Doran. Had to be referred up, to the Home Office. They decided to keep the CPS in the dark throughout your trial.’
‘Of course,’ said Anderson. ‘It was a political decision. How high did it go?’
‘It’s not for me to say, but we had it signed off. It’s all on file.’
‘Let me see it.’
Pennington glanced up at the judge, who responded by saying, ‘Show him.’
Pennington opened his briefcase and took a document out of a folder. The usher took it and handed it to Anderson.
John Anderson couldn’t believe his eyes.
After a few seconds he handed the document back to the usher, who in turn returned it to Pennington. In a complete volte-face, Anderson said, ‘My Lord, I wonder whether it actually matters who it was? Before I go any further, I invite the Crown to consider whether they oppose this application for leave to appeal?’
After some urgent whispering between the CPS lawyers and Stapleton, she got to her feet. ‘Neither do we oppose the application for leave nor the subsequent appeal against conviction.’
‘Very wise, Miss Stapleton.’ His Lordship m
uttered a few words to his brother judges, then: ‘We grant leave and we quash this conviction. There will be no retrial. It seems plain as a pike staff that Mr Anderson was drugged. A written judgement will follow.’ Mr Justice Billings addressed Anderson: ‘A brilliant cross-examination. I hope you haven’t lost faith in the criminal justice system, Mr Anderson? We need more advocates like you at the Bar.’
Anderson could hardly take it in, let alone consider his future.
‘And, Mr Hussain, you showed great courage in the face of stiff criticism.’
Hussain was almost sure the old judge winked.
As people left their seats and began to file out of the courtroom, His Lordship added: ‘Just a minute, dock officer. As sad as it makes me to say it, Mr West will have to be taken down to the cells for the moment. Is there a police officer here?’
Taylor stood up. ‘Yes, My Lord. I am the Officer In The Case.’
‘Very good. No doubt you would wish to arrest Mr West for perjury?’
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘Perhaps you could arrange for his transportation from the cells to a police station for interview.’
Taylor bowed. ‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘And, Mr Anderson, I think you may have to go back down momentarily, to be processed before your release?’
‘Yes. I’m familiar with the procedure, My Lord.’
‘Very good. We’ll rise.’
Two prison officers took hold of a shell-shocked Orlando West and escorted him out of court.
Case closed.
Chapter 92
Only Adey, Hussain and Anderson remained in the courtroom, staring at each other.
Adey broke the silence: ‘Well, that went well.’
They all laughed.
Anderson grinned at Hussain. ‘We’ve come a long way, you and I.’
‘We have indeed.’
‘Words are not enough, Tahir. You believed in me when no one else would.’
‘Stop it, you’re embarrassing me,’ he joked. Then more seriously: ‘And anyway, I did it for my boy, for Shahid.’ With a tear in his eye: ‘Something good in this world of shit.’
Anderson smiled at his friend.
Composing himself, Hussain went on: ‘John, I’ve been meaning to ask, have you ever thought about joining a solicitors’ firm? Try your hand at defending for a while? You’re good at it. Forget silk. How do you like the sound of Hussain & Anderson − has a certain ring to it?’
Anderson laughed off the offer. ‘Too old to learn new tricks, I’m afraid. Think it will always be the independent Bar for me.’ He turned his attention to Adey and held out his hand. Didn’t seem enough somehow.
Connor came bursting into the courtroom, without a hint of embarrassment at his earlier cowardice. ‘Come on, John, everyone’s waiting. Got a table at The Delaunay. And by the way, just spoken to a few of the main players in chambers – they want you as head.’
Everything was happening so fast. Like he’d never been away. ‘Give me a couple of minutes, Sam.’ Anderson turned back to his lawyers. ‘You’ll both come, won’t you?’
Hussain started the excuses: ‘Not really my scene. Got a load of work to catch up on now this is over.’
‘Me too,’ said Adey. ‘There’s a train from Euston we can catch in half an hour. You go, John, your old life is waiting for you.’
Anderson hesitated for a moment. The prison officers came back into the courtroom before anything else could be said. ‘Come with us please, sir?’
A last glance at his friends. Friends? No. What was he thinking? They were just his lawyers. Anderson, more than anyone, should have known that.
He chuckled at his brief descent into sentimentality.
Chapter 93
Anderson followed the prison officer along the cell corridor. He’d seen and smelt enough whitewashed walls to last a lifetime. The odour of jail would never leave him. A chaotic blend of damp, urine, canteen food and disinfectant. Anderson still couldn’t quite believe it. A free man. Exonerated. His career back on track. Who knows, maybe even silk next year? Surely they owed him that much?
He wanted to laugh. Cry. Shout.
Life felt good.
Then, gradually, a dark cloud descended over him. A feeling of melancholy. Now that the initial euphoria had subsided, the realisation remained. The realisation that so many of those that he held dear had cared so little. Had even wanted to destroy him.
Who was John Anderson? Why had his judgement about people been so wide of the mark? Had he forged friendships purely for convenience? For the advancement of a career?
He stood by the senior prison officer’s desk, motionless, contemplating these things whilst forms were filled in and Anderson’s few meagre possessions were handed to him in a sealed plastic bag.
He caught sight of Orlando West across the corridor, sitting alone in a visits room. Staring into space, absent of any animation, West seemed different somehow. Smaller.
Anderson turned to the officers and said, ‘I just need to say goodbye to someone.’
The officer in charge didn’t bother to reply, engrossed in signing off the paperwork.
Anderson walked over to the booth.
West saw him approach. As Anderson opened the door, without making eye contact, West said, ‘Come to gloat, have you?’
Incredulous at the comment, Anderson shook his head. ‘No. I want to know why?’
West said nothing.
Anderson persisted: ‘You knew all along. Watched me suffer. Let me go to jail. That day in the robing room when you offered me the Harrison murder, you said there was something else you wanted to tell me in chambers. It was about the Osman warning you’d had that morning, wasn’t it?’
West remained impassive.
‘But you never got the chance to tell me, did you? And after the crash you kept it to yourself.’ Anderson shook his head at the full realisation. ‘An opportunity too good to miss. To get rid of me.’
West was unmoved.
Now full of emotion, Anderson said, ‘I thought we were friends? That I was like a son to you?’
West turned to Anderson and gave a sardonic smile. ‘Are you really that naive? We’re all out for what we can get.’
Taken aback, Anderson replied, ‘Are we?’
‘It helped my career to take the great Howard Anderson’s son under my wing. Act as your mentor. And it suited you to treat me as such. A symbiosis.’ West looked away again. Cold and detached, he had no interest in Anderson’s need to dissect their relationship.
Anderson needed more answers. ‘And all this was just to clear your path to my wife. That was it?’
West became irritated by the exchange. Suddenly, full of energy, he got up and stood face to face. ‘And why not?’ Holding up a clenched fist: ‘If you want something, you take it.’ He took a step back and laughed. ‘That was how your father always conducted himself.’ With contempt for the man standing before him, he added: ‘You really aren’t your father’s son after all, are you?’
‘What about honour? Integrity? We all want to be judges. It’s not just a career. We have to live righteously, don’t we? You sit as a Recorder. How can you pass judgement on people, send them to prison when you have no moral compass?’
‘It’s just a career, you fool. Like any other. Prime ministers don’t get the job because they care more about society than other politicians. They’re just the most ambitious. Prepared to crush those in their way to the top.’
Anderson pitied him. A greedy, selfish life.
He could now see how West’s ideology had seeped into the bricks and mortar of Spinningfields Chambers. Without noticing, they’d all become infected. Connor, Tilly and others, even himself.
A prison officer touched Anderson’s arm: ‘Time to go, sir.’
Anderson let out a sigh. He saw his life for what it was. So many wasted years. Blind to what really mattered. ‘Goodbye, Orlando.’ Nothing else to say.
West turned away.
Anderso
n was guided up the steps that led to the main entrance. The officer took the key on a chain from his pocket and opened the door.
Freedom.
Detective Inspector Mark Taylor was walking towards Anderson, on his way to the cells to arrest West. Taylor stopped and held out his hand. ‘Congratulations.’
Anderson shook it. ‘Thank you. I know what you did.’
‘It’s the least I could do.’ Neither spoke for a moment, sharing in the joy that justice had finally been done. Then Taylor said, ‘The Grangers wanted me to give you their sincere apologies. And their thanks.’
Anderson smiled wistfully. ‘Not necessary. They were let down by the system. Our system.’ He set off down the corridor towards the Great Hall.
Taylor called after him. He needed to share something else. ‘Mr Anderson?’
Anderson stopped and turned.
‘This case has changed me, you know. Made me see things more clearly.’
Anderson nodded. ‘Me too.’ Then he added, ‘There’s still time left, detective.’
‘Yes. Yes there is,’ Taylor replied.
Chapter 94
Anderson’s parents were waiting with Stephen in the Great Hall. ‘That’s my boy!’ said Howard, hands raised in triumph.
Never had anything sounded so hollow to John Anderson. He stared with incredulity at the man he’d spent a lifetime trying to emulate. Heartbroken, he said nothing. No point highlighting the hypocrisy to the person who had pushed him to plead guilty, offered no support, but thought only of himself. Howard Anderson would never change.
Things were different now. The old John Anderson had died in prison. This new man didn’t need the approval of his flawed father. From now on, John Anderson would live by his own values and pursue his own dreams.
Anderson’s mother moved to hug her son, then thought better of it. ‘We’re all so happy, John,’ she said, through a haze of Prozac.
Mia bounded over and threw her arms around him. ‘I’m so relieved, John. I knew you were innocent.’ Then, doe-eyed: ‘I’ve been such a fool, John. Can we start again? Make it work this time?’
So much had changed. A thousand thoughts ran around Anderson’s head. ‘I’m so sorry, Mia.’
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