Death By Dangerous (8 page)

Anderson took the train to Levenshulme, the nearest stop to Longsight police station. The car was a write-off and so he hadn't driven since the crash. It was the first time in his life he'd been late for anything. The simple knack of planning his day, of being ready, was lost. He turned up the collar of his coat to protect his ears from the biting wind.

Dewi Morgan was already waiting outside for his client, shifting his weight from one leg to the other to keep warm. On seeing Anderson he gave an enthusiastic wave. ‘Good to see you, John – how've you been?' He gripped Anderson's hand. ‘Have you been drinking?'

‘No, of course not. Just a glass with lunch,' Anderson replied, shamefaced.

‘Jesus Christ, man, you smell like a brewery. If you're not fit to be interviewed…?' Anderson's decline since Morgan had last seen him was shocking. He was beginning to look haggard. A far cry from the confident barrister he'd seen strutting around the courts of the northwest.

‘I'm fine. I need to get on with this, Dewi.'

Morgan was not convinced.

‘The waiting has been unbearable.'

Morgan softened a little and took some mints out of his pocket. ‘Here, have a few of these.'

Anderson stuffed a couple in his mouth, deeply conscious of his lawyer studying him.

‘Have you been able to remember anything else, John?'

He shook his head.

The same officers, Taylor and Waters, conducted the interview. Their approach began in a slightly more conciliatory manner than before. Anderson prayed that it meant they weren't going to charge him.

Once the caution had been given, the interview got underway with DI Taylor taking the lead. ‘Mr Anderson, our expert collision investigator, PC Henbury, has finished his report into the crash, as a result of which we need to ask you some more questions.'

‘Of course. I want to assist the investigation in any way I can.'

‘Thank you, Mr Anderson. Some good news. We've had the toxicology back. Clear for drink and drugs.'

‘That's no surprise, officer,' Dewi replied. ‘Mr Anderson told you he hadn't been drinking and he doesn't do drugs. He's a highly respected prosecution barrister, as I'm sure you know?'

Unmoved by Morgan's interjection, Taylor continued: ‘I can also tell you that the impact damage and post-impact movement of the vehicles have been examined. PC Henbury has been able to calculate the speed, or at least a range, of your vehicle prior to impact.'

Anderson waited with baited breath.

‘In short, even at the top end of the range, you were not exceeding the speed limit.'

He let out an audible sigh. ‘That's good to know, officer. Thank you.'

Dewi Morgan couldn't resist adding: ‘So the assertion you made last time – that my client was in a rush to get home – appears to be unfounded?'

Taylor ignored the comment. He had something better. ‘Having looked at the marks left on the road, the angle and distance travelled by you, as described by witnesses, prior to the collision, it appears that you fell asleep at the wheel.'

‘What? That's not possible!'

‘Well, that is the opinion of our collision investigator and also Professor Hawthorn, an expert on sleep.'

‘But I wasn't tired!'

‘But you can't remember the crash, can you? And Professor Hawthorn says that is typical of sleepy drivers. You went into a micro-sleep shortly before the impact. That's why you can't remember it.'

Anderson was becoming more agitated. ‘This is ridiculous. It was five in the afternoon.'

‘Actually, Professor Hawthorn says that statistically, twilight is the most common time of day for people to nod off whilst driving. Don't ask me why.'

‘I wouldn't just drop off like that. I had a passenger for God's sake! Someone I could only have just met. Why can't I remember her − who she was?'

Morgan put a hand on Anderson's arm, to avoid the tape picking up the advice. He shot him a look that told him to calm down. Morgan then tried a more measured approach. ‘The passenger, whom Mr Anderson did not know, she could have been distracting him, attacking him, robbing him? It could have been a carjacking?'

Anderson nodded his agreement. There must be another explanation, he thought. Not sleep. Not at that time of day.

The officers grinned at Morgan. Normally such a clever lawyer, offering such a ludicrous explanation. ‘We can rule out that possibility, Mr Morgan.'

‘How so?' he asked.

‘The movement of Mr Anderson's vehicle prior to impact. It was in an arc. And no skid marks were left on the road. If he'd been awake there would have been some evasive action – steering or braking. Professor Hawthorn says the movement of the vehicle in this way is typical of the driver having a micro-sleep.'

Anderson and his lawyer stared at the officers, open-mouthed. They had no answer. No explanation.

Taylor wasn't done. ‘We also have an eyewitness account. Sandra Granger was in the vehicle you impacted with. She saw you wake just before the impact.'

‘What?' Anderson was dumbstruck. ‘She must be mistaken.'

‘Mr Anderson, we know you were prosecuting in a very difficult trial. It must have been exhausting?'

‘Yes it was, but that's my job. It's always exhausting.'

‘Were you working late the night before?'

‘Until tennish, but that's not unusual.'

‘Then an awards ceremony, I think?' asked Taylor, looking at his notes.

‘I was in bed by one.'

‘And what time did you get up the next morning?'

‘About six. I know what you're getting at, but that's my daily routine. Like it or not, that's the life of a criminal barrister,' Anderson protested. ‘Officer, I didn't feel tired.'

‘But you say you don't remember the car journey? Any of it?'

Anderson could see how it looked.

‘Do you, Mr Anderson?' Taylor persisted.

Anderson shook his head.

‘For the benefit of the tape?'

Eventually, Anderson answered: ‘No, I don't. But I know my own character. I would
not
have driven that tired.'

‘I see,' said Taylor, making it obvious by his tone that he didn't believe a word. ‘Can I just clarify, Mr Anderson? What is the last thing that you
do
remember? I think you said during the last interview…' He checked his notes again. ‘It was leaving the coffee shop?'

‘Yes… that's right.' Anderson's response sounded uncertain. What was coming next?

‘You see, we have a statement from a colleague of yours.'

Anderson's heart sank – Hussain? One minute he was greeting Anderson like a long-lost friend, the next he was stabbing him in the back.

‘He said he walked past Starbucks.' Reading from the statement: ‘At about ten to five.' Taylor paused for a reaction from the suspect.

Anderson could hear his heart thumping.

Taylor scrutinised the detainee. ‘And he saw you through the window with… Tilly Henley-Smith?'

Anderson could feel the sweat break out on his forehead. Why had he lied before? What an idiot he'd been. Now he was stuck with it.

Taylor continued reading out loud: ‘He was drinking and chatting…' Taylor looked up at Anderson and waited for a response.

Anderson tried to think how best to deal with it. Confess his earlier white lie? He couldn't, it would look awful: a self-confessed liar. ‘Oh yes, Tilly. That's right. It must have slipped my mind. We did have a coffee.'

‘So you remember that now, do you?' asked DI Taylor.

‘Yes, I do.'

‘When did you first remember her being there?'

Anderson's stomach was churning. Could they see that he was panicking? ‘Now, when you mentioned it.' Another lie.

‘Quite a busy afternoon for you wasn't it, as far as young women were concerned?'

‘What's that supposed to mean, officer?' interjected Morgan. ‘If you've got something to say, just say it.'

Taylor ignored Morgan's rebuke. ‘Maybe you can remember Miss Butt as well?'

‘No, I can't. I'm sorry.'

‘You do see how it might come across to a jury, don't you, Mr Anderson?'

‘What do you mean?' he replied, understanding exactly where the officer was going.

‘As soon as a witness turns up – someone whose character is beyond reproach – says he saw you with a woman, you accept it, because you have to. Because you remember everything. Are you being selective, Mr Anderson? Selecting what you can remember?'

Anderson couldn't take any more. He put his head in his hands.

‘Would you like a break, Mr Anderson? Time to consult with your solicitor?' Maybe he was about to confess all, thought Taylor.

Anderson shook his head. ‘I can't explain it, officer. Something has gone on here that we don't know about. Please, you've got to find out what happened!'

‘Like what?' Taylor replied, unable to hide his cynicism.

‘I don't know. That's your job. Waqar Ahmed, the man I was prosecuting when this happened would be a good start. Maybe he set me up?'

‘Set you up?' repeated Taylor.

Waters couldn't help but laugh. ‘You fell asleep, Mr Anderson. He wasn't even in the car.'

Anderson gave up on the interview. A complete disaster. ‘That's it. I'm not answering any more questions. I've told you all I can. From now on I'm going no comment.'

Taylor wasn't surprised by the suspect's change of tack, but it was too late. They had him. ‘Don't worry, I think we're done here. This interview is being terminated. The time now is 1436 hours.'

Anderson was taken to the custody suite with his solicitor in tow.

‘John Anderson, I am charging you with causing the deaths of Heena Butt and Molly Granger by your dangerous driving.'

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

This was going to be the most important trial of his life.

Anderson caught the train out to Wilmslow. He missed Mia; not just for a shoulder to cry on, he wanted another chance. Desperate to cling on to his old life in some way. Salvage something. Maybe he could go with her to collect the kids from school, surprise them.

‘Jesus! You look like shit, John!' Mia exclaimed on opening the door.

‘It's been a tough few weeks.'

Mia wasn't interested in prolonging his visit. It took a great deal of negotiation just to be invited inside. They stood in the kitchen exchanging pleasantries, almost as strangers. She rejected his suggestion of collecting the children. ‘Let's just stick to the pre-arranged visits. You can't just turn up like this.'

Mia's open hostility towards him over the last few weeks had been replaced by indifference. She seemed distant. Even the prospect of his conviction didn't seem to concern her. How did she think he was going to pay the mortgage from a jail cell?

‘Mia, I promise you I don't know who that woman was. I have never been unfaithful to you. You know me. Let's talk about this.'

‘John, I don't want to talk about it. Just go, will you?'

He couldn't understand how things had changed so quickly. She'd never really given him a chance to try and explain. He brooded over it during the walk back to the station. Was he missing something? Had something else happened?

He cut through the woods on Lindow Common and stopped. Something made him turn around. He listened. Only the distant mooing of a cow. A curious sensation. That someone was watching him. Was he losing his mind on top of everything else?

6pm. Anderson went to the Alchemist Bar in Spinningfields to meet Dewi Morgan and Orlando West, who had arranged a crisis meeting to discuss the next stage. Anderson was buoyed by the thought that at least West cared about him.

The bar was full of suits – the after-court crowd. Anderson realised his Head of Chambers had chosen this place as a public statement: he was standing by his barrister. He was a good friend.

‘John, some great news! Gary said there are a couple of cheques in your pigeon hole, for cases you did months ago, apparently.'

For once Anderson was grateful that the CPS took forever to pay for work done. ‘Orlando, before we start, I would just like to say…' Anderson hesitated before making his big request. ‘I can't think of a better friend or a better barrister in England than you. Will you represent me in this matter?'

West gave his friend a warm smile and patted his shoulder. ‘I'm flattered, John. I want to more than anything, but I can't.' West sighed. ‘I thought you might ask, so I rang the Bar Council. They told me not to. Said it was inappropriate, as your old pupil-master, head of chambers, godfather to your children, etc… the relationship is too close.'

Anderson's head dropped. ‘Of course. That makes sense.'

‘But I'm happy to be a character witness?'

Anderson accepted the offer. That was something, at least. He put aside his disappointment and launched into a list of tasks for Dewi Morgan, starting with an investigation into Heena Butt. He could see that West and Morgan were observing him as if he were mad − totally disconnected from his analysis of the case. ‘What?' he asked. ‘What is it?'

West went first: ‘Obviously we haven't seen any papers yet, but the prosecution case sounds compelling. Dewi has explained what the reconstruction expert says, and the eyewitness. There's no defence to falling asleep at the wheel, is there?'

‘But what about my passenger? I've no idea how she came to be there, or who she was.'

‘I understand that,' West replied. ‘But that seems to me to be something of a red herring.'

‘And as I've said,' added Morgan, ‘if we poke around too much in that area, it could be very embarrassing for you. And for Mia and the boys.'

Anderson felt betrayed. ‘You got me here to talk me into pleading guilty?' He made to get up.

West gestured for him to sit back down. ‘Look, John. This isn't easy for me. To tell it how it is. I'm your friend. You know you will only get full credit if you plead guilty at the prelim.'

Anderson fixed his eyes on West. ‘Orlando, two dead. This is at least four years, even on a guilty plea.'

‘I know, but it's six after a trial.'

‘I can't plead guilty. Not just because Strangeways is full of people I put in there, but because I need answers. And what about my career?' It hurt Anderson that West could give up on it so easily, after all the years they'd spent nurturing it.

‘You're a clever bloke, John. You can turn your hand to anything.' He patted Anderson's arm. ‘But I understand. As long as you appreciate what you're getting into?'

‘I do,' Anderson replied.

‘All right then. I just don't want this to turn into a media circus. Promise me you'll think about it properly, John? Objectively?'

Anderson agreed to the request.

Once the meeting had broken up he walked across to chambers to collect his cheques. Still shell-shocked from the conversation, reality began to dawn. Maybe he should plead guilty? Face facts. Get it over with. One thing was for sure, whatever the plea, he needed a barrister to defend him. He wanted someone he knew. Someone with whom he could talk things through properly.

Chambers was quiet. The clerks' room was empty. He collected his cheques and had a quick look down the corridor. A light was on in one of the rooms: Connor, working at his desk. Anderson felt bad about the way their relationship had deteriorated. He'd known him a long time, since Bar School. Although Connor wasn't the best advocate in the world, he was thorough and always gave one hundred per cent. Anderson wanted to make amends. ‘Hi, Sam, burning the midnight oil I see?'

Without looking up: ‘What do you want?'

‘Sam, I'm sorry we haven't always seen eye to eye. I just want you to know that I'm sorry if I've ever offended you. I consider you a friend.'

Connor didn't respond.

‘Sam, I was wondering. I need a top barrister to defend me. Would you consider it?'

Connor held Anderson's gaze now. ‘I'm sorry, I can't.'

‘Why not?'

‘I wouldn't be able to remain objective.' Connor paused a moment before adding: ‘I dislike you too much.' He stared Anderson right in the eye, then turned his attention back to his brief.

Anderson was crestfallen.

He made his way back to the flat and drank himself into oblivion.