Death By Dangerous (27 page)

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.

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.

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.

Anderson 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.

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.'

An affectionate smile. ‘It doesn't matter now, John.'

‘It does. We should never have married. It wasn't love for either of us. Not back then, or now.'

Her expression changed to one of surprise.

He tried to explain: ‘I didn't know who I was. Too busy trying to be someone else – living up to other people's expectations of me instead of my own. I'm sorry.'

Her eyes narrowed. Anger rose up: ‘What?
You
don't love
me
?'

Before she had a chance to say anything else, Anderson said, ‘Thank God for the boys. We are truly blessed.' Looking around him at the familiar faces, those he supposedly knew best – loved the most – Anderson realised he was with the wrong people.

He resolved there and then, never to make that mistake again.

Hussain and Adey had managed to get table seats. With broad grins, they watched the train pull out of the station.

Winning always felt good. Still hadn't sunk in.

But they would miss Anderson. Quite a guy.

Hussain spotted Mr and Mrs Granger coming through the carriage looking for their seats.

Seeing them and remembering their loss, then his own, had a sobering effect on Hussain.

Mr Granger stopped. Embarrassed and unable to make eye contact, he said, ‘Thank you.' Then: ‘I'm sorry. We just needed to know what happened.'

Hussain was choked. He stood up to address him. ‘I know, Mr Granger. You have nothing to apologise for. I understand your loss. I really do.'

‘I know. Detective Inspector Taylor told me. I'm sorry.'

Hussain smiled ruefully. ‘I think we both have to try and move on now, don't we?' He paused, then: ‘What else can we do?'

Granger nodded, then set off down the carriage after his wife.

‘This seat taken?'

‘No,' replied Adey, before realising that John Anderson was sitting down beside her.

‘I've been thinking,' he said. ‘
Anderson
& Hussain sounds better, don't you agree?'

‘Maybe,' conceded Hussain, his face beaming. ‘What made you change your mind? A run-down solicitor's office in Rusholme is a big comedown from a barristers' chambers.'

Taking Adey's hand in his, Anderson replied, ‘I like the staff.'

Adey squeezed tightly.

Hussain chuckled. He approved.

Anderson gazed out of the window at the jumbled buildings of Camden flashing by as the train sped out of the city. Senses heightened after the monotony of prison, he had to close his eyes to savour the moment. Only the comforting rattle of the train forging onwards and the warmth of Adey's hand.

He felt a new emotion.

Contentment.

Hussain's voice broke in: ‘By the way, you never told us whose signature was on the document?'

‘Yes,' said Adey. ‘Was it someone very important?'

Anderson didn't reply.

‘Come on,' pressed Hussain. ‘Just between us? Whose career did you save?'

Eventually, eyes still closed, he replied, ‘In confidence?'

‘Of course,' Hussain replied.

‘A junior minister. Stephen Anderson. My brother.'

‘What?' Hussain and Adey replied in unison.

Anderson opened his eyes. ‘A chip off the old block.'