Taylor met Adey Tuur at the front desk. He was taken aback by her beauty. A real stunner. He wasn’t fooled by her unconventional appearance. A legally trained defendant was bound to have clever lawyers, even if she did wear jeans and baseball boots to work.
‘You’re late,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour.’
Preoccupied with his mobile, Taylor replied, ‘I’m sorry. Something came up.’
Adey scoffed. She noticed his tie had gravy stains and didn’t match the shirt. A contented family man who’d long since given up on making an effort, she thought.
Taylor took her back through the secure entrance and down a corridor and left her in a room with a chair and a desk. He returned a few minutes later carrying a cardboard box. ‘All the unused is in here. Put anything you want to one side and I’ll photocopy it for you. Just text me when you’re done.’
Adey rummaged through the pile of documents and other items, which were in sealed bags. She found nothing of interest: custody record, transcripts of 999 calls, medical notes from the hospital in relation to Anderson’s treatment and Ms Butt’s death, and a few witness statements of people who arrived on the scene after the crash and so saw nothing of relevance. She put a few irrelevant documents to one side for copying so that Taylor would be none the wiser as to what she had really come to see. At last she found it − a plastic exhibit bag containing the possessions of the deceased. A leather handbag, purse, mobile phone, lipstick, Manchester Central Library card in the name of Heena Butt with date of birth, and a key. She took a compact out of her own bag and opened the lid. She pressed the key hard into the putty inside, creating an imprint, then replaced the key. She checked the purse: £450 in cash, nothing else. It didn’t add up. She could have been a prostitute – a lot of cash, no credit cards – but it was all too sterile. None of the usual crap: receipts, bits of paper, tissues. The bag only contained the bare essentials, as if it had just been bought or someone had deliberately tried to avoid leaving any trail. Nobody travelled without proper ID, unless for good reason. Had the prosecution based the deceased’s identity purely on a library card?
Amongst the documents in the box was a Technocel report – an analysis of the contents of the phone. Only four numbers in the contacts. A history of traffic but only sporadically and only for the six weeks preceding the crash. It didn’t fit a typical usage pattern. Adey was intrigued. Who was this woman? She picked up the handbag again and ran her hands around the inside. Her fingers felt a bump in the lining. She turned the bag inside out. A tiny hidden pocket. She could only fit two fingers in. She pulled out a piece of paper, folded over several times. The police had clearly missed it. She unfolded the paper. Blank. She turned it over. Scrawled handwriting. Her heart skipped a beat. Someone had scribbled:
John Anderson, Spinningfields Chambers – 05man.
The part she couldn’t fathom was ‘05man’. It had to mean 5am, Manchester. But the deceased was in the car at around 5pm. One thing was for sure, she had planned to meet Anderson. Had he been aware of that meeting? Adey cursed. Rather than finding the evidence that proved Anderson’s guilt, the mystery had only deepened.
Once she’d finished, Adey handed Taylor a wad for copying. The thought of taking the piece of paper without revealing its existence to Taylor had occurred to her, but that would forgo the ability to prove where it was recovered. ‘You missed this; I’ll take a copy,’ she said, thrusting the note under Taylor’s nose.
He scrutinized the contents, then Adey’s face.
‘You’re not going to suggest I put it there?’ she asked, reading his mind.
Taylor took the bundle of documents for copying. ‘Of course not.’ He’d dismissed the possibility of a plant, only because he couldn’t see how it could help Anderson’s case, and he wasn’t in the least bit surprised that traffic had missed it.
Once he came back Adey pressed Taylor for more information: ‘Have you tried to cell-site the numbers in the deceased’s phone?’
‘You are joking?’ scoffed Taylor. ‘Do you know how much an expert charges for that?’ But it was a reasonable request. He’d already asked Armstrong to authorise it. He’d refused on the basis that it couldn’t assist the prosecution and the cost couldn’t be justified. Taylor was more interested in doing right by the deceased. After all, she was someone’s daughter, or even mother. Her family could be wondering where she was. It wasn’t in his nature to just leave things hanging like this.
Adey persisted: ‘We need to know who she was. It’s a proper line of enquiry.’ ‘Tell it to the CPS,’ Taylor replied, seemingly unmoved.
Adey made to leave.
‘Just a minute.’ Taylor had a thought. ‘Look, why don’t you try and get the judge to order us to do it. Or make a third party application. We both want to know who she was.’
Adey hadn’t expected that. This copper seemed all right.
‘Don’t go telling anyone I suggested that,’ he said.