Before the usher could move, the door burst open and a panting Hussain almost fell into the courtroom. Catching his breath as he moved towards counsels’ row, he offered: ‘A thousand apologies for my tardiness, Your Honour.’
Showing only contempt for the spectacle, the judge said, ‘Late again? We thought you’d chosen a new career, Mr Khan?’
Hussain ignored the jibe and the incorrect address, grabbed the case file out of Anderson’s hand as he passed the dock and collapsed into his seat.
The reporters in the press box exchanged bemused grins. What story had they missed?
Anderson had questions for Hussain but now wasn’t the time – this judge wasn’t in the mood for more delays. At the short adjournment Anderson would demand answers, and he resolved that if he wasn’t satisfied he would sack Hussain there and then. Being defended by a murderer was not an option.
Adey was relieved the firm were back on the case. It didn’t feel right leaving Anderson without any representation. And besides, to her chagrin, she was developing feelings for him. She handed forward a note to Hussain asking what had been going on.
He ignored it and focussed on the job in hand – the swearing of the jury. Hussain was happy with the look of them. A good racial mix, as one would expect in Bradford. He made a mental note of those he could definitely connect with. His concern lay in the nature of the defendant: could this collection of twelve apparently working-class Yorkshire men and women relate to, or at least sympathise with, an ex-public school barrister? Probably not, but there was nothing Hussain could do about that.
As expected, Hannah Stapleton’s opening speech was polished. Interesting, yet beautifully simplistic in exposition of all matters expert and technical. In short, damning. It was easy to see why she had taken silk. All those in court wondered why on earth Anderson was contesting the case.
Hussain felt the weight of responsibility as he noticed the steely glares of the jurors towards the defendant in the dock.
Stapleton called her first witness to set the scene, a motorist who saw the whole incident play out in front of her on the carriageway. A mother with two children in the back, her evidence would be beyond question. ‘All of a sudden the car just veered off to the left.’
‘Had the vehicle impacted with another vehicle?’
‘No.’
‘Was there an obstruction in the road?’
‘No,’ she replied without hesitation, eager to share her evidence with the court. ‘It just veered off for no reason. Then crashed sideways into another car and spun off onto the hard shoulder.’
‘I see,’ said Stapleton. ‘And then what happened?’
‘We all slowed down and stopped. Me and some other drivers. We went up to the vehicle. Two people were slumped in the front, still in their seat belts, covered in blood. A man and a woman. I thought they were both dead.’
‘Can you describe exactly what injuries you saw, Mrs Hodges?’ asked Stapleton.
Hussain rose to protest: ‘Is this really necessary, Your Honour? There is no dispute that Miss Butt died as a result of the crash.’
The judge thought for a moment, searching for a basis to justify the admission of such prejudicial evidence. To his dismay, he couldn’t. ‘He has a point, does he not, Miss Stapleton?’
The QC nodded. ‘As Your Honour pleases. I have no further questions. Please wait there, Mrs Hodges.’
Hussain wasn’t going to get anything from this witness. It needed to be short and sweet. ‘So when the car veered off the road, before the impact, could you see inside the vehicle?’
‘No, it was too far in front.’
‘So you were unable to assess the condition of the driver?’
‘What do you mean – the condition?’
‘Well, whether he was unconscious for example?’
‘Oh, I see.’ She thought for a moment. ‘No, I suppose not.’
The prosecution-minded judge saw his opportunity to expose the defence: ‘So is that your case, Mr Hussain? The defendant was unconscious? So the jury can understand what they are being asked to decide.’
‘It’s one possibility, Your Honour, but the defendant has no recollection of the crash.’
‘Oh, I see,’ replied the judge with a flicker of sarcasm.
Hussain sat down. There was nothing else to be achieved with this witness.
Stapleton got up to re-examine. ‘Just one question, Mrs Hodges. Does it also follow then that you couldn’t tell if the driver was asleep?’
‘Well, that’s right. I just couldn’t see the driver at all.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Stapleton, then sat down and whispered, ‘touché,’ across to Hussain.
Anderson had a sinking feeling. He should’ve realised there wouldn’t be any case-winning revelations. He was a barrister after all. There were rarely any surprises in a trial like this.
‘Miss Stapleton,’ said the judge, looking at the clock. ‘I think we have time for one more witness before the short adjournment.’
‘As Your Honour pleases. I call Sandra Granger.’
The atmosphere changed immediately. A sense of apprehension descended over the courtroom. The mother of the girl that died was coming into court. The usher guided a diminutive Mrs Granger into the witness box. Nervously she surveyed the scene. Taking the bible in her right hand, she proceeded to repeat the oath. ‘I swear by almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’
‘Would you give the Court your full name please?’ asked Stapleton.
‘Sandra Granger,’ she whispered, overcome by the occasion.
With a sympathetic smile, the judge intervened: ‘I know it’s very difficult for you, Mrs Granger, but I must ask you to keep your voice up and direct your answers across to the jury. They need to hear what you say.’
‘Sorry,’ came a loud whisper.
Stapleton began again: ‘I’m going to ask you about the events of the 24th of January of this year. I don’t think there’s any dispute that you left home at about 4.50pm. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where were you going?’
‘My mum’s. Molly’s nana’s.’ Her face twisted, already locked into the horrendous memories of that fateful day. ‘It were only up the road – Warrington. Just a few junctions. Not far at all.’
‘Who was with you on that journey, Mrs Granger?’
‘Tom − my husband, and Molly.’
‘Who drove?’
‘Me. I locked the front door but had to go back. Forgot me purse, wanted to buy some flowers for Mum.’ She paused, then admitted: ‘If I hadn’t forgotten it, we wouldn’t have been there at that time, would we? Just a few seconds earlier and we’d ’a’ been all right.’ The witness broke down.
The judge interjected: ‘Would you like a glass of water, Mrs Granger?’
Consumed by sorrow, she didn’t hear. ‘Why couldn’t I bloody remember it?’ She shook her head.
Stapleton gently moved her on to the crucial part of her evidence, which had to be elicited before the witness was good for nothing. ‘Could you see the driver of the vehicle as it careered into the side of you?’
‘Yes, very clearly,’ she replied, speaking more distinctly than before, sensing the importance of this piece of testimony.
Stapleton leaned across her lectern towards the witness. ‘Could you see his face?’
All in court held their breath.
‘Yes.’ Then she volunteered: ‘He had his eyes closed. As if he were asleep.’
‘Asleep?’ Stapleton repeated for emphasis.
‘Yes. And just before he hit us, he woke up.’
‘Woke up?’
‘Yes, opened his eyes. But it were too late to do owt.’ Full of rage, she glanced across at the defendant.
The jury followed suit.
Stapleton had what she needed, so didn’t prolong the agony for Mrs Granger by going through the blood and guts of the aftermath. In any event, it wouldn’t win her any friends on the jury. ‘Please wait there, Mrs Granger. The defence advocate may have some questions for you.’
Hussain was going to have to completely discredit this witness to have any chance of an acquittal. His stomach was in knots as he got to his feet. He sensed the animosity of the jury. He gulped. Then: ‘So, Mr Anderson’s vehicle came at you from behind and to the side?’
‘Yes.’
‘How were you able to see his face, Mrs Granger?’
‘I could see it in my rear-view mirror.’
‘In your mirror, surely not?’
‘I’m quite sure.’
‘From the angle at which the vehicle approached?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was Mr Anderson wearing his spectacles?’ Hussain asked, holding up a pair of reading glasses.
The witness hesitated. She looked to Stapleton for an answer.
Silence.
Eventually: ‘Yes, he was.’
‘Sure?’
Another pause, then: ‘Yes.’
‘As sure as you were about his eyes being closed?’
‘Yes,’ came a more emphatic reply.
Hussain put the glasses on his own face. In a quiet, gentle voice: ‘Mrs Granger, John Anderson has never worn glasses.’
No reply from the witness.
The judge could barely contain his anger at Hussain’s disingenuous approach.
Once the witness had gathered herself, jutting out her chin she declared: ‘I’m not a liar.’
‘Oh, I know, Mrs Granger,’ Hussain replied. Gently, he said, ‘It’s just grief.’
She gave him a double-take, unsure of what he was insinuating.
He didn’t need to push it any further. The jury understood.
The courtroom fell silent. Hussain sat down.
Stapleton decided not to re-examine. Best left well alone.
The judge glanced up at the wall clock behind the dock. ‘I think that’s a convenient moment. 2.15, members of the jury.’
Once the jurors had left court, the judge vented his anger: ‘Mr Hussain, I’ll not have cheap circus tricks in my court. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Your Honour.’
‘You misled that witness. Pull a stunt like that again and you’ll be up in front of the SRA for professional misconduct. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Your Honour.’ It had been worth the rebuke. If he hadn’t raised a doubt with Sandra Granger, it would’ve been game over.
Once the judge had risen, Anderson followed Hussain out onto the landing and into a conference room, closely followed by Adey.
Anderson caught DI Taylor’s eye, who was watching events unfold outside the courtroom. They both nodded. Anderson sensed an understanding, even sympathy from Taylor for his predicament.
Once inside the conference room, Anderson exploded. ‘What the hell is going on? Arrested for murder? Jesus!’
‘Look, John, I really can’t do this now,’ Hussain replied. ‘My head is full of the case − your case.’
Before Anderson had a chance to respond, Stapleton was knocking on the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Can we have a quick chat about this afternoon’s batting order? Robing room in five?’
Hussain agreed. Once Stapleton was out of earshot: ‘I haven’t even spoken to Safa since I was released.’
‘Are you on police bail?’ asked Adey.
‘Yes, while they continue their enquiries.’
‘So you’re still a suspect?’ Anderson observed.
‘Yes.’
‘Then I want some answers or you’re off the case.’
‘That’s your choice, John, but I can’t do this now. I’ve got to focus on the experts for this afternoon. You’ll just have to trust me, like I trusted you. Come round to the house tonight, both of you, and I’ll explain everything.’
It was enough to placate Anderson for the moment, apart from one question: ‘Just answer me this: did you kill Waqar Ahmed?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
Anderson couldn’t sustain his sense of outrage, particularly in light of all Hussain’s efforts in court that morning. He would wait for a full explanation. He owed Hussain that much.