Free Death By Dangerous Page A

courtroom terrified him.
    Anderson only ever went out to buy drink and the odd ready meal from the Waitrose on Bridge Street, fast becoming a familiar figure, shuffling across Spinningfields with a plastic bag full of clunking bottles. The subject of much discussion, he’d become a morality tale about how quickly one can fall from grace in the legal profession. Of the cruel unpredictability of life.
    Only alcohol could numb the pain of his humiliation.
    He’d heard nothing from chambers for two weeks. Desperate for money, it had finally dawned that chambers didn’t want him back until the case was over – his name cleared. If he wanted a brief, he would have to call Gary and demand one.
    The nudge he needed came when the cashpoint would only dispense £10. Out of food and, more importantly, brandy, he staggered back to the flat with a few meagre supplies and made the decision to ring in. ‘Hello, Gary, it’s me.’
    A pause. Then: ‘You sound different. How are you, sir?’
    â€˜I’m fine. Any cheques?’
    â€˜â€™Fraid not, sir.’
    â€˜Well, I’m back now. Raring to go.’
    â€˜OK, sir, I’ll bear that in mind.’
    Anderson was irritated by the lukewarm response. He’d spent seventeen years giving everything for this chambers. ‘I don’t think you understand, Gary. I need a brief. Now. Anything.’
    After a deafening silence: ‘All right, sir, I’ve got a return. A sentence in a burg at Crown Square. Defending.’
    â€˜Burglary?’
    â€˜You did say anything.’
    Anderson swallowed his pride. ‘Yes, thanks. Can you get one of the lads to send the brief round to West’s flat?’
    â€˜Of course, sir,’ Gary replied.
    â€˜Oh and Gary, what happened in Ahmed?’
    â€˜Not guilty, sir.’
    â€˜Oh no! And Tredwell?’
    â€˜Bender.’
    â€˜Suspended sentence? So both walked. Shit, poor Connor.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t worry about him, sir. The CPS are blaming
you
.’
    Anderson’s head couldn’t accommodate any more bad news.
    His life had been destroyed and yet Waqar Ahmed was now a free man. Anderson raged at the injustice.
    He reached for his glass and gulped down the contents.

Chapter 20
    The comforting damp of recent rain hung in the air.
    He’d noticed her hours ago. So clean and innocent. Following at a distance from bar to club. He worried she was cold in that slinky little dress. So much bare flesh.
    Laughing with friends. Celebrating her eighteenth birthday.
    He wanted her so badly. He would give her something to remember, forever.
    It had been far too long. Years. Desperate to hold a woman in his arms. See the terror on her face. Have a bond that would last a lifetime.
    At last, goodbyes from her friends. Only two of them left now, stumbling across Spinningfields. Flicking their hair, giggling, arm in arm.
    He hid in the shadows of a doorway as they passed. So close he could almost smell her, but for the odour of roasting doners wafting out of the takeaways on Deansgate. He put his hand in his coat pocket and felt the knife, waiting to do its work. He pulled it out, lifted his top and pressed the blade against his stomach. Drawing it upwards, he left a dripping red line. He grinned. A marker to help remember this night.
    A taxi pulled up. Only one got in. Not her. It was meant to be.
    Time to meet her destiny.

Chapter 21
    Defence advocate, Tahir Hussain, woke up after another hard night, lying there in the dark, remembering all the heartache. Reliving every moment, each one worse than the last. He went into the bathroom and splashed his face. There were good days and bad days. Today was definitely going to be one of the latter. A feeling of emptiness, of hopelessness, overwhelmed him. Why had his family been chosen? They never saw it coming. Hussain’s life had been predictable, happy, until then. Encouraged to study hard by his immigrant parents,