The Disappeared (42 page)

Alison
said, 'I do understand, Mrs Cooper. I know what it's like to be impressed with
someone. Look at me and Harry Marshall . . . The ideal man is always the one
you could never have. That's the whole point. It's a fantasy - what you think
you want.'

She
had seen straight through her. She was right, it was a fantasy. Just as Alison
had dreamed of Harry leading her to a gentler, finer world, Jenny imagined
McAvoy, a man who had been to darker places than she had ever imagined, slaying
her monsters at a single stroke.

Lying
to herself as much as to Alison, Jenny said, 'Don't worry. I could never have
feelings for him. The man's a wreck.'

Alison
gave a faint, only partially convinced smile. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

Leaving
Alison with instructions to double-check witnesses, ensure jurors had
fail-safe transport and to take care of the myriad administrative tasks all
other categories of court would have a battery of staff to attend to, Jenny
retreated to her office to make the call to Gillian Golder.

'Jenny,
finally. I was beginning to wonder if you'd disappeared.' It was meant as a
joke, but came out gracelessly.

'You
must have spoken to Simon Moreton,' Jenny replied. 'I told him all I know,
which isn't much.'

'That's
the problem in a nutshell,' Golder said. 'We're all rather groping in the dark
and not sure what we might find.'

Jenny
didn't like the 'we'. It sounded ominous.

Anticipating
what she expected would come next, Jenny said, 'If you're concerned about my
inquest trespassing on the criminal investigation into Mrs Jamal's death, I can
assure you it won't. I'm only interested in what happened eight years ago.'

'But
can we be sure the two events are entirely separate?'

'I
have no reason to delay any further, Miss Golder. Your organization and the
police gave up on the criminal inquiry years ago.'

'Let's
live in the real world for a moment, shall we, Jenny? My service and the police
are desperately looking for the source of illegally held radioactive material.
And one of the chief suspects is the subject of your inquest.'

'You
have evidence that Nazim's alive?'

'We'd
rather the whole issue stayed out of the news until we find the son of a bitch
we're looking for. Even if you don't mention Mrs Jamal, the media are going to
be all over it. If anything's going to drive him or whoever it is further
under, that will.'

'I
don't see that at all,' Jenny said. 'What I see is you trying to save yourself
from potential embarrassment. It was your service who let the trail go cold. It
may have suited your purposes at the time - boosting the argument for war and
all of that - but I wouldn't be fit to hold this office if I let that sway me.'

Icily,
Gillian Golder said, 'Believe it or not, we're not as unreasonable as you seem
to think. I'm sure we could find a way to stop your inquest if we really wanted
to, but perhaps we can agree on a reasonable compromise.'

Golder
paused, waiting for Jenny to step willingly into her trap. She remained silent.

'This
is what we propose: rule seventeen of the Coroner's Rules enables a coroner to
hold an inquest in camera if it's in the interests of national security. I
don't know what evidence you intend to call, but Nazim Jamal and Rafi Hassan
were suspected by us of having extremist sympathies. In the light of the fact
that Mrs Jamal died in circumstances which suggest she came into contact with a
substance which can only be of interest or use to a terrorist, we think there's
a compelling argument, if not a necessity, for your inquest to be held in
secret.'

'I
can see why you'd like that,' Jenny said, 'but I think you may have forgotten
some of the basic principles of justice.'

'Let
me put it this way, Mrs Cooper,' Golder said. 'We have lawyers briefed and
ready to go the High Court this afternoon to seek an injunction that will
ensure rule seventeen is correctly applied.'

Jenny
felt the dead hand pressing on her. She had no doubt that Golder was serious
and that the government lawyers would hint to a well-chosen judge that evidence
of a highly sensitive nature - the significance of which a mere provincial
coroner would not understand - might emerge to threaten national security. The
judge, already used to closed hearings in terrorist cases, and inured to the
denial of once inviolable liberties, such as the right to silence and a
prisoner's right to know the evidence against him, would have no problem with
gagging a coroner. Jenny could fight all she liked, but it was a battle she
would never win. She could appeal to Simon Moreton at the Ministry, but even if
he could be persuaded to protest on her behalf he would be swept aside by his
superiors. All that was left was for her to salvage what she could from the
wreckage.

Jenny
chanced her luck one last time. 'There wouldn't be any need to exclude the
public if I were to impose reporting restrictions.'

'In
the days before the internet, perhaps, but I'm afraid that wouldn't be
sufficient,' Golder said. 'We can allow immediate family to attend, but on the
strict understanding that they mustn't communicate any part of the evidence.'
'I could tell you to go to hell.'

'You
could, but that wouldn't help anyone, would it?'

Zachariah
Jamal was an arrestingly dignified man in his mid-fifties and bore an uncanny
resemblance to his son. Strikingly handsome, he shared the same fine features
and raven black hair. Jenny could see at once why he had parted company with
his late ex-wife. He was self-contained, composed, the polar opposite of
effusive and emotional. He sat alone at one end of the three rows of seats
behind the lawyers, which the previous week had been filled with news- hungry
journalists and the militant members of the British Society for Islamic Change.

Jenny
had contacted him shortly after her last conversation with Gillian Golder and
informed him of developments. She had asked him if he would like her to defy
the request and fight for a full public hearing. He had answered unequivocally:
no. She had ventured to ask him if he had any insight into what had led to his
ex-wife's death. 'She was not a stable woman in recent years,' was all he had
said. He had sounded so remote and removed that Jenny hadn't expected him to
attend the hearing. However, according to Alison he was waiting outside the
hall when she arrived shortly after eight a.m. Seeing him in the flesh, Jenny
realized she had misread him over the telephone. The grief behind his stoical
mask was palpable. Remarried with a second family he would have had few chances
to mourn his first-born son. This was his opportunity.

Out
of courtesy she had also called Mr and Mrs Hassan to tell them they would be
welcome to attend. Mr Hassan told her flatly that they would not be present,
reporters or not. There had been barely suppressed anger in his voice which
Jenny read as guilt. Mr Hassan blamed himself for his son's fate. If only he
hadn't fought with him that Christmas vacation, if only he'd been more attentive
. . . She felt sure he and his wife would have liked to be there, but even
after eight years they simply couldn't face it.

Sitting
at the head of an echoing village hall more accustomed to hosting dances and
produce shows, she felt an almost unbearable sense of responsibility.

The
morning had already proved traumatic. Jenny had arrived to find more than a
dozen uniformed policemen surrounding the hall's entrance. Their sergeant said
he had been ordered to prevent journalists and members of the public from
gaining access to the resumed inquest. Jenny had been remonstrating with him
when several vanloads of BRISIC supporters arrived and angry, hostile scenes
developed. While incredulous local residents looked on, name-calling and
slogan-chanting tipped into violence. Punches were thrown at police officers,
who eagerly responded with truncheons and pepper spray. Temporarily blinded
and screaming in agony, several protesters were arrested and driven away. Most
of the rest were dispersed. Only after Jenny had threatened the sergeant with
multiple lawsuits if he didn't comply, did he allow a remaining handful to
mount a symbolic vigil.

Many
of the witnesses had arrived in the thick of the disturbance. Flanked by
police, Alison had managed to shepherd them through to a side entrance. They
were now corralled in a small committee room separated from the hall by a
single door. Maitland and Tathum had yet to show their faces, but to Jenny's
surprise all the others had answered their summonses, including McAvoy.

Aside
from Mr Jamal, the only other observer to the proceedings was Alun Rhys,
Golder's man in the field, tucked away at the end of a row at the back. She
would have been within her rights to exclude him - the hearing was in camera
and he had no legal right to be present - but an instinct told her to let him
be. She wanted to read his face, to see when it registered surprise, alarm or
even approval.

Extremely
grateful for Dr Allen's new medication, which was successfully holding her
anxiety in check, she turned to the lawyers. Yusuf Khan, the solicitor
representing BRISIC, was anxious to speak first.

'Ma'am,
I must protest most strongly at your decision to conduct this inquest in
camera. The law clearly states that all coroner's inquests are to be held in
public unless it is against the interests of national security to do so. Those
I represent can only conclude that it is their presence that you wish to
avoid.'

'Not
at all, Mr Khan,' Jenny interjected. 'Obviously, you'll respect the reporting
restrictions which have also been placed on this hearing, so I can tell you
without fear of it being repeated that I have made my order directly at the
request of the Security Services.' She glanced at Rhys. 'What it is they fear,
what evidence they anticipate will affect the safety of the realm, they have
not seen fit to tell me. However, I decided that it was preferable to proceed
under these circumstances than not at all.'

'But
this is preposterous,' Khan said. 'A coroner cannot be dictated to. This is an
independent court, not a political tribunal.'

'As
we're in camera I can again speak to you candidly and say that I entirely
agree.'

Rhys's
face hardened in disapproval.

Jenny
continued. 'I'm more than happy for you to shout your objection from the
rooftops, but if I let your supporters in now I can guarantee this inquest will
not be allowed to proceed. It's not what either of us think is right or just,
but I suggest you save your energy for the witnesses.'

Unappeased,
Khan jabbed his finger in the air. 'I am serving notice now: my clients will
fight through every court and do whatever it takes to make the transcript of
these proceedings public. There is no such thing as justice conducted in
secret.'

The
two barristers, Fraser Havilland for the chief constable, and Martha Denton QC
for the Director General of the Security Services, appeared vaguely bored and
unimpressed with Khan's performance. Trevor Collins, the unassuming and
undistinguished solicitor representing Mrs Jamal's estate, was the only lawyer
to nod in agreement.

Jenny
said, 'Thank you, Mr Khan,' and glancing at Alun Rhys added, 'I'm sure if
nothing affecting national security does arise your wish will be granted.'

Rhys
was poker-faced. It occurred to Jenny that he was strangely emasculated: an
observer to secret proceedings with no further sanctions to apply.

She
turned to the jury and thanked them for their patience during the week they had
been adjourned. So as not to alert Rhys or any of the lawyers to what they
might hear, she explained in deliberately vague terms that the delay had been
necessary to pursue further lines of inquiry, with the result that they would
be hearing from several new witnesses. Unimpressed, the jurors responded with
impatient looks.

As
Jenny turned to Alison to request she bring in the first witness, Fraser
Havilland rose abruptly to his feet.

'Ma'am,
before we proceed to evidence, my learned friend

Miss
Denton and I would be grateful if you would furnish us with a list of who these
witnesses may be, and, dare I suggest it, copies of their statements. It is
customary practice in a modern coroner's inquest.'

Sitting
beside him, Martha Denton fixed Jenny with an impassive stare.

Sure
of her ground, Jenny said, 'Customary perhaps, Mr Havilland, but not
obligatory. I suggest you take a look at
R. v. H.M. Coroner for Lincolnshire
ex parte Hay
(1999). Disclosure of documents to counsel, even witness
statements, is a matter in the coroner's discretion.' She turned to the jury.
'A coroner's inquest is not a trial; it is an inquiry on behalf of the Crown.
The lawyers representing the interested persons are merely here to assist, and
are granted the right to ask questions. They cannot require me to produce
anything.'

'With
respect, ma'am,' Havilland persisted, 'the 2003 Bentley case did stress that it
is preferable for a coroner to release witness lists, especially in complex
cases.'

'You're
not easily satisfied, are you, Mr Havilland? Not only are we sitting in camera,
but your and Miss Denton's clients now wish to know exactly what evidence this
inquiry is going to call. I think that's called wanting to have your cake and
eat it.'