'I know you're putting a lot of store by him, but I really shouldn't, if I were you.'
'I haven't told you everything yet. There's a chain of evidence building—'
'Before you do tell me, there's probably something you ought to know - about Alec McAvoy.'
'Oh?' Jenny felt her hackles rise but resisted the urge to snap back. It would be better not to tell Alison about the Maitland connection before court. The last thing she wanted was her best evidence leaking to the police and Security Services before it had been heard.
'Just so you're clear what kind of man he is,' Alison said. 'He's been part of the team defending Marek Stich. He's the Czech fellow who shot a young traffic policeman dead last October. I don't know if you heard the news yesterday?'
'I try to avoid it.'
'Stich got off. It's not that surprising - all they had was a couple of ID witnesses who only saw him further down the street driving away from the scene. The thing is, there was a car which had stopped behind Stich's. According to another witness the driver was a woman who must have seen it all. CID never tracked her down, but last night they had an anonymous call. An emotional female caller said Stich pulled the trigger - she watched him do it. She was going to give a statement, but later that afternoon she was approached by a man with a Scottish accent who stopped her outside the gates of her son's school. He told her that if she said a word she'd lose her child. This was in front of him, mind you, an eight-year-old boy.'
Another apocryphal story to explain away CID's failure, was Jenny's immediate thought. How they must have hated to see a troublesome lawyer they thought they'd seen off for good return to humiliate them.
'I'm sure it'll be looked into,' Jenny said, seeking to avoid another confrontation.
'It's what I told you, Mrs Cooper. He fixes witnesses - finds them or shuts them up - that's all he knows.'
Avoiding the issue, Jenny said, 'Talking of witnesses, are we on track for tomorrow?'
Alison pushed a list across the desk towards her. It contained the names of Detective Sergeant Angus Watkins, the officer who had examined Nazim and Rafi's rooms for signs of forced entry; DI Pironi; David Skene, one of the MI5 agents attached to the initial inquiry; Donovan; Madog; Tathum; Sarah Levin; Professor Brightman; McAvoy; Hugh Rees, the owner of the car rental firm in Hereford; and a name she didn't recognize - Elizabeth Murray.
Alison said, 'She's the old lady who thinks she saw the Toyota. You asked me to see if she was still around. She is. I took a statement from her on my way home last night. She's eighty-six, but still game.'
She passed Jenny another piece of paper containing a few brief sentences in which Mrs Murray said little more than that she had seen a stationary black car with two men inside. Reading it through, Jenny tried and failed to recall asking Alison to trace the witness. She wondered what else she might have forgotten or missed ... It was McAvoy again, absorbing all her attention, even when she wasn't aware of it. And Alison knew: she could see it in the wary, concerned way she was looking at her, registering her mental slip. Her detective's instinct was telling her that Jenny's mind had been skewed, that she was in danger of favouring the mad and illogical, of ignoring obvious truth because a corrupt and dishonest man had fascinated her.
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?'
