Chapter 23
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
'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.'
Several of the jurors smiled.
Havilland remained po-faced. 'It's called good practice, ma'am.'
'I'm amenable but no pushover, Mr Havilland,' Jenny said, feeling a swell of anger which she struggled to dampen. 'You'll get what you've a right to, no more.'
Havilland thought about retaliating. He was pre-empted by his instructing solicitor, who tugged at his sleeve and whispered to him to back down. 'Very well, ma'am,' Havilland said, and resumed his seat.
Martha Denton's deadpan gaze didn't waver. She was studying Jenny's face, probing for her weaknesses, biding her time.
Elizabeth Murray was the first witness to make her way from the committee room to sit at the small table on
