by M. R. Hall
‘Not on the transcript, maybe – there would have been initials on the handwritten originals.’
‘Long since destroyed, I suppose.’
‘I wouldn’t know, ma’am. You’d have to ask the DI.’
‘I will.’ Jenny had many questions for Pironi. ‘Thank you, Mr Watkins. Wait there, please.’
Fraser Havilland rose with a look of weary sympathy for the witness. ‘Mr Watkins, when an adult is reported missing and there is no immediate evidence of any criminal activity surrounding their disappearance, what is the usual police response?’
‘There’s very little we can do.’
Havilland gave the jury a patient, isn’t it obvious look as he asked his next question: ‘And was there evidence of such a crime?’
Watkins shook his head. ‘No signs of violence.’
‘So you might say your response was unusually thorough?’
‘I’d say so, yes.’
‘That’s all.’ Havilland glanced sympathetically at the jury as if to say that Watkins’s entire spell in the witness box had been an unnecessary waste of everybody’s time.
Martha Denton once again didn’t deign to ask any questions, but this time Collins got his nod in before Khan, and the quiet solicitor, more at home conveyancing than cross-examining, rose nervously to his feet.
‘Mr Watkins,’ Collins said, swallowing his words, then coughing nervously. ‘Your statement describing the damage to the door frames of the two boys’ student rooms wasn’t released to my client, the late Mrs Jamal, until nearly a year afterwards, and then only when her then solicitor requested it. Why was that?’
‘I wouldn’t know, sir.’
Collins tugged awkwardly at the flaps of his jacket pockets, ‘That damage could have been interpreted as evidence of violence,’ he said, as a statement rather than as a question. ‘Why on earth wasn’t a full-scale investigation launched?’
‘It was, sir.’
‘None that was worth the name. There were no forensic tests done on the room, no dusting for fingerprints.’
‘It was a missing persons, not a criminal investigation. They’re two different things.’
‘You seemed very uninterested in the whereabouts of two young men you had spent months observing going to and from supposedly seditious political meetings.’
‘Like I said, I just did what I was asked.’
‘Which, it seems, was not to try too hard,’ Collins said with a forthrightness which seemed to take the other lawyers by surprise. He raised his voice even louder. ‘You and your colleagues were ordered not to look for Nazim Jamal and Rafi Hassan. That’s the unpalatable truth, isn’t it, Mr Watkins?’
Watkins glanced uneasily at the jury. ‘Those are your words, sir, not mine.’
‘You have no answer – is that it, Mr Watkins? Would you have been satisfied with the police response if it had been your son or daughter who had gone missing?’
Watkins looked to Jenny, hoping to be rescued.
‘It’s a perfectly proper question,’ Jenny said.
After a pause, in which Watkins seem to toy with the idea of going off message, he said, ‘I was a detective sergeant, sir. An NCO. You’re better off asking those questions of the officers.’
Fraser Havilland and Martha Denton traded a glance and went into a huddle with their instructing solicitors. The two legal teams were planning something in concert.
Khan shook his head, giving Watkins a look of undisguised disdain when Jenny invited him to cross-examine. The witness he wanted was DI Pironi. Jenny wanted him, too, but he could wait for the moment. There were others she needed to hear from first.
‘You may stand down, Mr Watkins.’ She turned to Alison. ‘Simon Donovan, please.’
Donovan came to the witness box for the second time. He looked jaded; what little muscle tone there had once been had gone from his plump face, which sagged unhealthily from his cheek and jawbones.
‘You’re still under oath, Mr Donovan,’ Jenny said. ‘I’ve just a few questions to clear up following your testimony last week.’ She turned back through her longhand note of the evidence and found her verbatim record of his testimony. ‘You told us that you reported your sighting of the two young Asian men on the London train on the 29 June because you recognized their faces from newspaper reports.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You went on to say that the police came round – I presume to your home – with a selection of photographs, from which you identified Nazim Jamal and Rafi Hassan.’
‘I did.’
Jenny noticed Zachariah Jamal looking intently at Donovan.
‘And this was prompted by your concern that they might have been involved in illegal activity.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Jenny paused and studied Donovan carefully. He clasped and unclasped his hands.
‘What was your occupation at the time, Mr Donovan?’
‘I was a chartered accountant, ma’am.’
‘In private practice?’
‘Yes.’
‘From April of that year were you under investigation for offences of fraud?’
Khan and Collins exchanged a look. Havilland and Denton appeared unmoved: Havilland engrossed in another document, Denton patiently taking a note.
‘I was questioned by police, ma’am,’ Donovan said, ‘but completely exonerated. No only that, I gave evidence against several of my clients and a former business associate, who as it turned out were guilty of fraud.’ His answer was pre-rehearsed but confidently delivered. Jenny noticed his eyes dart towards Havilland as if he were subconsciously seeking approval.
Jenny said, ‘Do you recall whether you were questioned by police as a suspect between 29 June and 20 July, the date on which you gave your statement?’
‘I don’t recall exact dates, but there’s a good chance.’
‘I won’t sidestep the issue, Mr Donovan: did you strike a deal with the police over the issue of the fraud charges? Was giving a statement saying you’d seen Nazim Jamal and Rafi Hassan part of it?’
Havilland got indignantly to his feet. ‘Ma’am, as counsel for the chief of the police force in question, I really must object to this line of questioning unless it’s backed up by credible evidence.’
‘Evidence will be called which explains the question Mr Havilland. You’ll just have to be patient.’
‘Ma’am, purely in the interests of fairness I must remind you of your absolute duty of impartiality. This line of questioning does sound suspiciously like a cross-examination mounted by an advocate making a partial case. That is not the manner in which a coroner is expected to conduct an inquiry.’
‘I can assure you, Mr Havilland, I have no intention of compromising my impartiality,’ Jenny snapped. ‘If you’d kindly let me continue.’
Havilland gave way reluctantly, heaving a theatrical sigh as he sat.
‘Mr Donovan,’ Jenny said, ‘please give a straight answer – did the police suggest you make the statement identifying Nazim Jamal and Rafi Hassan?’
‘No,’ Donovan replied, with almost too much force to be convincing.
‘Then do you have any proof that you took this train journey – a credit-card statement perhaps?’
‘I paid cash.’
‘And for the ticket to the football match you were heading to?’
‘That was cash, too.’
‘Were you travelling with anyone who could verify your account?’
‘No.’
‘There must be someone who could substantiate your story?’
‘You could try my ex-wife,’ Donovan said, hoping to raise a smile from the jury.
Jenny tried again to shake his account by suggesting that he may have been tempted to come forward with the intention of gaining credit with the police at a time when he was facing charges, but he denied everything. His statement had been the spontaneous gesture of a concerned citizen, he insisted. That’s all there was to it.
Havilland decided not to di
gnify Jenny’s insinuations with any further inquiry, and Martha Denton again followed suit. Khan reprised his attack of the week before, implying that Donovan couldn’t tell one Asian face from another, but the jury seemed visibly irritated by Khan’s barracking tone: the more he railed, the harder their expressions became. Jenny was slowly learning about British juries: it didn’t matter if their skins were black, white, brown or any combination, they had an instinctive dislike of sentiment. It was a paradox but, in a culture obsessed with the public parading of every shade of self-indulgent emotion, inside a courtroom the instinct to reject all overt displays of passion still held firm.
When Khan had finally run out of breath, Collins rose to ask a question of his own.
Quietly, and nervously twiddling a pen between his fingers, he said, ‘Are you asking us to believe, Mr Donovan, that it never occurred to you that identifying two potential terrorists – which is what you said you thought they were – might help you in your own case? I can’t imagine what sort of solicitor was advising you if it didn’t.’
Donovan hesitated a fraction too long to appear completely honest. ‘I can’t say I had that thought before I gave the statement, no. My solicitor might have said something afterwards.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he or she did,’ Collins said, then, as if to himself, added, ‘I certainly would have done. Yes, indeed.’ He looked down at the floor for a moment, his mouth twitching as if he was suffering from an unfortunate nervous tic, then looked up again with an unexpected flash of fire. ‘And even though you face no charges, even though this hearing is in secret and your words will never be broadcast, you’re still not man enough to admit that your statement was extracted from you in return for favours. It was a lie, wasn’t it, Mr Donovan?’
The mouse had roared. The jury sat up and paid attention. They watched Donovan closely as he tried to effect a dismissive smile, all the while his thick, fat neck growing a more livid shade of purple.
‘No,’ Donovan said tightly. ‘I saw them. Two Asian lads. It was them. I’m sure it was.’
As he left the witness box and headed gratefully for the exit at the back of the hall, Jenny reminded herself that her job was not simply to pursue the agenda McAvoy had set for her. It was possible that Donovan was largely telling the truth. Perhaps he did see two young men Asian men on the train; they might conceivably have been Nazim and Rafi. She had to keep an open mind.
She took a deep breath. ‘Stay calm,’ she told herself. ‘People are relying on you for the truth. Stay calm for them.’
Dr Sarah Levin managed to look both businesslike and effortlessly glamorous. She declined a religious oath and chose instead to affirm. Jenny imagined McAvoy mocking her. ‘Let’s see how much of an atheist you are when eternity calls,’ he would have said. ‘Would you rather have your long-neglected priest or your hairdresser at your bedside?’
‘Dr Levin,’ Jenny said, pushing the unkind thought from her mind, ‘you were a physics student in the same year as Nazim Jamal, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘You went to lectures and tutorials together?’
‘We did.’
‘You had a room in Goldney, a different student hall of residence.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And approximately twelve days after he disappeared you gave a statement to the police.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember what you said?’
‘I said that I had overheard him talking to some Asian friends in the canteen about “brothers” who had gone to fight in Afghanistan. Their conversation was about jihadis fighting the British and Americans. Nazim seemed impressed with the idea. Whether he was just showing off or not, I couldn’t say.’ She shrugged. ‘They were very young.’
‘When was this incident?’
‘Sometime in the summer term, May probably.’
‘Did he ever mention to you that he was thinking of going to Afghanistan?’
‘No. Never.’
Jenny paused briefly, telling herself to rein in, take her time, tease out the truth.
‘Dr Levin, your statement to the police was dated 22 July. That was three weeks after Nazim Jamal and Rafi Hassan’s disappearance. What was happening during that period?’
‘It was after the end of term. I’d stayed on for a while. Everything had been frantic, but as they quietened down I think I must have remembered overhearing that conversation.’
‘Detectives had been speaking to students, had they?’
‘There had been a few around, yes. None of them spoke to me directly.’
‘I see. And having recalled this conversation, what was in your mind?’
‘I suppose I thought telling the police was the responsible thing to do.’
‘Did you go to them or did they come to you?’
‘There was a notice up in the physics department. I called the number.’
‘Of course, by that time Mr Donovan had given his statement to the police and it had been reported in the local press.’
‘I was aware of that. It was probably what prompted me.’
Jenny looked hard at Sarah Levin. Her manner was modest, that of a witness trying to do her best, but there was a fragility about her, a tendency to address her answers in the direction of Havilland and Denton rather than the jury, as if she felt the gravitational pull of the authority they represented. Yet she didn’t know who they were. She’d hadn’t been at court the week before and she had been behind closed doors in the committee room when the introductions were made at the start of the session.
Jenny said, ‘How well did you know Nazim Jamal, Dr Levin?’
She thought for a moment before answering. ‘Not very.’
‘What about in your first term at university. Were you closer to him then?’
Sarah Levin paused, a sadness stole across her face and she lowered her voice slightly. ‘I know what you’re going to say.’
‘You had a relationship with him, didn’t you?’
Sarah Levin glanced at Mr Jamal. His expression was set and unreadable.
‘Nazim and I had a very brief “relationship”, if you can call it that . . . It was our first term, first time away from home . . .’
Jenny glanced at the lawyers. She noticed Khan looking a little bemused by the confession.
‘How long did this last?’
‘A week or two . . . It wasn’t anything serious. You know what it’s like when you’re a student.’
‘I do. But wasn’t Nazim going through a religiously orthodox phase at the time? He was wearing traditional clothing and growing a beard, wasn’t he?’
Uncomfortable, Sarah Levin said, ‘I really didn’t want to cause any offence to his family, that’s why I never mentioned it . . . We were both eighteen. You’re not really sure what you believe at that age. You’re still searching for your identity.’
‘The point I’m making is that he didn’t have any scruples about sleeping with you.’
‘He didn’t seem to have, no.’
‘Did he talk to you about his religious beliefs?’
‘Only to say that no one should find out. Not his family or his Asian friends . . . It was all very illicit. Exciting, I suppose.’
‘Did he seem to you to be a religious fanatic?’
‘Not at the time. He was certainly observant – he would pray five times a day – but in all other respects he was just a normal young man.’
‘Who ended the relationship?’
‘He didn’t call me over the Christmas vacation. It just sort of petered out.’
‘You may or may not know that Nazim had a subsequent brief relationship with another student in your year, Dani James.’
Sarah Levin nodded. ‘I heard last week. I had no idea.’
‘She thinks she contracted chlamydia from him. Did you have a similar experience?’
Sarah Levin tensed, her shoulders suddenly rigid. A spontaneous reaction, Jenny thought. She groped for a response. ‘Is this relev
ant?’
‘It could be. I have had sight of your medical records, Dr Levin . . .’
The witness blinked and reeled from the unexpected blow. ‘I was diagnosed with the infection a few months later, yes,’ she said, acutely embarrassed. ‘Whether it came from Nazim, I couldn’t say.’
‘Did you mention it to him?’
‘No.’
‘Were you angry about it?’
‘Not in the sense you’re suggesting.’
‘Dr Levin, did the police know about your previous relationship with Nazim?’
‘No. I’ve never mentioned it to anyone until today.’
‘You see the importance of that question, don’t you? This isn’t a criminal trial, I’m not accusing you of anything, but if, for example, the police had got hold of that information, and if they were trying to prove that he and Rafi Hassan went abroad, they might have come to you and asked if he had ever suggested he might?’
‘I know what you’re implying, but it’s not the case.’
‘Did anyone from the Security Services ever speak to or question you?’
‘Never.’
Jenny sat back in her chair with the uneasy feeling that something was still missing, that a question remained unanswered. If she had been an advocate she could have grilled Sarah Levin relentlessly on her unlikely lack of malice towards the young man who had wounded her in such an intimate way, but it would have been inappropriate for a coroner, laying her open to accusations of heavy-handedness and bias.
‘Could you please tell us, then, whether Nazim ever said anything to you which might have indicated what happened to him.’
Sarah considered her answer carefully. ‘It wasn’t anything he said at the time, but looking back I can see that he was angry. I’m not even sure he knew what he was angry with. He channelled it into his religion – it gave him a sense of purpose, of specialness perhaps – but he was also intelligent, sensitive . . .’
‘Do you believe that he went abroad?’
‘I can believe it,’ she said. ‘It would have seemed like an adventure.’
‘Did he ever talk to you about Rafi Hassan?’
‘I didn’t even know who he was until they both vanished. Nazim never spoke about him. Looking back, I suppose he was leading two very separate lives. I didn’t see the other one.’