The Disappeared (14 page)

With
the exception of Havilland, the lawyers were restless and fidgety as, assisted
by Alison, Jenny called the pool of jurors forward and asked each in turn
whether there was any reason why they couldn't serve. She took pity on two
single mothers and released them, then selected eight from the remainder by
lot. Those whose names were drawn took their places in two rows of four seats
to Jenny's left. They were all white and six of them had grey hair. The one
male under thirty wore grubby jeans and a hooded sweat top and already gave the
impression of being bored to distraction. The youngest, a girl of nineteen or
twenty, wore a bemused, uncomprehending expression that seemed to say, 'Where
am I?'

Ignoring
the lawyers' impatient sighs, Jenny told the jury to forget about the courtroom
dramas they had seen on television and to understand that this wasn't a
criminal trial. They would hear evidence about the unexplained disappearance
of Nazim Jamal and his friend, Rafi Hassan. If, and only if, the evidence was
sufficient to show that Nazim Jamal was dead, their task was to determine when,
where and how that had happened. After thirty minutes of careful explanation
she was satisfied that they had grasped the basic concepts. She asked if they
had any questions. No hands went up.

Explanations
complete, Mrs Jamal was making her way forward to the witness chair when the
doors at the back of the hall swung open and a group of young Asian men burst
in, followed by at least another half-dozen excited journalists. They had a
hostile, intimidating air and made no attempt to move quietly, as those that
could occupied the spare seats and the remainder lined up against the wall. The
room felt suddenly cramped and oppressive. There was an atmosphere of simmering
anger.

Jenny
noticed Anwar Ali nod in recognition to one of the new arrivals. Alison shot
her an anxious look.

'This
is a public hearing,' Jenny said, trying to sound reasonable, 'but this room
can only hold so many people. I'll allow everyone who's here now to remain for
the rest of this session, but I may have to review the situation later.'

'May
it please you, ma'am, I appear on behalf of the British Society for Islamic
Change.' A Pakistani man in his early thirties approached the lawyers' table
clutching a legal pad and several text books. 'Yusuf Khan. I am the society's
legal representative.' He set his belongings down and handed Alison a business card.
'If you'll hear me, ma'am, I am instructed to seek the right to examine
witnesses in this inquest.'

Jenny
glanced at the card Alison had passed to her. Khan was a solicitor from a firm
in Birmingham she had never heard of. 'On what grounds, Mr Khan?'

'Ma'am,
rule twenty of the Coroner's Rules gives the coroner a wide discretion to allow
any person who in your opinion is properly interested, to be represented. In
this case I ask you to extend that privilege to Mr Khalid Miah, president of
the society I represent. His organization has five thousand members in the UK,
all of whom are young Muslim men and women aged between eighteen and
thirty-five. It is the leading advocate for the community and has regular high-
level meetings with politicians of all parties. It consults with the Home
Office on matters of criminal justice and has representatives on several major
think tanks.' He extracted a glossy brochure from between his books. Alison
took it from him and handed it to Jenny with a suspicious frown.

Jenny
turned through the professionally produced pages. The society called itself
'BRISIC' and had a cheerful logo featuring brown and white hands clasped
together. There were photographs of young men standing proudly outside a new
mosque, others of their number meeting with cabinet ministers inside the Houses
of Parliament, and a reassuring section showing members enjoying a wholesome
summer camp in the Yorkshire Dales.

'You
clearly represent a respectable and successful organization, Mr Khan, but
rights of audience can only be granted to those who have a legitimate and
well-grounded interest.'

'Ma'am,
as one of the leading organizations of young Muslims in the UK, I would submit
we clear that hurdle. It's not just Mr Jamal's case that concerns us; there are
tens of others who have disappeared in the years since 2001. The official
reason given is invariably that they have gone abroad to train or fight with
radical insurgents in Afghanistan or Iraq, but my clients are far from
satisfied with what little evidence has been provided. A large part of the
coroner's purpose is to determine cause of death so that similar deaths don't
occur in the future. I represent a constituency which is suffering from, if not
proven deaths, many unexplained and seemingly permanent disappearances.' A
murmur of approval travelled around the room. 'The British Society for Islamic
Change does not come here with a political or religious agenda. It comes out of
concern for tens if not hundreds of young Asian men. Where are they going? Where
have they gone? If these are not legitimate questions, I do not know what are.'

Jenny
noticed Alun Rhys trying to catch her eye. She deliberately avoided his gaze.
She didn't need him to tell her what he was thinking, she could read it from
here: let these people in and risk turning the inquest into a political and
media circus. Even if their lawyer behaved himself - and she could always
exclude him if he didn't - BRISIC could take public offence at or exploit every
turn of events. But what was the alternative? If she refused them now, they'd
raise a protest, inflame Muslim opinion and convince Mrs Jamal that she was
being subjected to yet a further layer of conspiracy.

Rhys
was resorting to unsubtle gestures to attract her attention. He'd tell her they
were a political front wanting to hijack the inquest and mercilessly exploit
the publicity it would bring them. Maybe so, but who was she to take orders
from the Security Services? She had a legal duty to make up her own mind. She
resolved to disregard him.

'Wait
there, Mr Khan,' Jenny said. She addressed the entire assembled company: 'I'm
not a coroner who believes in restricting access to my inquiries. In the
interests of openness and fairness I'm willing to allow any legitimately
interested party the right to cross-examine witnesses, not least because it
serves to counter any accusation that important questions have not been put. I
am therefore prepared in principle to allow the British Society for Islamic
Change to have a representative at the advocates' table, but if there are any
objections I will hear them.'

Fraser
Havilland glanced round at his instructing solicitor, who gave an indifferent
shrug. The portly young man instructing Martha Denton, however, was in a
furious, whispered heads-together with Alun Rhys. Jenny gave them a moment to
finish conferring and for the red-faced solicitor to pass a message forward to
his counsel.

Unfazed
by the silent, but palpable enmity which greeted her as she rose, Martha Denton
addressed the court in perfunctory tones. 'Ma'am, there is no evidence that Mr
Jamal or his surviving relatives had or have anything to do with this amorphous
organization. They may claim to represent others who have gone missing for one
reason or another, but this is an inquest into the disappearance of one man
only. There is therefore no reason why they should be represented. But of
course if they wish to observe, they are more than free to do so.'

'Can
you point to any facet of their activities which makes them unsuitable to be
represented? ‘Jenny said.

'The
question is, ma'am, whether they have any legitimate right to be represented at
all.'

'Which
is a matter entirely in my discretion.'

'All
discretion has to be exercised reasonably,' Martha Denton said.

Jenny
felt Rhys's threatening glare. She turned to BRISIC's lawyer, her mind made up.
'On condition that all legal representatives behave reasonably, I will allow
you rights of audience, Mr Khan.'

'Thank
you, ma'am,' Khan said and gave a deferential bow. There were surprised smiles
on the faces of the young men in the room.

Pouting,
Martha Denton sat back pointedly in her seat. Alun Rhys crossed his arms
defensively across his chest.

Jenny
said, 'Right. If you could come forward to the witness chair now, Mrs Jamal.'

Her
face partially obscured by her veil, Mrs Jamal made her way to the front of the
hall and sat on a chair positioned halfway between Jenny and the jury,
immediately to the side of which stood a small desk just large enough to carry
a bible, a koran and a jug of water. She read her oath in a quiet, but steady
voice with only the faintest trace of nervousness. Her demeanour was composed
and dignified, in stark and surprising contrast to the woman Jenny had met at
her office.

Allowing
her to tell her story in her own time, Jenny led Mrs Jamal through Nazim's
young life, his scholarship to Clifton College, her divorce and his arrival at
Bristol University. She painted a picture of a devoted son and a hardworking
student. The first tremor of emotion entered her voice as she described how he
had arrived at her flat in traditional dress during his second university term.

'Did
you talk to him about his reasons for dressing this way?' Jenny asked.

'Yes.
He said lots of Muslims his age were wearing these clothes.'

'Did
you ask why?'

Mrs
Jamal faltered briefly. 'I did ... He wouldn't talk about it. He said it was
just something he wanted to do.'

'How
did you react? Were you concerned?'

'Of
course. We all knew what was happening to our sons, that these extremists were
coming into mosques and talking to them about jihad and such nonsense.'

'Didn't
you then discuss any of this with him?'

She
shook her head. 'I didn't like to. It may not make much sense to you, but I
didn't want to upset him. And I trusted him . . . Young people go through these
phases. It's part of growing up. He was a scientist, he'd never been that
religious. I didn't think it would last.'

'Was
there part of you that was frightened of pushing him away if you challenged him
too directly?'

'Yes.
He was all I had.' She turned to the jury. 'I was alone. He was my only child.'

The
faces that looked back at her were more sceptical than sympathetic.

Jenny
allowed Mrs Jamal a moment to recompose herself, then led her through her final
two meetings with Nazim: the happy occasion of her birthday in May 2002, and
his unexpected arrival, pale and feverish, on Saturday, 22 June.

'When
Nazim stayed for the night in June, would you say he was different from when
you saw him in May?'

'He
wasn't well . . .' she stopped, as if arrested by another thought.

'Mrs
Jamal?'

'There
was one difference.'

'Yes?'

'On
my birthday he went twice to the spare room to perform his afternoon and
evening prayers. He was praying five times a day as you're meant to . . . not
many do.'

'And
in June?'

'He
arrived at noon and went to bed at about nine o'clock. He didn't pray. He
talked about his work, and tennis - he'd stopped playing for a while and
mentioned he was thinking of taking it up again. We talked about family, his
cousins . . . but I don't think we discussed religion.'

'How
was he dressed on that occasion?'

'In
normal clothes: jeans, a shirt. His hair and beard were shorter than before.'
She glanced anxiously around the room, aware that she was being listened to
closely. Most of the Muslims in the hall wore Western clothes, a few
traditional dress, nearly all had beards. 'I remember feeling glad about that.
In our family we didn't believe that you had to dress- as if you live in the
desert to be close to God. That's something that's come from outside. It's never
been that way with us.'

The
young men in the hall traded disapproving glances.

'Did
he say anything to indicate that he had changed in some way?'

'No.
But when you look at your child you know. Something had changed in him. He
wanted me that day. He wanted things the way they used to be before . . . when
he was a boy.'

'Do
you have any idea what this "change" was about, Mrs Jamal, what had
caused it?'

She
lowered her head and looked down at the floor, silent for a long moment. 'I
remember thinking, it's over. I was relieved. And when I heard him at dawn the
next morning, praying the way he was taught as a child, I knew.'

'What
was over?'

'Whatever
ideas those people had put in his head.' She nodded towards Anwar Ali. 'People
like him. Radicals: She spat out the word. 'My Nazim was never one of them.'

Anwar
Ali held her in a steady, unflinching gaze. His friends and associates in the
room stirred restively.

'Mrs
Jamal,' Jenny said, 'did your son ever mention Rafi Hassan?'

'Never
once.'

'Did
he mention any university friends?'

'Not
by name.'

'You
didn't consider that odd?'

'For
eight months, from October to June, I hardly saw him . . . When I did, perhaps
I was a little selfish. I wanted him with
me
, not talking about
friends.'