Jenny Cooper 02 - The Disappeared

by M. R. Hall

  He was effortlessly confident, not in the least frightened of the jury knowing who and what he was.

  ‘Who was your main employer during that year?’

  ‘I had several contracts with a company called Maitland Ltd. I was looking after British oil execs in Nigeria and Azerbaijan.’

  ‘Were you armed while carrying out these duties?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have been much use if I wasn’t.’

  Despite her blanket of medication, Jenny’s heartbeat picked up and her diaphragm drew tighter. She kicked herself on.

  ‘You had a different hairstyle at that time, didn’t you, Mr Tathum? You wore it in a ponytail.’

  ‘I did,’ he said without hesitation.

  Jenny stalled, his directness had thrown her. ‘Let’s talk about 28 June of that year. Are you able to say where you were on that day?’

  ‘I was probably at home, what there was of it. I bought a broken-down old farmhouse when I came out of the army and was rebuilding it.’ He smiled at the jury. ‘It’s turned into my life’s work.’

  They didn’t react. There were neither smiles nor frowns, just a vague sense of wariness at Tathum’s practised charm.

  Jenny steeled herself. ‘Two men were seen in the front of a black Toyota people carrier that evening in Marlowes Road, Bristol. The same or a similar vehicle was seen crossing the Severn Bridge at about eleven p.m. The driver was a white man, thickset, with close-cropped hair; the passenger, also white, had a ponytail. There were two young Asian men in the back seat. Were you in that vehicle, Mr Tathum?’

  Tathum smiled and shook his head. ‘No, I wasn’t.’

  ‘On several occasions you have rented cars from Mr Powell’s company in Hereford. Were you travelling in one of his vehicles that day?’

  ‘No. I have my own car which I use when I’m not working.’

  His denials weren’t surprising, but Jenny was rattled by the depth of his confidence. She didn’t believe anything she could throw at him would shake it. The jury’s questioning expressions told her that they were slowly putting two and two together, but still there was no solid evidence on which they could hang their suspicions.

  ‘On the following Saturday, Mr Madog, the toll collector on the Severn Bridge who noticed the Toyota, says that he was accosted by a man with a ponytail whom he recognized as the driver of that vehicle. This man told Mr Madog that he “hadn’t seen him”, then proceeded to spray paint into the hair of his six-year-old granddaughter who was sitting in the back seat.’ Jenny met Tathum’s gaze and felt herself weakening. ‘Was that man you?’

  He responded with a look of genuine astonishment. ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Are you able to say where you were on that day?’

  ‘Still at home, I expect.’

  All she needed was one thing to implicate him beyond a flimsy chain of circumstantial evidence, one tiny patch of solid ground. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr Jamal, his face filled with pent-up anger, willing her on. Now was the moment. She had nothing more to lose. She looked over the heads of the lawyers to Madog.

  ‘Mr Madog,’ she said, ‘I’m not asking you to perform a formal identification, but can you say if you recognize this witness?’

  Startled, Madog flinched, then gave a nervous shake of his head.

  ‘It’s very important that you give this proper thought and don’t feel at all intimidated, Mr Madog. I’ll spell it out: do you recognize this witness as the man whom you allege accosted you and your granddaughter?’

  Rising timidly to a hunched, semi-standing position, Madog said, ‘No, ma’am . . . That’s not him.’

  A dreadful familiar numbness crept over her. She continued mechanically, a dispassionate observer. She scarcely absorbed a word of the cross-examinations offered by Havilland then Khan, except to register that Tathum had survived without a blow being landed. Tathum brushed aside every accusation and hectoring question Khan threw at him, and stepped down from the witness box as confidently as he had entered it.

  Maitland’s evidence took less than ten minutes. A brisk, polite, ex-SAS colonel, he confirmed that he ran a company specializing in the provision of highly trained ex-servicemen as bodyguards and security advisers to wealthy businessmen and foreign governments. Tathum was one such, who had completed three contracts in the year 2002. None of them, he explained with the reassuringly nonchalant tone of a high-ranking officer, involved the escorting of two young Asian university students over the Severn Bridge from Bristol.

  It was nearing four o’clock when Maitland strolled out of the hall with Tathum. It was a natural moment to call a halt and take stock of the ruins of the day, but Jenny couldn’t bear to send the jury home having made up their minds. It was a gamble, but maybe it was the right time to introduce them to McAvoy. He would be wild, full of extravagant speculation and conjecture, but at least he’d make the jury take notice.

  ‘We’ll have Mr McAvoy next, please,’ she said to Alison.

  Her officer gave her a look as if to say she hoped she knew what she was doing, then made her way to the back of the hall to call him in from the front lobby, to which he’d been banished at lunchtime. After an unnaturally long pause, Alison returned announcing that according to the constable at the front door, McAvoy had left the building an hour ago.

  ‘Oh,’ Jenny said, failing to disguise a sudden surge of panic. ‘Well, then perhaps we’ll call it a day and see if we can’t have him back here first thing tomorrow.’

  Martha Denton interjected, ‘If I could trouble you for a moment, ma’am preferably in the absence of the jury.’

  ‘Is there a matter of law you wish to discuss?’

  ‘It’s more of a procedural issue, but nothing that need concern the jury at this stage. I’m sure they’re extremely keen to get away after a long day.’

  She was greeted by a ripple of thankful laughter.

  ‘Very well,’ Jenny said and reminded the jury not to discuss the case overnight, even with members of their close families. They had begun to gather coats and handbags even before she had finished talking, and bustled eagerly out of the hall with almost indecent haste.

  ‘Yes, Miss Denton?’ Jenny said, still trying to accept that McAvoy had deserted her.

  Martha Denton produced several copies of a document. Alison brought one forward to Jenny. The rest were distributed among the other lawyers.

  Denton said, ‘In the interests of clarity, my clients felt that David Skene should make a statement setting out the substance of his evidence. As you’ll see, it raises one major legal issue, but my clients are confident about how that should be resolved.’

  ‘Hold on, Miss Denton.’

  Jenny skimmed over the brief three-paragraph statement.

  I am David Skene, a former intelligence officer employed by the Security Services. From 2001 until 2004 I was attached to the anti-terrorist team. In early July 2002 I was asked to head a unit to liaise with CID officers in Bristol who were investigating the reported disappearance of two male Asian university students, Nazim Jamal and Rafi Hassan. Jamal and Hassan had been regular attendees at the Al Rahma mosque, which had been under police surveillance following receipt of intelligence suggesting that the resident mullah, Sayeed Faruq, and a number of his close associates including a postgraduate student, Mr Anwar Ali, had been acting as recruiters for the Islamist organization, Hizb-ut-Tahrir.

  During the following weeks my colleague, Mr Ashok Singh, and I interviewed a number of students and staff at the university as well as members of the missing men’s immediate families. We failed to gather any significant evidence to indicate their whereabouts. The CID had more success. In particular, they obtained anecdotal evidence (from a then student, now ‘Dr’) Sarah Levin that Jamal had been heard in a student canteen glorifying young British radicals who had gone to fight as jihadis in Afghanistan. A member of the public, Mr Simon Donovan, then came forward and claimed to have seen Jamal and Hassan on a London-bound train on the morning of 29 June. While police con
tinued their investigations on the ground, Mr Singh and I were redirected to other duties though we remained in regular contact with Bristol CID.

  In August 2002 intelligence was received from a trusted human source which corroborated the theory that Jamal and Hassan had indeed left the country with the assistance of a radical Islamic group. This source was considered highly credible and the nature, although not the substance, of the intelligence was passed on to the CID in Bristol. This led to a gradual winding down of the investigation on the ground.

  The substance of this intelligence remains highly classified.

  Jenny looked up from the document, realizing she had stumbled into a trap from which there would be no escape. A wave of nausea rose up from deep in the well of her stomach.

  ‘Are we going to hear the substance of this intelligence?’

  ‘I hardly think so, ma’am. I’m instructed that the source is still extremely sensitive and that any disclosure could seriously compromise him or her. As I’m sure you are aware, the law is very clear on this issue, but to answer any question you may have, I have prepared a brief submission.’

  Martha Denton’s instructing solicitor was already handing out copies of authorities back to the 1960s. Jenny’s knowledge of the law pertaining to national security and the disclosure of evidence was sketchy at best. Martha Denton proceeded to give her a lesson.

  Since the ground-breaking case of Conway v. Rimmer (1968), she explained, evidence could be withheld from the court if the Secretary of State was satisfied that it was overwhelmingly in the public interest to do so. Even Jenny knew this much. What she hadn’t appreciated, however, was just how wide the definition of ‘public interest’ had become. The cases were clear: it was now considered in the public interest to protect vulnerable or important intelligence sources and, it seemed, evidence which might be used to identify them.

  Denton said, ‘Needless to say, the Secretary of State is satisfied that the evidence of our source does indeed pass this test, and a certificate of public interest immunity will be at the court in the morning.’

  Jenny flicked hurriedly through the pages of Jervis and found a passage which seemed to suggest that coroners, along with other judges, had the right to view evidence which the Secretary of State wished to certify to determine whether it did in fact pass the public interest test. Denton was ready with a further battery of precedents, all of which stated that there were cases in which a ‘judicial peep’ at the disputed evidence was not even appropriate. This was such a case, Denton insisted: the evidence in question was so sensitive that not even one of Her Majesty’s coroners could be trusted to view it. If Jenny refused to agree, the inquest would have to be adjourned and the issue referred to the High Court.

  ‘Let’s forget the law for a moment, Miss Denton,’ Jenny said. ‘What you’re telling me is that there is evidence that Nazim Jamal and Rafi Hassan left the country. Eight years have passed but you have never told the families what this intelligence is, and you still don’t intend to.’

  ‘With respect ma’am, the families were told that the evidence pointed to their sons having left the country. But I’m afraid even families aren’t necessarily entitled to have access to such sensitive intelligence, particularly the families of suspected extremists.’

  Khan could contain his anger no more. ‘Ma’am, this is outrageous. You must insist on seeing this so-called intelligence and if it’s refused fight through every court until justice is exhausted.’ He jabbed an accusing finger at Martha Denton. ‘Her clients, the Security Services, are the people who complain that young Asian men are being lured by extremists, and she wonders why. These aren’t respectable people, they’re secret police. Does she honestly think hiding this information is in the public interest? I’ll tell you what the public is interested in – fair and open justice.’

  ‘I take your point, Mr Khan,’ Jenny said. She needed time to research, to gather arguments as powerful as Martha Denton’s. ‘I’m going to adjourn and continue this discussion first thing tomorrow.’

  Martha Denton refused to be silenced. ‘I’m not sure that will be necessary, ma’am. Given that my clients intend to go directly to the High Court should you rule against them, further discussion is, quite frankly, fruitless. Furthermore, as far as I can ascertain, there is no evidence whatsoever that either Jamal or Hassan is in fact dead, certainly none upon which a jury could reasonably be expected to return a verdict.’

  Jenny’s fraying temper snapped, ‘Miss Denton, I made a special application to hold this inquest and it will continue until its conclusion. If, once all the evidence is heard, the jury are not able to reach a verdict, then so be it. In the meantime, I will not and I shall not be dictated to by you or anyone you represent. Do you understand me?’

  Martha Denton gave an indifferent shrug. She no longer cared what Jenny thought.

  As Denton and Havilland gathered their papers and Khan and Collins approached Mr Jamal to express their outrage, Jenny noticed Alison hovering near the committee-room door. She recognized her officer’s expression of guilt-ridden indecision as the one that had been a frequent feature of the traumatic two weeks of their first case together the previous summer. There were good people and bad people in Alison’s world, and when the categories blurred it angered and confused her.

  Jenny caught her eye and saw that they were both wrestling with the same thought. Hell would freeze over before Skene or any other intelligence office would be persuaded to tell the whole truth to her inquest. But on the other side of the door sat DI Pironi, a career cop with only a handful of years to serve until he collected his pension. Was he decent and brave enough to risk that comfortable future? Would Alison use what little leverage she had to persuade him?

  Martha Denton’s instructing solicitor made for the committee room. Alison held up her hand to stop him and disappeared briefly behind the door. David Skene emerged seconds later. After several moments Alison followed with a glance towards Jenny and the slightest nod.

  It was a place of Pironi’s choosing: a small deserted car park leading to an area of woodland invisible from the road. It was dark and already approaching freezing, though with enough light from a milky moon for Jenny to make out two silhouettes in the front seat of Alison’s car. For a brief while they seemed to dip their heads in prayer. Jenny thought she saw Pironi’s lips moving, his shoulders swaying gently to and fro as he sought God’s guidance. Alison placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  They spoke for nearly twenty minutes. While she waited, Jenny tried several times without success to reach McAvoy. His phone was switched off. She dared to imagine that he might have picked up a lead, that he was out brokering deals and twisting arms, teasing out evidence that he would deliver with an arrogant flourish, sending Martha Denton and Alun Rhys into furious spasms.

  She turned at the sound of a car door closing. Pironi hurried the few steps to his vehicle and pulled away swiftly. Alison waited until his tail lights had faded into the night before crossing the ten yards of muddy ground and climbing into Jenny’s passenger seat. She was silent for a moment as she composed herself, hands resting on her lap.

  She brought the smell of her car with her and a trace of Pironi. Jenny felt like a trespasser on their intimacy.

  ‘He didn’t want to give a sworn statement,’ Alison said quietly. ‘Once you do that you’re as good as on oath, and you swear to tell the whole truth.’

  ‘He won’t do that?’

  ‘He’s trying to be true to his principles, Mrs Cooper.’

  ‘What did he think he was going to do in court?’

  ‘He got the impression he wasn’t likely to be required.’

  ‘Who told him that?’

  ‘He didn’t say exactly . . . Look, he really isn’t to blame for any of this. He’s being put in an impossible situation. Surely you can see that? It’s only the fact he’s got such a conscience that brought him out here.’

  ‘Better a late convert than not at all, I suppose.’
<
br />   ‘It’s not like that. You know it’s not.’

  Jenny removed the acerbic edge from her voice. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘This is all completely off the record, it has to be . . .’

  Jenny fought the urge to be facetious. It struck her that Pironi’s religious conscience was rather more elastic than his church, let alone his personal saviour, might have liked.

  ‘Fine. Just tell me.’

  ‘He didn’t soft-pedal the missing persons inquiry. He did try to find them, but MI5 were pretty certain from the outset that they’d left the country.’

  ‘Was Donovan’s sighting genuine?’

  ‘He didn’t mention him.’

  Jenny drew her own silent conclusion. ‘What else?’

  Alison sighed. ‘He had two officers in a car opposite the halaqah. They definitely didn’t see a black Toyota; they wouldn’t have been able to see as far as Mrs Murray’s house anyway – the road curves round. He sent an officer down to the bus depot, who found the man who would have been driving the bus – he couldn’t remember the two boys getting on that night. He did remember them from other nights, though.’

  ‘Did he make a statement?’

  ‘Yes . . . But it went higher up the chain of command. He doesn’t know what happened to it.’

  ‘Did any other statements go missing?’

  ‘No. But apparently it was a bit chaotic for a while. MI5 already seemed pretty sure the boys had left the country. They didn’t seem too bothered about Dani James’s sighting of the man coming out of the halls. Could have been anyone, they said.’

  ‘What did Pironi think?’

  ‘He felt he was being kept in the dark. MI5 asked him to pass anything he had on, but they didn’t return the favour, of course. He felt bad for the families mostly, especially Mrs Jamal.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. Any theories about what happened to her?’

  ‘He’s being kept well away. Anti-terrorist branch from Scotland Yard have taken it over.’

  ‘I can’t say it’s getting any clearer. What did he have to say about McAvoy?’