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.'