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'I see.' Denton struck a sarcastic tone: 'And did he explain to you why the Security Services might be so keen not to find two radical Islamists who were known to have been associating with members of Hizb ut-Tahrir, an organization which, although not officially supportive of terrorism, harbours known sympathizers within its ranks?'

Thirty pairs of unforgiving eyes fixed on Martha Denton.

She remained unmoved. 'Did he explain that, Mrs Jamal?'

'No.'

'This is an invention of yours, isn't it? You are desperate to blame someone for the fact you haven't discovered the fate of your son and you have chosen to fixate on my clients.'

Jenny cut in to issue a reproach. 'We may have a jury but this is not a criminal court, Miss Denton. It is a civilized inquiry and will be conducted in that manner. Please moderate your tone.'

Martha Denton raised her eyebrows at her instructing solicitor and continued with mock politeness. 'Mrs Jamal, did your son ever talk to you about his new-found religious conviction?'

'No, he didn't.'

'Did you know that he was meeting regularly with members of Hizb ut-Tahrir, an organization whose aim is to help bring about an international Islamic state?'

'That's what you say. I have no idea.'

'But you did suspect something like that was going on?'

Jenny said, 'What exactly is the point of your question, Miss Denton?'

Martha Denton sighed impatiently. 'What I am attempting to extract from the witness, ma'am, is exactly what she did know about her son's involvement with radicals and extremists.'

Mrs Jamal erupted. 'My son would never do a bad thing. Never. Anyone who said he would is a liar.' Her words echoed around the silent hall.

'His father took rather a different attitude, didn't he?' Martha Denton said. 'He resigned himself to the most obvious explanation for your son's disappearance very quickly, didn't he? That's why he isn't here. For him there is no question to be answered.'

'I can't speak for that man. He hasn't even lifted the phone to me in six years. How should I know what he thinks?'

'And Rafi Hassan's family, too?'

'They're frightened. They're all frightened of your people. I'm the only one who won't be intimidated. I've seen them outside my home, following me in the street—'

'Thank you, Mrs Jamal,' Martha Denton said with an amused expression and sat down.

Mrs Jamal scowled at her, all her efforts to appear reasonable unravelling with her final outburst. Several of the jurors exchanged dubious glances. Jenny doodled a row of question marks on her pad. Try as she might, she couldn't take Mrs Jamal at her word.

Yusuf Khan got to his feet with a placatory smile. 'Mrs

Jamal, you said that your son would never have done a bad thing. Do you honestly believe that?'

'He would never have hurt another human being. I swear on my life.'

'Do you believe he went abroad to join a jihadist organization?'

'If he did, it was not of his free will. That was not his way.'

'You told this to the police and Security Services at the time, I presume, but what - they wouldn't believe you?'

She shook her head. 'They believe only what suits them.'

Khan said, 'Did they give you the impression that they believed your son was an extremist, a young man seduced into sympathy with violence against the West?'

'They didn't have to. It was written in their faces - even the Indian one, Singh.'

Jenny glanced at Alun Rhys. He caught her eye, his expression saying: just wait.

'And did they even appear to entertain the possibility that your son or Mr Hassan might have been the victims of a crime, even though there were signs of forced entry on both their doors?'

'No. Never.'

Khan turned to the jury. 'Were you made to feel, Mrs Jamal, that your son was one of the enemy within?'

Jenny threw him a warning look. She wasn't going to tolerate grandstanding.

To her credit, Mrs Jamal didn't give him the soundbite he was hoping for. 'I was made to feel that nobody cared. But I prayed to God every day, and I still believe there can be justice.'

Khan snapped back: 'You don't think this inquest has been permitted merely to seal your son's reputation as a traitor and a jihadi?'

'Mr Khan,' Jenny said, 'I'll warn you once and not again - this is an inquest, not an opportunity for you to score political points. Next time, you're out.'

The murmur of dissent rose like a wave. Accusing glares turned on her.

Khan said, 'You're quite right, ma'am. Perish the thought that an inquest should ever be used to play politics.'

And as he smiled someone sniggered, then another joined him. A moment later the hall was filled with the sound of mocking laughter. Thrown, Jenny hesitated long enough to lose all face. She felt her cheeks redden and her heart crash against her ribs.

Chapter 9

The halved beta blocker Jenny had gulped down on leaving the courtroom had barely got to work when Alison tapped on the door and let herself in before she could answer.

'Mr Rhys would like to talk to you.'

'Tell him he can send me a note.'

'He was insistent.'

'I don't talk to interested parties during the inquest. He should know that.'

Alison gave a dubious nod, turned halfway to the door, then looked back.

'What?' Jenny said, impatiently.

'I think you should clear the gallery, Mrs Cooper. They're not interested. It's just a mob with a few ringleaders. They're already out at the front talking to news cameras.'

'How could I claim to be holding an open and fair inquiry if I shut out the public?'

'Do you think those people care? Nothing will change what they think.'

'And what's that?'

'Their solicitor as good as said it. He thinks this is window dressing. You're just here to prove those two boys ran off to become terrorists, or whatever we're meant to call them.'

'I can handle a few rowdy kids. Tell Rhys to get lost.' She took a gulp of water from the glass on her desk. Alison watched it shake in her hand but made no comment.

Jenny said, 'Have you got hold of McAvoy yet?'

Alison grimaced. 'His office says he's been in court on a long-running trial, but he'll try to get over this afternoon.'

'Do you know him?'

'Everyone in CID knew McAvoy.'

'Really? What's the story?'

'Whatever he says it is, it isn't.'

She left the room.

Jenny sat back in her chair, closed her eyes and tried to relax. She had conducted stressful inquests in the full public glare before and got through, just. All the morbid, anxious and unwanted thoughts that were assailing her were merely the by-products of stress. They had no meaning. She was in control.

Her limbs were finally starting to feel heavy when her phone bleeped alerting her to a text message. Her eyes started open and she reached for it. It said: Have it you're way. Your on you're own. Working for MI5 and he couldn't even spell.

The mood was noticeably more sober when the court reconvened and Anwar Ali took his place in the witness chair. Composed and confident, he seemed to command respect among the young Muslim men. Jenny ran her eyes over the faces in the public gallery and couldn't see Rhys. She felt a flutter of anxiety and realized how quickly his presence had become a safety blanket. She found herself desperately curious about what he might have said had she let him speak to her. A coroner only ever acted alone, she had to remind herself; a coroner was independent and answered only to the Lord Chancellor. She didn't need anyone else.

She began with the uncontroversial questions, establishing that Ali was thirty-two years old and had been part way through a post-graduate MA in politics and sociology when Nazim and Rafi disappeared. He was currently employed by Newport Borough Council as general manager of the refugee centre where Jenny has visited him, and was a part-time doctoral student at the University of Cardiff. His thesis was entitled: 'Anglo-Muslim Identity: Integration or Cohabitation?' He claimed not to be a member of the British Society for Islamic Change although he admitted to having contributed several articles to their website. He described himself as 'a politically engaged British Muslim concerned with promoting peaceful coexistence between communities'.