his
full beard and suit and tie made him look older. He uttered a brief greeting
and ushered her upstairs to a small, tidy office. Directly across the narrow
corridor was a classroom in which a language class was taking place, the
students chanting, 'Pleased-to-meet-you.' She glanced at the tidy shelves and
noticed a collection of books both in English and what she assumed was Urdu.
Among them were several political biographies of Middle Eastern figures whose
names she didn't recognize.
'How
can I help you, Mrs Cooper?' Ali said, his anger at her presence covered by
only a thin veneer of politeness.
'Your
name was given to me as someone who was associated with Nazim Jamal and Rafi
Hassan before their disappearance.'
'By
whom?' He spoke precisely, his bearing that of a man with a sharp analytical
mind: the kind of person who made Jenny feel anxious. Ali was prickly and she'd
have to tread carefully.
'The
police. Apparently you went to A1 Rahma mosque with Jamal and Hassan in the
months beforehand and ran a halaqah at your flat in Marlowes Road - I hope I
pronounced that correctly.'
'Your
pronunciation is fine. The police are still peddling this story?'
'They
certainly had you marked down as a radical at the time. How they feel about you
now I've no idea.'
'Thankfully
we've had very little to do with each other. My brief spell in unlawful custody
was sufficient. I still don't know if it was the police or the Security
Services holding me. I was punched, kicked, deprived of food and sleep, not
permitted to wash, disturbed at prayers, forced to urinate on the floor. They
found no evidence against me, I was not charged, nor have I ever been.' He
leaned forward in his chair. 'I should be extremely wary of taking notice of
what people who behave in this way tell you, Mrs Cooper. They were not
concerned with guilt or innocence, or even with the truth. All they wanted was
to put Muslims behind bars.'
'They
told Mrs Jamal you were a member of Hizut-Tahrir.'
'You're
sounding very much like them. I thought the coroner's functions were separate
from the police?'
He
sat back, regarding her calmly, waiting for her explanation.
'Nazim
Jamal has been pronounced legally dead. My function is to find out how that
happened.'
'I
thought he was only presumed dead? That's not sufficient grounds for an
inquest.'
'This
is a preliminary inquiry. Mrs Jamal has spent many years in limbo; I feel it's
the least I can do for her.' She affected what she hoped would appear a genuine
smile. 'I presume that you were close to the two of them, friendly even?'
'Yes,
for a while.'
'Is
there anything you'd like their families to know?'
'There's
nothing to tell. We went to mosque, studied a little together. That's it.'
'Would
you mind telling me what you studied?'
'Facets
of our religion.'
She
nodded towards his bookshelf. 'Would these discussions have had a political
slant?'
'We
were students. We discussed all sorts of things.'
'Seven
years is a long time. I expect you've changed.'
He
shook his head. 'You really have missed your vocation,
Mrs
Cooper. I am not - ' he paused for emphasis - 'nor have I ever been, an
advocate of violence.'
'Do
you know where they went, Mr Ali?'
He
held her gaze, unblinking. 'Do you honestly think I would not have told their
families if I did?'
'Did
they ever they mention going abroad to you, to Afghanistan perhaps?' 'No.'
'You
know they were allegedly seen on a London train the next morning.'
'If
that was so, I knew nothing about it.'
'The
police think you were some sort of recruiter, that you hooked in idealistic
young men and passed them down the line to dangerous fanatics.'
'They
think a lot of things, but understand very few.'
'So
tell me. You must have a theory.'
He
glanced down for a moment, considering his response carefully. 'I've had many
years to think, and I can conclude only two things. Firstly, that even those we
believe we know we may not; and secondly, that even in this country a Muslim
life
full beard and suit and tie made him look older. He uttered a brief greeting
and ushered her upstairs to a small, tidy office. Directly across the narrow
corridor was a classroom in which a language class was taking place, the
students chanting, 'Pleased-to-meet-you.' She glanced at the tidy shelves and
noticed a collection of books both in English and what she assumed was Urdu.
Among them were several political biographies of Middle Eastern figures whose
names she didn't recognize.
'How
can I help you, Mrs Cooper?' Ali said, his anger at her presence covered by
only a thin veneer of politeness.
'Your
name was given to me as someone who was associated with Nazim Jamal and Rafi
Hassan before their disappearance.'
'By
whom?' He spoke precisely, his bearing that of a man with a sharp analytical
mind: the kind of person who made Jenny feel anxious. Ali was prickly and she'd
have to tread carefully.
'The
police. Apparently you went to A1 Rahma mosque with Jamal and Hassan in the
months beforehand and ran a halaqah at your flat in Marlowes Road - I hope I
pronounced that correctly.'
'Your
pronunciation is fine. The police are still peddling this story?'
'They
certainly had you marked down as a radical at the time. How they feel about you
now I've no idea.'
'Thankfully
we've had very little to do with each other. My brief spell in unlawful custody
was sufficient. I still don't know if it was the police or the Security
Services holding me. I was punched, kicked, deprived of food and sleep, not
permitted to wash, disturbed at prayers, forced to urinate on the floor. They
found no evidence against me, I was not charged, nor have I ever been.' He
leaned forward in his chair. 'I should be extremely wary of taking notice of
what people who behave in this way tell you, Mrs Cooper. They were not
concerned with guilt or innocence, or even with the truth. All they wanted was
to put Muslims behind bars.'
'They
told Mrs Jamal you were a member of Hizut-Tahrir.'
'You're
sounding very much like them. I thought the coroner's functions were separate
from the police?'
He
sat back, regarding her calmly, waiting for her explanation.
'Nazim
Jamal has been pronounced legally dead. My function is to find out how that
happened.'
'I
thought he was only presumed dead? That's not sufficient grounds for an
inquest.'
'This
is a preliminary inquiry. Mrs Jamal has spent many years in limbo; I feel it's
the least I can do for her.' She affected what she hoped would appear a genuine
smile. 'I presume that you were close to the two of them, friendly even?'
'Yes,
for a while.'
'Is
there anything you'd like their families to know?'
'There's
nothing to tell. We went to mosque, studied a little together. That's it.'
'Would
you mind telling me what you studied?'
'Facets
of our religion.'
She
nodded towards his bookshelf. 'Would these discussions have had a political
slant?'
'We
were students. We discussed all sorts of things.'
'Seven
years is a long time. I expect you've changed.'
He
shook his head. 'You really have missed your vocation,
Mrs
Cooper. I am not - ' he paused for emphasis - 'nor have I ever been, an
advocate of violence.'
'Do
you know where they went, Mr Ali?'
He
held her gaze, unblinking. 'Do you honestly think I would not have told their
families if I did?'
'Did
they ever they mention going abroad to you, to Afghanistan perhaps?' 'No.'
'You
know they were allegedly seen on a London train the next morning.'
'If
that was so, I knew nothing about it.'
'The
police think you were some sort of recruiter, that you hooked in idealistic
young men and passed them down the line to dangerous fanatics.'
'They
think a lot of things, but understand very few.'
'So
tell me. You must have a theory.'
He
glanced down for a moment, considering his response carefully. 'I've had many
years to think, and I can conclude only two things. Firstly, that even those we
believe we know we may not; and secondly, that even in this country a Muslim
life
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