Jenny said, 'You collect tolls from hundreds of vehicles every shift. What was it about this one that drew your attention?'
'The driver had an attitude, you know. No please or thank you, virtually snatched the change out of my hand. And one of the lads in the back looked at me in a way I couldn't forget. He had a beard like, but there was something about him - he looked much younger, like a kid.'
'Usher, could you show Mr Madog photographs of Nazim Jamal and Rafi Hassan?'
Alison left her table at the side of the room and took two large photographs across to the witness. He peered at them both before nodding. 'Looks like them.' He pointed to the picture on the left. 'That'd be the one I noticed.'
Alison checked the printed label on the back of the photograph. 'That's Nazim Jamal, ma'am.'
Mr Jamal was looking directly at Jenny now, horrified and expectant, waiting for the pieces to fall into place.
'Did you ever see the occupants of this vehicle again, Mr Madog?'
'I'm afraid I did . . .'
Still, Jenny noticed, Alun Rhys sat tight, showing not the slightest flicker of surprise. It was as if he knew what was coming next.
'Go on, Mr Madog.'
Battling his failing nerves, Madog managed to recount his encounter with the ponytailed passenger the following Saturday. He told the jury how the man had sprayed paint on his granddaughter's hair, and how he hadn't even looked angry as he was doing it. He showed no feeling at all, Madog said.
'Did you tell the police about this attack on your granddaughter?'
'Didn't dare. I wasn't going to put her at risk, was I?'
'Have you seen this man since?'
Madog shook his head.
Jenny's stomach turned over. She glanced over at Alison, who gave a slight shrug. Madog had been sitting in the same room as Tathum for at least fifteen minutes before he came to the witness box. He must surely have remembered his face, even if he was now shorn of the ponytail. She could call Tathum into the court and ask Madog to identify him, but it presented a huge risk. The higher courts frowned on courtroom identifications - the circumstances in which they were made were considered artificial and dangerously pressured - and were prone to ruling them inadmissible. But unless Madog did single Tathum out, a vital link in the chain of evidence would be broken.
She decided to bide her time. She would ask Madog to remain in the hall after stepping down and recall him to the witness box after he'd watched Tathum give evidence.
Jenny invited counsel to cross-examine. Havilland deferred to Martha Denton, who rose to address Madog with a faintly amused smile.
'You claim to remember the details of a single car and its occupants the best part of a decade after the alleged event.'
'Not exactly . . .' he glanced to Jenny. 'A fella asked me about it after, must have been the following July.'
'Oh, really? And who was this?'
'Mr Dean, I think his name was. Said he was a private investigator.'
'An investigator for whom?'
'I can help you there, Miss Denton,' Jenny said. 'Mr Dean was instructed by Mrs Amira Jamal's then solicitor.'
'I see.' Martha Denton's instructing solicitor tugged at her elbow and whispered to her. She smiled, then turned accusingly back to the witness. 'And this solicitor would be Mr Alec McAvoy? A man who in December of 2002 was imprisoned for an offence of attempting to pervert the course of justice? So presumably Mr McAvoy was in prison at the time?'
'I didn't know anything about that,' Madog said.
Wishing she had kept her mouth shut, Jenny said, 'You'll be hearing from Mr McAvoy in due course. You can address that issue with him directly.'
'I certainly will, ma'am. Did this investigator take a written statement from you, Mr Madog?'
'I didn't like to say anything at the time - because of my granddaughter.'
'Why did he come to you of all people?'
'He knew what kind of car he was looking for and that there would have been a couple of Asian lads in it. He wanted to know if any of the toll collectors had seen it.'
'Ah. So he specifically asked you whether you had seen a large black vehicle containing two white men and two Asian youths?'
'He did.'
'Did he pay you, Mr Madog?'
'No. Nothing.'
'And did he suggest the incident with your granddaughter and the paint?'
Madog shook his head firmly. 'I never told him about that.'
'I see. So when did you first recount that alleged incident?'
'Last week, when I was asked to make a statement.'
Martha Denton adopted a puzzled expression. 'Let's be absolutely clear about this, Mr Madog. You claim to have been too frightened to tell the police about a vicious attack on your six-year-old granddaughter, yet you happily talked to a private investigator who turned up out of the blue.'
'Not about my granddaughter. I told you, I didn't mention it.'
Martha Denton stared into space, as if trying and failing to make sense of his answers. Then, with a dismissive shrug and a curt, 'Oh well,' dropped into her seat.
Jenny watched two jurors in the front row exchange a knowing look. Martha Denton had made them feel clever and made Madog look a fool.
Havilland had no questions, content to align himself with Denton's attack. Sensing a breakthrough for his cause, Khan managed to repair some of the damage she had inflicted by establishing that Madog had no credible reason for lying about his sighting, and his subsequent encounter with the ponytailed driver, short of being bribed. Madog insisted he had never taken money and had told only the truth. Not all the jurors appeared convinced.
Collins had no questions for the witness. Madog stepped eagerly from the witness box, keen to escape as quickly as he could.
Halting him in his tracks, Jenny said, 'If you could wait in the hall until the end of the afternoon, Mr Madog - you may be required to answer some further questions.'
Jenny watched for Rhys's reaction. He remained impassive. Smug. She allowed herself a brief indulgent fantasy: perhaps she could still raise sufficient doubt, pose enough awkward questions to lead the jury to a brave decision that would shock him out of his complacency. Although the substance of the evidence would have to remain secret, the jury's verdict could not be suppressed. And a coroner's jury had the unique power to deliver their findings in the form of a narrative. If they decided Nazim and Rafi had been spirited away against their will and that the official investigation had been negligent or deliberately suppressed, they could spell it out.
The eight very unsuspecting men and women, currently suffering varying degrees of boredom and annoyance at having to perform their obscure civic duty, had the power to whip up a storm.
The next witness was David Powell, the proprietor of the vehicle-hire firm Jenny and McAvoy had visited in Hereford. Short and heavy-set, he spoke in a broad borders accent and made no attempt to disguise his impatience at being prised away from his business. He glowered at Jenny with the same suspicious disdain with which she imagined he greeted all officials.
Yes, his firm had owned a black Toyota Previa in June 2002 he said, but his records showed it had been rented from 20 to 23 June and not again until 6 July. It would have been sitting in the yard out front on the 28th. When Jenny suggested that he might have hired it out without keeping a paper record, Powell answered with an adamant no and wouldn't be moved. If the records said it wasn't hired, it wasn't. No argument.
Jenny changed tack. 'You have a regular customer called Mr Christopher Tathum, don't you?'
'Not that regular,' Powell grunted.
'Have you brought details of the cars he's hired?'