Hakim’s counsel was Mr. Gilbert Gray QC, while the Crown was represented by Mr. George Carman QC. They were like two seasoned gladiators in the Roman Colosseum, cut and thrust, but so far neither had managed to inflict anything more serious than the occasional flesh wound. Sebastian couldn’t help thinking that if they were to change sides, all the feigned passion, the barbed insults, the angry protests would still have been displayed in equal measure.

In their opening speeches, Mr. Gray and Mr. Carman had set out their stalls, and Sebastian was sure the jury hadn’t been swayed one way or the other by the time they sat back down. The first three witnesses—the captain of flight 207, the purser and Mrs. Aisha Obgabo, a Nigerian stewardess who had supplied written evidence—added little to the case, as none of them could remember the woman seated in 3B, and they certainly hadn’t witnessed anyone slipping something into Mr. Bishara’s bag. So a great deal now rested on the next witness, Mr. Collier, a senior customs officer at Heathrow, who had arrested the defendant.

“Call Mr. Collier!” bellowed a policeman standing by the entrance to the court.

Sebastian watched with interest as Mr. Collier entered the room and made his way to the witness box. He was a little over six foot, with thick dark hair and a beard that gave him the look of a sea captain. He had an open and honest face, and Barry Hammond had written in his report that Collier spent his Sunday mornings refereeing mini rugby. But Barry had dug up something that just might give Mr. Gray the chance to draw first blood. However, that would have to wait, because he was the Crown’s witness, so Mr. Carman would be called to examine him first.

When Mr. Collier delivered the oath, he didn’t need to read the card held up by the clerk of the court. His voice was firm and confident, with no suggestion of nerves. The jury were already looking at him with respect.

Mr. Carman rose slowly from his place, opened a red file in front of him and began his examination. “Would you please state your name for the record?”

“David Collier.”

“And your occupation?”

“I’m a senior customs officer, currently working out of Heathrow.”

“How long have you been a customs officer, Mr. Collier?”

“Twenty-seven years.”

“So it would be fair to say that you are a man who has reached the top of his chosen profession?”

“I would like to think so.”

“Let me go further, Mr. Collier, and suggest—”

“You needn’t go any further,” interjected Mr. Justice Urquhart, glaring down from the bench at senior counsel. “You have established Mr. Collier’s credentials, so I suggest you move on.”