A ringside seat in a heavyweight case

David Tua during a lunch break at the High Court. Pictures / Kenny rodger

David Tua, in his elegant grey and black striped shirt and shiny grey tie, teamed with black Samoan skirt, sandals and big calloused feet, is perfectly suited to the theatre that is the High Court.

Throughout the second day of the civil case against his former managers, Martin Pugh and Kevin Barry, he sits in the back row of Courtroom 9.

His tight-shaven head rests back on the carpeted blue wall, his hand on his wife's knee, sometimes frowning, eyes often closed, always listening. She, dressed in a black pants suit for the occasion, exudes the kind of presence and strength of character Tua needs. Since the Pugh/Barry debacle she has taken over the management of his affairs.

Ranged alongside them are a collection of Tua's boxing and rugby mates including Inga Tuigamala (Inga the winger), and Jason Brott, who used to work as a security guard for his fights. They're all big men - and all wedged into narrow courtroom chairs, like sausages in a supermarket packet.

Then to the side, in the defendants' bench and only metres from the Tuaman, is Pugh, Tua's opponent in this, one of the biggest fights of his life. Throughout the evidence Pugh sits there making notes for his lawyer. He wears a beige, long-john-style knit shirt and the kind of tight navy pants you can imagine him wearing to a prize fight.

A gold chain, holding a heavy ring, swings round his neck, the tips of his hair bleached yellow. At times even he seems amused by his lawyer's discomfort. There's a half smile, a wriggle.

Kevin Barry turns up late in a shiny white satin shirt and blue pants and sits there, impassive. Occasionally the pair whisper together, most of the time they take on the formality of the court like lizards on a rock.

In the stand is Jennie Grant, the woman whom Pugh employed to do the books for the Tuaman company. It was she who first warned Tua about his partners.

Blonde, with dimples and gold bangles, she is not even slightly intimidated by this austere High Court setting.

She sits there, in front of Justice Hugh Williams, surrounded by six ringbinders containing, it seems, every bank statement and email she received over the past three or four years.

"Martin Pugh didn't let him have money. He had a daily limit of $1500 he could draw. He didn't have any money in his cheque account." And later, "David set up an automatic payment of $600 a week to his Mum ... and $600 to wife Bina."

"Kevin Barry had his own company. At no time, ever, did Kevin Barry tell me he was a shareholder in [David Tua's] company."

And then, rolling her eyes, "Martin [Pugh] did this all the time [with companies]. He was the director with 100 shares at a dollar a share."

"David's Visa card had a debit for outdoor furniture on it. David doesn't have outdoor furniture at his house. [And Martin Pugh does, round his Takapuna beach swimming pool]. It was lies. The whole thing was lies."

Every so often the razor-sharp judge intervenes, asking for clarification, admonishing Pugh's lawyer, Justin Toebes from Buddle Findlay in Wellington, to tighten up proceedings. As he riffles through page after page of memos headed with the heavy black Tuaman letterhead, Grant just stares ahead, as if mesmerised by the lawyer's black moustache, occasionally smiling at Tua and his wife behind.

And so it goes on, as this entire courtroom full of court staff, witnesses and highly paid lawyers, attempt to piece together fragments of evidence and unravel the tangle of companies, money and mystery that surround the career of one big boxer.