Fatal Convictions (16 page)

42

Jonesy Maxwell had been in charge of maintenance at Grace Coastal Church in Los Angeles for as long as anyone could remember. He’d seen the good times and the bad. Lately, with the installation of a friendly young pastor who also had a decent dose of humility, the Lord had chosen to bless.

Grace Coastal was overwhelmingly white and suburban, and Jonesy was from the inner city, but the church members accepted him as a brother. He sensed it was almost a point of pride for the congregation—
Look, we have black members too!
So Jonesy played his part, sitting in the first or second row, raising his hands and singing loudly during the worship time, tossing a few amens toward the pastor during the stronger moments of the sermon.

The amens had been flying fast and furious yesterday because the church had baptized a total of thirteen new converts during three separate worship services. Jonesy was especially fired up when a young woman from a prominent Muslim family walked boldly through the waters of baptism. “She risks persecution and alienation from her family for her decision to follow Christ,” the pastor had said. “Now, what’s holding
you
back?”

Yes, sir, yesterday had been Grace Coastal Church at its absolute finest.

On Monday morning, Jonesy had to contend with the earthier part of being a church janitor. There would be bulletins and papers left in the pews, bathrooms to clean, and if he had time, a lawn to mow. Jonesy had intended to start work at eight, but his knees were acting up, and he couldn’t drag his tired body to the building before nine.

He planned to empty the baptismal first. He would pull the plug, do some other work while the water drained, then come back to rinse it out. He climbed the steps behind the stage, felt the knifelike pain in his right knee, and wondered if he should break down and get a total knee replacement after all. He caught his breath and limped toward the baptismal. A few feet away, he stopped dead in his tracks, mouth open in a silent scream. Before he could look away, he felt his breakfast rising, and he turned to the side and hurled. He knelt on his left knee, dizzy at what he had just witnessed.

There was a dead body in the baptistry!

He tried to catch his breath and look back—he needed to confirm the picture now seared into his mind. A second glance brought a second round of vomit, this time in a nearby trash can.

After he had wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he tried to make sense of it all.

The head of the young woman who had been baptized yesterday was floating in the bloody water—severed from her body.

Somehow, Jonesy composed himself and found the urge to pray. “Lord, have mercy,” he said over and over. “In the name of Jesus, bring her killer to justice.”

43

By Monday afternoon, news of the honor killing at Grace Coastal Church had exploded across national television. There was no hard evidence linking Khalid to the murders, but that didn’t stop commentators from noting the similarities in the methods used by the executioner and the fact that Khalid Mobassar was out on bond. Before long, legal “experts” began a renewed assault on the decision by Judge McElroy to free Khalid. “This might never have happened if Judge McElroy had one ounce of common sense,” one of them suggested.

Alex resorted to the hunker-down strategy, retreated to his office, and gave Sylvia strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed. He knew he needed to get ready for the preliminary hearing on Friday. Instead, he spent his time second-guessing whether he should even stay on the case. Nara Mobassar was right. At this rate, her father would be convicted before the opening statements began.

It didn’t help that Shannon had filed Ghaniyah’s personal-injury case earlier that same morning. Legally, they could have waited. But the firm desperately needed the cash flow, and both Alex and Shannon thought it might help in the sympathy department for the Mobassars. That was before the California honor killing. Now, Alex and Shannon were being portrayed as greedy ambulance chasers who took Khalid’s criminal case only because they didn’t want to lose Ghaniyah’s civil case.

Alex knew things were bad when his grandmother called to second-guess his strategy. “Whose idea was it to file that personal-injury case today?”

“Shannon’s,” Alex said. “And mine,” he added.

There was silence. “Well, if Shannon is on board, then I guess I can’t be too critical.”

Alex looked up and noticed a reporter and a cameraperson standing at his office door.
How did they get past Sylvia?

“I’ve got to go, Grandma,” Alex said. “It looks like I’ve got company.”

Alex spent the next several minutes escorting the news team out of his office suite. Because he refused to grant them an interview, that night’s telecast would run clips of Alex prodding them into the hallway and closing the door behind them. What they didn’t record was the young lawyer’s exchange with his receptionist afterward.

“Why’d you let them back to my office?” Alex asked, his voice sharp and accusatory.

“I tried to tell them,” Sylvia protested, “but they kept insisting. I figured a few questions wouldn’t hurt.”

“‘A few questions wouldn’t hurt’?” Alex repeated. He couldn’t believe anyone could be so incompetent. But before he could launch into a serious lecture, Sylvia started to cry.

“Look, why don’t you just take the rest of the day off?” Alex said.

After she left, Alex locked the outside doors and retreated to his office again.

Shannon had been the smart one. After filing the personal-injury lawsuit, she had spent the rest of the day working from home.

44

Good lawyers didn’t come cheap, especially on a case with as much negative publicity as Khalid’s. Though Ghaniyah’s case would almost certainly be profitable, Alex knew he and Shannon would most likely burn through all that money and a whole lot more by the time they finished defending Khalid. For this reason, they called a meeting on Tuesday morning to request a $50,000 retainer from Khalid and to give him one important stipulation—no Hezbollah funds could be used to pay his lawyers. For Alex, it was a last-ditch effort to extricate his firm from the case. If Khalid refused to pay the retainer, even Shannon wouldn’t argue that they should take the case for free.

Alex had decided not to turn on the television this morning. Given the developments in California, he felt like his firm and Khalid were under siege. Forensics experts had already determined that the same sword used to sever Ja’dah’s head had been used in California. Young lawyers dream about high-profile cases, but Alex had always pictured himself wearing the white hat, not the black one. In this case, Alex felt as if he were wandering aimlessly in the fog of war, bullets flying all around him, and he couldn’t even tell where they were coming from.

He had a one-word strategy for these next few weeks of negative publicity:
survive
.

He checked his phone messages on the way to work and was surprised to discover that his critics had somehow discovered his cell number. He had already deleted dozens of hate-filled e-mails, including more than a few death threats. But there was something different about actually listening to the voices of his harshest critics; hearing the raw anger unnerved him. He thought about Shannon—the one lawyer in the firm who’d actually had the guts to speak out at Khalid’s bond hearing. She hadn’t said one word about death threats, but Alex was sure she must have received twice as many as he did.

He began to wonder if $50,000 was enough.

When he arrived at the office, Sylvia was behind her desk but looked like she might not last the day. She gave him a tortured look—her migraine face—and groaned out a “Good morning.”

For heaven’s sake, suck it up!
Alex wanted to say. Instead, he also mumbled, “Good morning” and headed straight to his office.

Five minutes later, Sylvia was in his doorway, talking softly and moaning about her headache and the threats she had received as the firm’s receptionist. She had called the police, but all they did was take another report. As she talked, Sylvia would occasionally stop and squeeze her temples just to make sure that Alex realized how much pain she was in.

“Do you need to go home?” Alex finally asked.

“I don’t want to leave you stranded. But I can hardly keep my eyes open without the pain becoming just unbearable.”

Alex sighed. “Hold on a second.”

He walked down the hall to Shannon’s office, closed the door, and admitted defeat. It was time for Sylvia to go. It was lousy timing, with everything happening on the Mobassar cases, but Alex couldn’t handle it any longer. Shannon was happy he had finally discovered the obvious; she even volunteered to do the honors but also expressed caution. “Whoever fires her shouldn’t mention the headaches,” Shannon counseled. “They might be covered by the Americans with Disabilities Act.”

Alex rose from his chair. “I need to do it,” he said. “I’ll let you figure out how to replace her.”

Alex returned to his office and tried to let Sylvia down gently, but she did not cooperate. She had a spasm of crying, which only made the headache worse. Alex tried to comfort her but also kept glancing at his watch. It took thirty minutes of coaxing and sixty days of severance pay to send Sylvia packing with any kind of positive attitude.

Alex shuffled back to Shannon’s office and plopped down in one of her client chairs. It felt like the end of a long day, but he knew the challenges were just beginning. He was giving Shannon a full report on Sylvia’s situation when the phone rang. It was Alex’s line, but Shannon picked it up. “Mr. Madison’s office,” she said.

She told the caller that Alex was busy, took a message, and returned the phone to its cradle. Less than a minute later the phone rang again. This time, it was Shannon’s number, an outside line that Alex didn’t recognize. If Shannon answered the phone, she’d get stuck speaking with the person even if she didn’t want to.

She gave Alex a sideways glance—
What are you waiting for?
—and Alex picked up the phone. “Ms. Reese’s office,” he said. “How may I help you?”

Welcome to the big time,
he thought.

45

The meeting with Khalid and Nara started heading downhill from the moment Nara opened her mouth.

She was upset about the coverage of Khalid’s case she had seen on the news that morning. The ties with Hezbollah had been exaggerated. Plus, the media kept associating her father with the California case when there was absolutely no evidence he was involved. “How can they get away with that?” she asked.

Alex loved her commitment to the case, but she didn’t know the first thing about the American legal system. Shannon gave Alex one of those
Who invited her?
looks.

“We’ll have a chance to make our case in court,” Alex reminded her. “There’s no sense even watching the news coverage right now.”

He could tell from the volcanic look in Nara’s eyes that he was wasting his breath. She had her hair pulled up today, emphasizing her long neck and sharp cheekbones. She looked every bit as striking as the first time Alex laid eyes on her, but her exotic Middle Eastern appearance was decidedly less enchanting today. In fact, Alex would have traded her in a second for a mundane-looking daughter who was ten times less intense.

But intensity was part of her DNA and her culture. She emphasized the consonants when she spoke in a way that made her speech seem hard-edged—almost guttural. She couldn’t hide a disapproving frown when somebody said something she didn’t like. She seemed to speak her mind without filtering her thoughts, and she evidently expected others to be equally blunt with her.

In order to pacify Nara, Alex suggested that the firm issue a statement condemning the rush to judgment by the press and denying that Khalid had anything to do with
any
honor killings. But Nara wanted more. “This is racial profiling,” she pressed. “Sensationalism. They make it sound like all Muslims are the same. We need to show them that my father is a
reformer
. He’s a sworn enemy of the radicals. He’s being set up by the fundamentalists.”

Shannon had heard enough. “We’re not a PR firm,” she said. “We’re lawyers. And we’re good at what we do.”

Not surprisingly, Nara frowned. Shannon turned to Khalid. If anyone had earned credibility with Khalid, it was Shannon. “You’ve got to trust us, Khalid. If you don’t, then get somebody you do trust.”

Khalid glanced down at the table for a second and then at his daughter. When he turned back to the lawyers, Alex knew bad news was coming.

“I do trust you,” Khalid said, his voice measured yet firm. “But I’ve been thinking about the wisdom of having the same firm represent both myself and Ghaniyah.

“I
am
innocent. I detest the notion of violence in the name of religion, and I especially abhor the concept of honor killings. Nara is right—I’ve been set up by some very powerful enemies. But I also realize I could easily lose this case and spend the rest of my life in jail.” Khalid looked haggard, and Alex knew that this infighting wasn’t helping. He felt a little ashamed that he hadn’t provided better leadership.

“If that happens, I’ll need money to hire someone to look after Ghaniyah. I do not want Nara to sacrifice her work in Lebanon to come back and spend the rest of her life as an unpaid nurse for her mother.”

“I disagree with my father on that,” said Nara. “I see it as my duty to do so, and I would gladly fulfill it.”

“Nevertheless,” Khalid continued, his eyes becoming a little moist, “I’m very concerned about the impact on Ghaniyah’s case if the same firm that represents me also represents her. That firm could become demonized before my case is over. And that could certainly hurt Ghaniyah’s case.”

Khalid took a deep breath before continuing. “It seems this case has made me a bit of a celebrity in the Muslim world. There are two Muslim law firms in Detroit that are willing to represent me—how do you say it?—pro bono. Nara has talked to the firms. . . . They actually contacted her, right after her appearance on national television. They’ve been pleading with us to turn both cases over to them.”

“I have nothing against your firm,” Nara quickly interjected. She was looking decidedly less attractive to Alex right now. Perhaps the nose
was
a little too sharp after all. “I can only assume that you are both gifted lawyers. But these other firms have more experience in high-profile criminal cases. And they are willing to launch a defense that will capitalize on my father’s reformist tendencies.”

“It’s a mistake to use out-of-town lawyers,” Alex insisted.
Especially Muslim ones.
“We need to focus on the evidence in this case—not turn this into a referendum on Muslim theology.”

“I disagree,” Nara said, as if she were an experienced criminal defense attorney. “This is not a gang killing; it’s an alleged
honor
killing
. We can’t avoid the religious issues.”

“I’m not saying we
avoid
them,” Alex protested.

“Please,” interrupted Khalid. “May I finish?”

Alex bit his tongue and quickly analyzed his own emotions. Until now, when he realized he might get fired from the case, Alex had not appreciated how much he wanted to stay in it. Yes, he hated the publicity. And yes, his client’s uppity daughter was going to be a pain. But Alex’s grandfather had been right. Something about defending an accused man when the whole world wanted to string him up made Alex feel noble.

“I understand Nara’s misgivings with regard to your experience,” Khalid continued. “But I personally have great faith in your legal skills and think I would be well-served to be represented by both of you. And forgive me, Ms. Reese, for being so blunt. But neither one of these Muslim firms has a strong female attorney who could help try the case, and I believe that’s an important consideration.

“But I need to ask you both a question, and you don’t have to answer it right now. In fact, I would like you to take the night to consider this.”

Alex and Shannon were on the edge of their seats. Alex had never had a client quite like Khalid. “If I determine, in my capacity as guardian for my wife, that I should have a different law firm handle her case than the firm that represents me, which of the two cases would you prefer to handle?”

“If we could only pick one?” Alex asked.

“If you could only pick one.”

* * *

After Khalid and Nara left, Alex listed all the reasons he and Shannon should take Ghaniyah’s case. There was serious money to be made in the personal-injury suit. On Khalid’s case, they would get paid by the hour, if they were lucky, and they would have to endure the constant second-guessing of Nara Mobassar. Plus, Alex pointed out, civil cases were their specialty. They knew how to strong-arm insurance companies into big settlements. What’s more, if they dropped Khalid’s case, Alex’s problems with his church would be over.

Shannon sat there frowning as Alex laid out his arguments.

“I’ll take your silence as agreement,” Alex said.

She shrugged. “I just think Khalid would be making a big mistake by going with a Muslim firm on his case. He’d be playing right into the prosecution’s stereotypes. Even if we get Ghaniyah a million dollars, what good will it do her if Khalid’s in jail?”

“Are you saying we should take Khalid’s case and dump Ghaniyah’s?”

“No. I’m just saying that Khalid is making a big mistake.”

They decided to wait until the morning so it would seem like they had given it a great amount of thought. In truth, they both knew where the decision was headed.

“You’re sure about this?” Shannon asked.

Alex was surprised to feel a tinge of regret.
How often do you get to try a case where you can really make a difference?
But that regret was nothing compared to the burden that would be lifted from his shoulders.

“I’m sure,” Alex said.

“One hundred percent?”

He hesitated. “A good ninety-nine.”