Fatal Convictions (30 page)

82

Shannon Reese bounced up even before Deegan had settled into her chair. “Just to be clear, what you’ve shown us are text messages and not phone calls; is that correct?” Shannon asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So you don’t technically know who sent them; you just know that they came from Khalid Mobassar’s phone?”

“That’s also correct, ma’am.”

“Have you run the phone for fingerprints?”

“No, ma’am. The phone turned up missing.”

Shannon raised her eyebrows, and Special Agent Long apparently thought he ought to elaborate. “We have photographs showing the phone in the possession of Mr. Mobassar on dates before
and after
the text messages in question. We also have recorded phone conversations from Mr. Mobassar both before
and after
the text messages, some from the very day the text messages were sent. The phone did not turn up missing until several weeks later.”

Shannon gave the officer a quizzical look. “I’m sorry. Did I ask you when the phone turned up missing?”

Special Agent Long gave her a glittering smile, dimples in full display, and Alex thought the guy could have had a career in Hollywood. “No, ma’am. But I thought it might be helpful information to the jury.”

A few of the jurors smiled along with the witness, but Shannon didn’t seem amused. “Maybe you could let the lawyers be the judge of that and just answer the questions.”

“Objection!”

“Sustained.”

Shannon walked back to her counsel table and picked up a document. She asked if she could approach the witness. Once granted permission, she handed a copy of the document to Taj Deegan and the original to Special Agent Long. She turned so that she was facing more toward the jury than the witness.

“Can you tell me what that document is?”

Long looked confused. “It appears to be a copy of the Wikipedia page about the Patriot Act.”

Deegan stood, her tone indicating confusion. “Objection, Your Honor. There’s no relevance to a Wikipedia page on the Patriot Act. Even if there was, there’s been no foundation laid as to its accuracy.”

Judge Rosenthal leaned forward on his elbows and looked down at Shannon. “Are you serious? You want to introduce a Wikipedia page as an exhibit?”

“Does that mean that the objection is sustained?” Shannon asked innocently.

“Absolutely.”

Shannon bit her lip and acted like she was thinking for a moment. “Then let me ask it this way—are the provisions of the Patriot Act a secret?”

Long looked more confused than before. “Of course not. They’re part of the United States code.”

“And anybody who can read the U.S. code—or even Wikipedia for that matter—would know that the federal government can tap the phones and intercept e-mails and text messages of people who have even loose connections with suspected terrorist organizations. Is that right?”

“Objection; calls for speculation.”

“Sustained.”

Who cares?
Alex thought.
Point made.

“Let’s talk about the cell phone that
received
the text messages,” Shannon said. “That phone was registered under a fictitious name. Is that correct?”

Long didn’t seem like the epitome of confidence anymore. “That was my testimony.”

“Is it difficult to register a cell phone under a fictitious name?”

Again Taj Deegan objected, and Rosenthal sustained the objection.

“Well, it’s safe to say that at least somebody associated with the killings of Ja’dah Mahdi and Martin Burns knew how to register a cell phone to a fictitious name; is that correct?” Shannon asked.

Taj Deegan was on her feet again but apparently could think of no reasonable objection. She sat down.

“Yeah. I think that’s clear.”

“Can you think of any reason why my client, knowing that his mosque was providing funds to humanitarian organizations helping to rebuild Beirut, and knowing that his phone was probably tapped under the Patriot Act—”

“Objection!” Taj Deegan yelled, cutting Shannon off midsentence.

“Sustained,” Rosenthal said quickly.

Shannon stood there for a moment, as if she couldn’t figure out what to do next. “May I have a minute?” she asked the judge.

“One minute.”

She walked to her counsel table and huddled up with Alex. “Do you think the jury got the gist of what I was implying?” she whispered.

“You can never be too sure,” Alex said.

Shannon gave him a cold stare. “Easy for you to say.”

She returned to the center of the courtroom and crossed her arms for a moment, deep in thought. “In your experience, Special Agent Long, do criminals typically like to get caught?”

Long shook his head as if Shannon were an idiot. “Of course not.”

Shannon took a deep breath and then spit the next question out as quickly as possible. “Then why would my client use his own cell phone knowing that it was probably tapped?”

“Objection!”

Rosenthal banged his gavel and stared at Shannon Reese, clearly perturbed. “I told you that question was objectionable.” He turned to the jury. “Please disregard that question. Counsel will have sufficient time to argue her case during the closing argument.”

Shannon turned and looked at Alex. He gave her a subtle nod.
I’m pretty sure they got it that time.

“No further questions,” she said cheerfully.

When Shannon sat down, Taj Deegan stood and announced she had only one question on redirect.

“Do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Mobassar, a Muslim cleric who specializes in Islamic studies, was intimately familiar with the details of the Patriot Act?”

“Absolutely not.”

Shannon leaned over and whispered to Alex, “Unless he could read Wikipedia.”

83

fifteen years earlier

beirut, lebanon

Before the death of his brother, fifteen-year-old Ahmed Obu Mobassar had been living a double life. During the day, he went to school and learned how to be a productive Lebanese citizen. But each evening, he attended the salat at a local mosque and became indoctrinated in the elements of jihad.

His father led a different mosque, one more conciliatory in its views. But his father was a tolerant man and wanted Ahmed to discover his own path to Allah. He often quizzed Ahmed about what he was learning and cautioned him about certain teachings, but he never prevented Ahmed from attending the more radical mosque.

Ahmed had learned not to tell his father everything. He also learned what it meant to be a true Muslim—one committed to completing the conquest Mohammed had started and establishing a global caliphate. Allah would be glorified. The Great Prophet would be pleased.
Jihad
was the way!

Ahmed was taught that true Muslims should hate the enemies of Allah with all their hearts. He was taught that Sharia law must be established in every nation inhabited by true Muslims. And his instructors extolled the glory of martyrdom over and over. At the first drop of your own blood, you would redeem your soul. By laying down your life, you would redeem your family. Martyrdom. Paradise. Redemption. There was no other way for a true believer to die.

While the imams filled his mind with the elements of jihad, Hezbollah warriors trained his body. Ahmed learned how to assemble explosives, how to handle and shoot an assault weapon, how to lay a land mine and turn an automobile into a bomb. He learned how to destroy others in hand-to-hand combat.

But the week after Omar died in the Palestinian refugee camp, Ahmed’s double life came to an end. His father’s views changed overnight. With his parents’ full knowledge and the help of his father’s friend, Fatih Mahdi, Ahmed moved into a Hezbollah training facility on the outskirts of Beirut. His first mission into Israel would be less than a month later.

Before Ahmed and the others embarked on that mission, a revered imam gathered the teenagers and looked each of the young men squarely in the eye, as if searching for any chinks in their courage. “Today you will become men,” the imam said. “Today you will fight for the glory of Islam. Today you will fight for the glory of Lebanon. Go with courage and for the glory of Allah!”

“Allahu akbar!”

The shouts echoed as adrenaline surged through Ahmed’s body. He and the others were mighty warriors for Allah, though many of them did not yet shave. Still, he had no doubt that each one would strap explosives to his body and trigger the fuse if he could take out twelve Israelis. These were the greatest warriors in the Middle East. They were dead men with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Allah would be glorified! Family members would be redeemed! At their funerals, there would be rejoicing.

It was only a matter time.

84

the present

virginia beach, virginia

Alex and his team were cautiously optimistic Wednesday night. It seemed to Alex that the jury was bothered by the same thing that had struck him about this case—why would Khalid send text messages from his own cell phone?

There were, of course, a number of possible explanations. Perhaps Khalid really didn’t know about the particulars of the Patriot Act. Perhaps Khalid didn’t think he would ever be a suspect because the police would zero in on Fatih Mahdi. Perhaps Khalid did it precisely because it would seem too obvious and he could later argue that it created reasonable doubt, like a killer signing the crime scene in blood. Who could be that stupid? Maybe Khalid had outsmarted everybody, including his own lawyers.

Alex preferred not to think about that last alternative.

Nara seemed upbeat when she showed up at the office after visiting her father. “My dad says you guys really know what you’re doing,” she said.

They were sitting around the conference table preparing for the following day’s witnesses. Shannon merely looked up when Nara made the comment and then went back to work. Alex took it as Nara’s way of apologizing for the way she had acted at lunch. The words
I’m sorry
were not a prominent part of Nara’s vocabulary.

“Shannon did a great job on cross-examination,” Alex said. “And as you know, I made no mistakes in my opening statement.”

“So I heard,” Nara said. She flashed a beautiful white smile.

Apology accepted,
Alex thought.

Later, Alex had a few minutes to talk with Nara in the privacy of his office. “I’m ready to testify,” she said.

“We’ll make that call this weekend,” Alex responded. “The commonwealth should rest its case on Friday. I’ll know better after I cross-examine Fatih Mahdi whether we’ll need you.”

“Alex,” Nara said, waiting for Alex to look in her eyes before she continued. “If there’s any chance we might lose this case, I need to take the stand. Promise me.”

Alex didn’t respond. He still believed that if he put Nara on the stand, it would only be a matter of time before Hezbollah took her out. Even the witness protection program was no guarantee against an organization with as many tentacles as Hezbollah.

“Promise me,” she insisted.

He looked down. “If I think we need your testimony, I’ll put you on the stand.”

“Thank you, Alex.” Nara rose from her seat, approached Alex, and kissed him on the cheek. She paused a few inches away from his face. “If I have to testify, I’ll be okay. I’ve got a place to go. After a few years, I’ll come back.”

Looking directly into her eyes, Alex wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that she would be all right. He wanted to believe that she would come back for him. But during their trip to Beirut, Hezbollah had already demonstrated its ability to know things it shouldn’t know.

He had the uneasy feeling that she was only telling him the things that she knew he wanted to hear. Al toqiah. Anything for the sake of the cause.

But two could play this game. Unless the case fell completely apart, Alex had no intention of putting her on the stand.

And then, a split second later, none of that mattered. Who could think of such things when a woman like Nara leaned in for a serious kiss?

* * *

Even the juiciest trials get bogged down in details, and Thursday was that day for the Mobassar trial. Dr. Kumar Santi took the stand and gave the jury a lesson in cell phone triangulation. To keep the jury somewhat awake, Deegan showed PowerPoints with lots of colorful charts and maps. When Santi stepped down, there was little doubt that the text messages from Khalid’s cell phone had been sent from the vicinity of the Islamic Learning Center in Norfolk. The message from the killer’s cell phone had been sent from Sandbridge.

Santi was followed by someone from the CSI lab who testified about the traces of Ja’dah Mahdi’s DNA at the Sandbridge rental property. Next came a Sandbridge rental agent who explained how she had left the key to the property under a mat because of the occupant’s plan to arrive late at night. A signed rental agreement under a phony name had been sent previously via mail. In other words, the rental agent never laid eyes on the killer.

The deputy sheriff who had found the bodies testified next. He told the jury all about the elaborate search and the carefully trained dogs who actually located the bodies. Just before lunch, Taj Deegan again grossed out the jury with the pictures of the bodies.

It was all very interesting, Alex thought, but not particularly damaging. A tale of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

After lunch came more of the same. Taj Deegan might as well have passed out pillows and cots as the jurors listened to a computer technician testify about the way he had searched the hard drive of Khalid Mobassar’s work computer. The witness had a monotone voice, an expressionless face, and a unique way of making a murder trial seem as exciting as high school calculus.

After about twenty minutes, Judge Rosenthal clearly needed a cigarette break, and some of the jurors looked like they needed alarm clocks. Eventually the technician meandered around to the point of his testimony—someone had used Khalid Mobassar’s work computer to search for Sandbridge rental properties on March 29, just a few months prior to the killings. Other searches and e-mails made it pretty clear Khalid was the only one using his computer that day, and in particular during the time frame surrounding the search.

Shannon had no questions for the witness on cross-examination, and Rosenthal mercifully decided that it was time for a break.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up with the testimony of Detective Terri Brown. The detective explained how she had first focused on Fatih Mahdi as the primary suspect. The crime fit the profile for a religiously motivated honor killing, and the husband would therefore be the primary suspect. But, according to Brown, all the hard evidence pointed toward the defendant.

They had also caught the defendant in a couple of lies. For example, during her interviews with Mr. Mobassar, the imam denied knowing anything about a search for Sandbridge rental listings. Brown also noted that the defendant had been less than forthcoming about his conversations with Fatih Mahdi and had been a supporter of Hezbollah in the past.

During Brown’s testimony, Taj Deegan introduced copies of the books she had waved around during her opening statement and a copy of the manuscript for Khalid’s new book. The jury was also shown video of Khalid talking on Hezbollah television shortly after Omar was killed and on American television after the Israeli strikes against Lebanon in 2006.

Brown was a seasoned witness, so Shannon conducted a limited and cautious cross-examination. She scored a few points about why Fatih Mahdi had been a suspect and asked Brown numerous questions about Mahdi’s radical philosophy and belief in Sharia law. Then she carefully returned to the same theme she had introduced earlier: why would somebody as intelligent as Khalid Mobassar use his own cell phone to send text messages ordering an honor killing?

“I have no reason to believe that the defendant knew his text messages were being monitored under the Patriot Act,” Brown responded. “I believe that the defendant thought we would focus on the husband and therefore never seriously investigate the defendant. Plus, I’ve been a detective long enough to see murder suspects do some incredibly stupid things.”

Alex could tell from the look on Shannon’s face that she regretted asking the question. But she was a pro and quickly moved on to the next line of questioning.

By the time court adjourned at five o’clock, one thing had become obvious to everyone in the courtroom: the case would rise or fall on the testimony of two men—Fatih Mahdi and, if he took the stand, Khalid Mobassar. That knowledge kept Alex at the office until well after midnight on Thursday. He probably would have stayed all night if his grandmother hadn’t chased him out.

“You can’t think straight if you don’t get any sleep,” Ramona said, setting some papers on his desk.

“Ten more minutes,” Alex said. He really needed two more hours but didn’t have the strength to argue with anyone, especially his grandmother. He would take the documents home and finish his work there.

“You said that an hour ago,” Ramona reminded him.

Alex sighed and rolled his eyes. “Didn’t I already fire you once? Now go home and let me finish getting ready.”

Ramona told Alex that she needed to get a few more documents copied and a few more things organized. Not once in the last week had Ramona left before Alex. She headed out of his office but stopped at the door and turned back toward Alex.

“I’m proud of you, Alex Madison. Your parents and your granddad are proud of you too.”