Twenty

by James Grippando

  “I don’t really know what that means, but you don’t have to do anything, Molly.”

  “I know how much you and Jack sacrifice to afford the tuition at Riverside.”

  “Everybody sacrifices.”

  “No,” said Molly. “They don’t.”

  “Jack and I will figure it out. He’s trying to set up a meeting with the school’s attorney.”

  “You’ve been a good friend, Andie. I don’t want you to spend another minute worrying about this.” Molly opened her purse, dug out a check, and offered it to Andie, who didn’t take it.

  “What are you doing?” asked Andie.

  “Amir and I want to reimburse you and Jack. For the tuition you have to pay to Riverside.”

  “No,” said Andie. “I can’t take your money.”

  “Please,” Molly said, pushing it toward her. “We want you to have it.”

  “Molly, please,” Andie said, rising and taking a step back.

  Molly rose, too, but she spilled her purse all over the floor. Andie bent over to help gather the mess, but Molly leaned in the same direction, and they bumped heads. Andie laughed, thinking it comical, but Molly shrieked so loudly that it was anything but funny.

  “Molly, are you okay?” Andie asked with concern.

  Molly was in obvious pain, and she settled back into the couch holding the side of her head.

  “I didn’t think we’d bumped that hard,” said Andie.

  “We didn’t,” said Molly, wincing. “I have this . . . this thing.”

  Andie took a seat beside her and looked more closely. The knot on the side of her head, right behind the ear, was as big as a golf ball. It couldn’t possibly have been caused by their head-to-head collision. It was purple and already yellowing—not fresh—at least a day old.

  “Molly, my God. What happened here?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. The last time I saw something like this it turned out to be a fractured skull. Did you get in a car accident?”

  “No.”

  “Fall?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  Andie hesitated, but she had to ask. “Did . . . did someone hit you?”

  Molly blinked hard. “It’s nothing.”

  “Molly?”

  She zipped up her purse and rose to her feet, leaving the check on the couch. “Please keep it, Andie. It would be the first time money made me happy.”

  It was the saddest smile Andie had ever seen. She just watched as Molly hurried to the exit.

  Chapter 21

  A judicial assistant directed the lawyers into Judge Martinez’s chambers for the four p.m. hearing.

  “Please have a seat,” the judge said cordially. He was behind a massive antique desk, directly in front of which stretched a rectangular table in a T-shape configuration. Jack and Hannah Goldsmith were on one side of the table. Beckham and the Justice Department lawyer sat opposite them. A court reporter was the only other person in the chambers, tucked away in the corner between the American flag and a life-sized plastic replica of Sebastian the Ibis, the sports mascot for the University of Miami—“The U”—Judge Martinez’s alma mater.

  “It isn’t every day that I have a lawyer from the DOJ’s National Security Division in my chambers,” the judge said.

  “It’s an unusual and important matter,” she said.

  “Emphasis on ‘unusual,’” said Jack. “Your Honor, I don’t see how the federal government has any say as to whether you, a state court judge, should allow me to withdraw as defense counsel in a criminal case prosecuted under state law by our local state attorney.”

  “Nor do I,” said Beckham.

  The judge smiled. “Well, Mr. Beckham, not to be cynical, but I can certainly see why you’d want a lawyer of Mr. Swyteck’s experience and ability out of the case. But let’s hear what the department has to say. Ms. Gonzalez, if you please.”

  “Your Honor, the federal government is not the outsider to this action that Mr. Swyteck would have this court believe. One of the first things he did as counsel was submit a written request to our office under the Freedom of Information Act.”

  “Is that true, Mr. Swyteck?”

  “Yes,” said Jack. “As I’m sure everyone here recalls, within hours of the shooting, the media reported that al-Qaeda claimed responsibility. If that claim is legitimate, my client was obviously radicalized as a juvenile. It’s the defense’s position that radicalization by a terrorist organization at such a young age is a mitigating factor that should weigh against the death penalty.”

  “If he’s guilty,” added Hannah. “It may also be that radicalization will support a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity.”

  “Got it,” the judge said. “So I presume the defense seeks information from the federal government as to the bona fides of al-Qaeda’s claim of responsibility.”

  “Correct,” said Jack. “But this issue will be central to the case whether I’m counsel or someone else is counsel. Ms. Goldsmith is prepared to step in as my replacement, and she fully intends to pursue the issue of radicalization.”

  “Which is exactly why the Department of Justice is here,” said Gonzalez.

  The judge peered out over the top of his reading glasses. “You’re going to have to elaborate, Ms. Gonzalez.”

  “Happy to,” she said. “Ten years after the terrorist attacks of nine-eleven, Mr. Swyteck was appointed to serve as counsel in the case of Khaled Al-Jawar v. The President of the United States of America, a habeas corpus proceeding filed in the District of Columbia. Mr. Al-Jawar was a Somali enemy combatant detained at the US Naval Air base in Guantánamo, Cuba.”

  “No kidding?” said the judge, half smiling. “You’re just a veritable box of surprises, aren’t you, Mr. Swyteck?”

  Gonzalez continued. “The point here is that there is an ongoing investigation into the possible al-Qaeda connection to this school shooting. We recognize that the defendant has a legitimate right to pursue his radicalization defense. To the extent that the federal government is called upon to provide any information relating to ‘radicalization,’ it is of paramount concern that this information be handled in a way that does not compromise matters of national security.”

  “So you want Mr. Swyteck to stay on the case?”

  “In a word, yes. Mr. Swyteck was thoroughly vetted before he was allowed to travel to Gitmo. He was even more thoroughly vetted before he was allowed to interview witnesses and review classified evidence relating to the accusations that his client sheltered al-Qaeda operatives in East Africa and posed a serious threat to this nation’s safety. Simply put, he is no stranger to the NSD, and he has a known track record in litigating a case that raises issues of national security.”

  “I’m sure Ms. Goldsmith is willing to stipulate to any reasonable protections,” said Jack.

  “It’s not that simple,” said Gonzalez. “Mr. Swyteck was even issued ‘secret’ security clearance under the Rules of Procedure for the Foreign Intelligence Service Court of Review. That’s a small universe.”

  “I take your point, Ms. Gonzalez,” the judge said. “Mr. Swyteck, let me ask you this question. Has your client refused to pay you?”

  It wasn’t the time to mention his donation to the Lindsey Abrams dance scholarship fund. “It’s not an issue of payment, Your Honor.”

  “Has your client asked you to do something unethical?”

  “No. Actually, he won’t even talk to me.”

  “So you’re seeking to withdraw because . . .”

  Jack didn’t want to drag Andie into this. “Personal reasons,” said Jack. “Withdrawal is in the best interest of my family.”

  “Well boo-hoo,” said the judge. “I’m not going to force Ms. Gonzalez to beg you to stay in this case. You know the rules. Courts frown on the withdrawal of counsel in a criminal case. The stakes are even higher in a capital case. I’m denying the motion to withdraw.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” said Gonzalez.

  “Sorry, Mr
. Swyteck,” the judge said. “You’re in for the long haul.”

  Jack felt a congratulatory kick under the table from Hannah, the footsie version of a high five.

  “Understood,” said Jack.

  Chapter 22

  Jack’s court-ordered stint as “counsel for life” to Xavier Khoury began the following morning.

  It was not Jack’s first visit to a mosque. Some years earlier, after back-to-back mass shootings at two New Zealand mosques claimed fifty-one lives, he and Andie had attended an interfaith memorial service for the victims. But this was his first visit to the mosque in Hialeah, Florida—the one attended by Amir Khoury and his sons. Jack’s top priority was to find out whether Xavier had fallen in with the wrong people and been radicalized. Talks with Xavier’s father had gone nowhere, so the imam seemed like the next logical interview.

  “I’ve never met an imam,” said Theo. Theo was with him, wearing his figurative investigator’s hat.

  “Treat him the way you would any other leader in a place of worship,” said Jack. “And keep in mind this is a Sunni mosque. Not Shiite.”

  “I know there’s a difference, but I can’t honestly say I know what it is.”

  Jack probably could have left it at that, but there was no telling what might come out of Theo’s mouth. “Just don’t mention the Ayatollah.”

  Theo parked the car on the south side of the mosque, near the minaret, the tower from which the Muslim crier traditionally called worshipers to prayer five times a day. They walked past the restrooms, past the separate women’s entrance to the prayer hall, and then entered the administrative offices. Imam Abbas Hassan greeted them and walked them back to his office, making small talk.

  “I know Jack is not Muslim. Are you, Mr. Knight?”

  “No,” said Theo. “But I did get asked to join a Muslim gang when I was in prison.”

  Jack could have clubbed him.

  “That’s not really very funny, Mr. Knight.”

  “No joke,” said Theo. “I did time in Florida State Prison, and they asked me to join. So did the Jamaican gang, the Cubans, the Bloods, the Crips, and about a dozen others who wanted the added status of a six-foot-six brother on death row.”

  “Theo was innocent,” said Jack, quickly in damage-control mode. “It’s a long story.”

  “Gangs are not real Muslims,” said Hassan. Then he directed them to the armchairs and took a seat behind his desk. His tone was cordial enough, but he was obviously less than pleased about the purpose of Jack’s visit.

  “Let me say up front that news of the school shooting made my skin crawl,” said Hassan. “What in the world would trigger a young man to do something like that? It makes you sick. We reject it.”

  “That is the question,” said Jack. “If Xavier did it, what made him do it?”

  “Is there any doubt in your mind as to his guilt, Mr. Swyteck?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss what’s in my mind,” said Jack. “I’d like to limit our discussion to facts. Who were Xavier’s friends? Who were his contacts?”

  The imam listed several boys, and Jack jotted down the names. For the next few minutes, Jack stuck to that format—just the facts, and strictly about Xavier. Then he shifted gears.

  “Is Molly Khoury part of your religious community?” asked Jack.

  “No. Amir came only with his sons.”

  “Was she ever?”

  “A very short time. She refused to use the women’s entrance. Amir and I had a discussion with her, and that frankly is the last time I have ever spoken with her. As far as I know, she is without religion. I’m sure this was not helpful to Xavier’s development, spiritual or otherwise.”

  “Did you talk with Xavier about that?”

  “Those conversations are confidential.”

  “I’m his lawyer.”

  “I understand. And as soon as Xavier tells me that I can reveal our confidential conversations to his lawyer, we can talk.”

  “Got it,” said Jack.

  “Don’t misunderstand,” said Hassan. “Nothing I know or even heard about Xavier would have made this shooting foreseeable. Our community director already had Xavier’s name on the list of singles for our ‘Muslim Matches’ under-twenty-one icebreakers. I liked Xavier. We all liked him. This is tragic on so many levels.”

  The imam appeared truly heartbroken. Jack gave him a minute, then continued.

  “What do you make of the claim of responsibility by al-Qaeda?” asked Jack.

  “My opinion is the same as Amir’s. It’s fake. Xavier is from a good family and is part of a solid religious community.”

  “Do you have any idea why Xavier would have done something like this?”

  “None. Why did those boys open fire on their classmates at Columbine? Why did Nikolas Cruz kill all those children at Parkland? Those school shootings had nothing to do with Islamic terrorism. Neither does this. This was a Muslim boy who lost his way in a world that sometimes loses its mind. Not a Muslim boy who was radicalized by his religious community to kill in the name of Islam.”

  Hassan checked his watch. “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment, and I cannot be late.”

  “One quick thing,” said Jack. “Did Xavier ever mention to you a young woman named Maritza?”

  Hassan’s expression soured. “I met this Maritza. Xavier brought her to services once or twice. He was quite taken with her.”

  “You don’t seem to approve.”

  “Not for the reason Xavier thought. She told him that I was opposed to their dating because Maritza was Hispanic. That’s not true. In fact, Hispanics are one of the fastest-growing demographics in conversions to Islam.”

  “I did not know that.”

  “People forget that Spain has had a large Muslim population for over a thousand years.” He checked his watch again, then rose. “I really must be going.”

  “Sorry,” said Jack, “but I have to ask: What was it about Maritza that made her so wrong for Xavier?”

  The imam drew a breath, as if reluctant to say. “She’s a prostitute.”

  Jack bristled. “Let’s not get into name-calling.”

  “I’m not calling anyone names. She has sex with men for money. She’s a prostitute. A lady of the night. Whatever you wish to call it.”

  It took Jack a second to comprehend. “How do you know that?”

  “Ask her. She’ll tell you.”

  “All right,” said Jack. “I will.”

  Chapter 23

  Jack was eager to speak with Maritza at the coffee shop, but it would have to wait. He had a two p.m. meeting with Duncan Fitz, the attorney for Riverside Day School in the lawsuit against Andie. Theo drove to Fitz’s office on prestigious Brickell Avenue, while Jack rode in the passenger seat, preparing for the meeting.

  Theo glanced over from the driver’s seat. “What’s that famous saying from Abraham Lincoln about a lawyer and his client?”

  “‘A lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client.’”

  “No, I mean the other one. ‘A lawyer who represents his wife is just a fucking lunatic.’”

  “I don’t think Lincoln actually said that.”

  “He would have, if Mary Todd had asked him to defend her.”

  “Hannah will be representing Andie if this case goes forward. This is my one and only shot to see if I can make this go away.”

  Fitz was the senior litigation counsel at the Miami office of one of the world’s largest law firms, Coolidge, Harding & Cash—“Cool Cash,” as it was known in the power circles, since every one of its equity partners in seventeen different offices across the globe drew a seven-figure bonus year in and year out. Fitz’s typical client was a Fortune 500 company, not a private day school, but his three children had attended Riverside Day School, so Jack assumed he was personally invested in the case against Andie.

  “You nervous?” asked Theo, as they rode up alone in the elevator.

  “Why should I be nervous?”

  “He�
�s a son of a bitch. One of his lawyers stopped in my bar to drown his sorrows. Fitz fired him for missing a conference call to be in the delivery room for the birth of his son.”

  Jack had heard worse. Fitz actually bragged about his creative approach to settling a “bad drug” case brought by a retired police officer, Gilbert Jones, who was permanently disabled by a weight-loss medication that the pharmaceutical company knew was dangerous. “Mr. Jones, it will take you five years to get this case to trial and through all appeals. You can wait that long for your money or we can end this today. Before you, on this table, are three briefcases. One contains a check for three million dollars, your lawyer’s latest settlement demand. One contains fifty thousand dollars in cash, my client’s latest settlement offer. The third contains nothing. Think of me as Howie Mandel, and I’m giving you one chance to bring this lawsuit—and the wait for your money—to an immediate end. Deal? Or no deal?”

  Gilbert walked out with nothing. The lawyers spent the next two years litigating whether the “settlement” was an illegal form of gambling.

  “Mr. Fitz will see you now,” the receptionist said. Theo waited in the lobby as Jack followed Fitz’s assistant to her boss’s corner office on the forty-second floor. Fitz had a drop-dead view of downtown Miami to the north and the blue-green waters of the bay to the east. Jack could almost see his house on Key Biscayne in the distance.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Jack.”

  With lawyers of Fitz’s generation there was the usual chitchat about Jack’s father, former governor Harry Swyteck, with the added twist of how much money Cool Cash and Duncan Fitz personally had contributed to Harry’s gubernatorial elections back in the day. Then the conversation turned even closer to home.

  “Andie doesn’t deserve this,” said Jack.

  “We’ll see what the judge says.”

  “I was hoping to stop this case from getting that far.”

  Fitz chuckled. “What do you want me to do? Take a voluntary dismissal?”

  “Yes,” Jack said in a serious voice. “If the Board of Trustees is unhappy about my decision to represent Xavier Khoury, this lawsuit is not going to change anything. I filed a motion to withdraw as counsel. The court denied it.”