“I’m sure you do. I’ll hear them in chambers.” The judge slammed his gavel on bench. “We’ll dismiss the jury and resume tomorrow morning with the defense case. Court is adjourned.”
Chaos followed. I hunkered down into my shell of three: the lawyer, the comforter, and the man very worried about how many breaths he had left to take.
“We need to talk,” I said to Oz. “When you told me what happened, I think you left out a few details.”
“I just wanted the permit so I could scare Nazir. He scared me for weeks. Was it wrong to want to do the same to him?”
I started packing. “I don’t know if it was wrong. But it may have been fatal.”
“I didn’t kill Nazir.”
“The bullet came from your gun.”
“That is not possible. The expert made a mistake.”
“That expert does not make mistakes,” I shot back. And then I felt Christina’s hand on mine.
“Let’s get some food,” she said. “We’ll hash this out later.”
We could hash all night long, but it wouldn’t change the facts. I could poke and nudge here and there, but I couldn’t rewrite reality. Oz had an understandable but nonetheless palpable grudge against Nazir. He brought a gun to the press conference. And a bullet from that gun killed the man.
Oz was getting a lethal injection. Nothing short of a miracle could prevent it.
I’ve been trying cases for a long time now, and I’ve had some successes. But I’ve never once managed a miracle.
Part Three
The Passion of Hate
46
I woke up in a full sweat, gasping for air. The room swirled around me. I couldn’t get a lock on where I was. I wanted to scream, but somehow my jaw was locked tight. I was unable to move, unable to make a sound. I inhaled as deeply as I could, but the air burned my throat. It seemed corrosive and failed to make the room stop spinning or my head stop pounding.
I was dying, and I knew I was dying, and there was not a thing I could do about it.
Wake up, you idiot. Wake up!
I opened my eyes. There was just enough light to tell me I was in our bedroom. Christina lay beside me, head on the pillow, stirring slightly.
I’ve suffered from night terrors since I was a kid. People kept telling me I would grow out of it, but so far, no such luck. Perhaps this confirms Christina’s assertion that I’m still basically a ten-year-old in an adult body. Sometimes the nightmares seem too real to bear. Even when I know it’s a dream, I can’t wake up. Not for what seems like an endless, torturous length of time.
Night terrors are considered a psychological ailment, a manifestation of unresolved fear.
If that’s true, I’ve been running scared for a long time.
I pressed my hand against my chest.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Christina snuggled beside me. She was still mostly asleep, but her second sense realized her companion was no longer slumbering.
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
She turned her head just enough to see the orange glow of the alarm clock: 4:30.
“Nah. We’ll be getting up soon anyway.” She felt her way to the bathroom, ran a little water, and returned. “Here.”
She placed a cool washcloth on my forehead. I felt my respiration slow. My heart rate returned to something resembling normal.
Her head rested in the crook of my neck. Maybe I wasn’t going to die after all. She ran her fingers through my hair. It was sticky with sweat, but if she was repulsed, she hid it well.
She handed me a glass. “Here. Take some aspirin.”
“I don’t need that.”
“The heck you don’t. I’d offer you something stronger, but I think it might impair your ability to function in the courtroom.”
“Or improve it.” I took the aspirin and gulped them down. A few moments later, I settled back and rested my head on the pillow.
“You know,” she said, quietly, “even the best attorneys sometimes lose a case.”
“I’ve lost plenty of cases. And I’m not one of the best attorneys in the world.”
“I know some who would differ with that last assertion.”
“Like who?”
“Well, me.”
I chuckled.
“And I’m sure our girls feel the same way.”
“Getting a little desperate now, aren’t you?”
“You didn’t make this situation, Ben. You had to take the cards you were dealt. You didn’t create the facts of the case, and it’s not your fault your client neglected to tell you several important details.”
“Maybe it is.”
Even in the dark, I could see her forehead crinkling. “Have you figured out some new way to experience pointless guilt?”
“I haven’t been that sympathetic to Oz. He probably didn’t feel he could confide in me.”
“Ben Kincaid.” I heard the edge creeping into her voice. “You are not responsible for other people’s screwups. You are not to blame for—”
“I’m the reason Oz and Julia broke up.”
Christina did not reply.
“He was being nice in my office when he said he had some hard times after high school. What he didn’t say was—they were mostly my fault.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t like him dating Julia. I was still very protective of my little sister. We’d been so close so long.”
“But that changed once she had a steady boyfriend?”
“Yes. And I didn’t like her choice. He was a jock, popular, typical arrogant rich kid. I didn’t think he was smart enough for her. I didn’t believe he liked her that much. I thought she was just a means to an end for him. Toward the end of their senior year, there was a big party out at the lake. Senior Ditch Day. You know, lots of booze and sex. Someone started a rumor that Oz made it with one of the cheerleaders.”
“Tell me you didn’t start that rumor.”
“No. I didn’t start it.” I averted my eyes. Even in the dark, I couldn’t look at her. “But I might have . . . helped circulate it.”
“To Julia?”
I pursed my lips. “Among others.”
I heard my wife sigh. “I’m not saying that was a good thing. But you’re still not to blame for his current situation.”
“Are you sure? One event leads to another. After high school, his life fell apart. He wasn’t the big man on campus. College wasn’t for him. And he’d lost Julia. He drifted. Ended up in the military. A directionless kid. A flop at real life. Exactly the type who’s easy prey for ISIS and other terrorist outfits.”
“You’re not responsible for his poor choices.”
“We’re all responsible for one another. That’s the way the world works. At least, that’s the way it’s supposed to work.”
“You can’t fix everything.”
“Isn’t that an attorney’s job? To prevent miscarriages of justice?”
“Miscarriages? I hate to be the one who tells you, Ben, but at the moment your client looks seriously guilty.”
“Does he deserve to die?”
“I don’t think anyone deserves to die. You know that.”
“Oklahoma and, on rare occasions, the federal government still practice lethal injection. Even after one embarrassing incident after another. Clayton Lockett, tortured, writhing in agony, strapped to the gurney. Only a few months before, Michael Wilson complained that his body felt like it was on fire. They ignored him. A state court judge said this was so obviously cruel and unusual punishment that he didn’t even consider it a close call. The Supreme Court tried to stop the next execution, but the governor ordered it anyway.”
“I know all this, Ben. What’s your point?”
“Did you see the latest study from the National Academy of Sciences? Based on the growing number of postconviction exonerations, they estimate more than four percent of all death-row inmates are innocent. But we keep on torturing them and killing them just the same.”
&
nbsp; “You’re not responsible for the sins of the world, Ben. You didn’t turn the death penalty into a political football.”
“This will probably be my last case.”
“Ben .
“Who would trust me after this? I’ve risked my family’s future for what? For a case everyone else in town had the sense to stay away from.”
“You haven’t even started the defense. You’ll pull a rabbit out of your hat. You always do.”
“Like what? I’ve had no luck tracking down the mystery witness who fled from the scene of the crime. I have no defense theory.”
“SODDIT.”
“Nazir’s drug supplier? Which is who? I can only bluff the jury so long. They’re going to want a name.”
“You’ll think of something.”
I slunk down into the bed. “And I’m worried about Emily.”
Christina pushed herself out of bed. “I think this calls for a grilled cheese sandwich.”
“For breakfast?”
“If you like, I’ll serve it with a side of Cap’n Crunch.”
“Doesn’t that sound a little . . . off?”
“I think it sounds disgusting. But it’s probably just what you need.”
“So I can vomit in the courtroom?”
“Anything to capture the sympathy of the jury.” She tossed a warm blanket on top of me and tucked it in at the sides. “Now, you just stay nice and toasty. I’ll whip up some comfort food.” She caressed my bald spot. “You’re going to be fine, baby boy.”
I didn’t even realize I’d been shivering, but I noticed when the trembling subsided. She kissed me on the forehead and headed toward the kitchen.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much everything. I couldn’t do this without you.”
She smiled and winked. “Just so you understand that.”
47
Defense attorneys sometimes spend days deliberating over who they should call as their first witness, probably making it far more important than it will ever be to the jury. But after days of hearing the prosecution make its seemingly airtight case, the jury expects some explanation of why this case isn’t a foregone conclusion. Capturing the jury’s attention is critical. The defense attorney needs to tell the jurors from the get-go that, although law enforcement had to accuse someone, that in no way proves the prosecution caught the guilty party.
On television, people talk a lot about whether someone is innocent or guilty, but no attorney ever has to prove anyone is innocent. Thank goodness—because who among us is ever completely innocent? All the defense has to show is that there is some reason to question the prosecution’s claims. They are the Johnny Appleseeds of doubt.
I decided to start with my PACT witness. Sure, he didn’t know much about the case, but the prosecution had made everyone at PACT sound like a charter member of ISIS. So I’d rehabilitate the group and, indirectly, rehabilitate Oz.
And then I could work on convincing them he wasn’t a sex trafficker, porn freak, drug addict, etc.
I put Fethullah Lkbar on the stand, introduced a bit of his background, and established that he’d been doing clerical work at PACT for about two years.
“Could you describe for the jury what PACT does?”
“We’re an information group, primarily. Trying to educate people in all walks of life about the contributions of Arab-Americans, and trying to dispel some of the negative stereotypes out there, particularly since 9/11.”
“I imagine that involves a lot of political advocacy.”
“Actually, PACT tries to avoid that. We have a separate organization that handles lobbying.” Fethullah was well spoken despite his discernible accent. Mina recommended him to me as someone deeply committed to PACT but without a dodgy background that Thrillkill might turn against us. “We see ourselves in much the same role as, say, the NAACP many years ago, when African-Americans were fighting for equal rights and combatting negative stereotypes. They accomplished a lot of good in this country—still do, of course—and we hope someday to make just as positive a contribution.”
So far, smooth sailing. Two African-Americans on the jury, so this couldn’t hurt. Thrillkill sat quietly and calmly, which either meant he couldn’t think of a viable objection or he didn’t think this testimony could do him any harm.
“How would you describe your core message?”
“We’re trying to teach people not to assume everyone of Middle Eastern descent is a terrorist.”
“I suppose there’s a lot of prejudice out there.”
“There is. But that’s completely understandable, isn’t it? 9/11 was a devastating, horrific event. Of course, most of the participants in 9/11 originated in Saudi Arabia, technically an American ally, but people don’t see that. They just see the color of their skin.” Fethullah paused reflectively. “Sadly, we have a long history of that here in the United States.”
Nice. I loved the way he used the possessive pronoun “we” rather than “they,” inclusive rather than condemnatory, and I loved the way he forced the jury to consider their own possible biases. If I had said it, the jury would’ve been offended, but coming from a calm, thoughtful witness, it was powerful.
“Would you call PACT a religious organization?”
“Again, no more so than necessary. Part of the prejudice confronting Arab-Americans obviously relates to the fact that we are typically Islamic rather than Christian. We have published brochures pointing out that, at the end of the day, the two religions are not that different. Much of the Christian Bible is found in the Koran. The Koran acknowledges Jesus as an important prophet. Both books are about peace and love and essentially teach us to be nice to one another. Many people only know the parts of the Koran that are misquoted on conservative talk shows—stuff about holy wars and martyrs getting virgins in heaven and such.”
Enough with the general background. Thrillkill and the judge were being tolerant, but I knew that wouldn’t last forever. Time to get back to the case.
“Do you know the defendant, Omar al-Jabbar?”
“Yes.”
“He was involved in PACT’s work?”
“Yes, he worked for us when he had time. We liked having him on the Board of Directors.”
“Why was that?”
“Most of our supporters are Arab-Americans. But Omar’s skin is just as white as anyone else’s in this country. He chose Islam. He wasn’t born to it. Plus, his status as a war hero gives him special credibility. If a man who fought for his country in Iraq has the courage to say he accepts Arab-Americans as equals, who can question it?”
I nodded. Never a bad idea to remind the court that your client is a veteran. “What kind of work did Omar do for PACT?”
“Greased a few wheels. Attended business meetings. Helped forge strategic alliances. And he made a point of attending social gatherings. Parties, that sort of thing. In fact, he was planning one when . . . you know. All this unpleasantness arose.”
“What party was he planning?”
“A Fourth of July celebration. A picnic. What better way to show our allegiance to this nation than by participating in the celebration of its independence.”
“What did Omar do to help plan the party?”
“I know he’d obtained a lot of supplies. Food, drink, paper plates. We offered to reimburse him, but he refused.” A perfect pause. “And I know he’d obtained some fireworks.”
I felt the jury stirring. This was the first instance of what I hoped would be a series of corrections. “He bought fireworks for the PACT picnic?”
“Yes. And agreed to store them at his place till the event. We couldn’t have anything with gunpowder in it at our headquarters. I’m sure you can see where that would be a bad idea. We never dreamed anyone would try to make more of it.”
“One more thing. We had some testimony earlier about Omar and Mr. Nazir. Basically, the idea was that Omar wanted to “take Nazir out.” Did you ever hear anything
like that?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“You did?” I raised an eyebrow, not that I was surprised.
“Sure. I heard almost everyone in the organization say stuff like that.”
“What does it mean?”
“Well, first you need to understand that Mr. Nazir had been quite a thorn in the side of PACT. Omar was not the only person who had been interrogated by him. Nazir treated PACT like a terrorist organization, even though it isn’t, and tried to get the IRS to cancel our nonprofit status.”
“I can see where that might be frustrating.”
“Too many of our members knew that Agent Nazir had been a torturer for the Iraqi Republican Guard before he came to America. He preferred that no one knew about his past.”
“Is there more?”
“Yes. You need to understand that the phrase “take someone out” means take them out of the equation. That’s how people used it at PACT. Everyone hoped Agent Nazir would lose his position of influence and his ability to interfere with PACT activities. But no one wanted him dead. You don’t prove you’re a peace-loving organization by threatening people and assassinating your enemies.”
“In your two years at PACT, did you ever hear anyone advocate any plan involving violence or assassination?”
“Absolutely not.”
“And did you ever hear the defendant advocate any plan of violence or assassination?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Thank you, Fethullah. No more questions.”
Thrillkill was not quick about rising. I could see he gave it serious thought. Fethullah was obviously on Oz’s side, so the chances that he would make any points were slender. Still, there was always a chance of backing him into something.
“Sir, you say that PACT had no plans to harm Agent Nazir.”
“True.”
“And, by extension, that you believe the defendant had no plan to hurt Agent Nazir.”
Justice Returns (Ben Kincaid series Book 19) Page 24
