I did the best I could with a bad situation. Maybe it was just me and my defense attorney instincts, but I thought the “bomb ingredients” bit was weak, even by preliminary-hearing standards. It might give Thrillkill some play on the evening news. But I thought it sounded a little desperate.
Thrillkill did not redirect. “No more witnesses, Your Honor. We rest.”
“Will you be calling any witnesses, Mr. Kincaid?”
He already knew the answer to that question, but he had to ask. “No, Your Honor.” The magistrate’s decision would be based on the evidence adduced by the prosecution, the party with the burden of proof. All I could do was put Oz on the stand, which would not make the slightest difference to the court’s ruling but would lock in his testimony and give the prosecution a sneak peek at what he planned to say at trial. In other words, we had nothing to gain and potentially a great deal to lose. “We move for dismissal of the charges because the prosecution has failed to establish probable cause to bind the defendant over for trial.
“To which we object and oppose,” Thrillkill answered. “While we don’t claim that our case is perfect at this early juncture, we’ve met the burden necessary to proceed. And particularly given the extreme nature of the charges and the potential danger to society, I strongly urge the court to deny this motion.
“I believe I understand the situation,” Magistrate Hamilton said, “and I believe I’m in a position to rule from the bench. The defendant will be bound over for trial.”
Oz looked disappointed, despite the fact that I told him this was inevitable.
“It’s true the prosecution’s case is far from perfect. I heard a good deal of hearsay in the testimony—double hearsay. At one point I think it may have even been triple hearsay. Heard expert testimony from persons not qualified to give expert testimony. But the evidentiary standards at preliminary hearings are relaxed, and the only inquiry is whether to allow the prosecution to proceed to trial, where a much higher standard will be imposed. I find they have met that burden. The defendant will be bound over.”
I patted Oz on the back, trying to be reassuring. This didn’t mean anything, my expression said. We would keep fighting.
“To be specific, the defendant will be bound over on the homicide charge. I do not find sufficient evidence on the purported treason charge.”
Thrillkill started to speak, but the magistrate cut him off.
“Treason is a constitutional offense designed to prevent threats against the nation. The defendant is charged with attempting to kill a federal officer, but the purported motivation appears to be more revenge than anything else. True, the defendant was politically active, but this is the land of the First Amendment, and political activism is allowed, even in support of causes others may find unsavory. There is no convincing evidence that the defendant was engaged in a plot against the United States of America, and the evidence regarding the alleged manufacture of a bomb was particularly unpersuasive.”
Thrillkill took one in the chest. That had to pierce even that blowhard’s Kevlar. But he didn’t let it show. “Permission to reconsider this matter at the time of trial.”
The Magistrate nodded. “You are always free to file additional charges if you uncover evidence that warrants doing so. But at this time, that charge will be dismissed.” He pounded his gavel. “This hearing is adjourned. The bailiff will take the defendant back into custody.”
“What about bail?” Oz asked me.
“Separate hearing. Later.”
“What are our chances?”
“Not good.”
“Can you get a message to Mina?”
“I suppose.”
“Tell her to continue as before. Stop nothing. I am not important. Only the cause is important.”
That sounded just vague enough to give me concern. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Give this message to your sister.” He shoved a folded piece of paper into my hand. He must’ve written it during the cross. “And it’s private.”
“Anything you tell me is confidential.”
“This is between Julia and me.”
I took the note, not entirely sure I should.
He hesitated. The bailiff hovered behind him. I didn’t know the exact words, but I knew in essence what was coming. “Ben, I didn’t kill that man.”
“I’ll do everything for you I possibly can.”
He nodded. “Remember that you said that.”
The bailiff took him away, out of sight, where they would put shackles around his ankles and wrists and let him change back into the orange coveralls.
His last statement reverberated in my head for a long time.
It was perfectly natural for a man behind bars to want out.
So why did his words send a shiver up my spine?
24
Despite the tense atmosphere, the courtroom seemed calm compared to what awaited me back at the office. I expected the firestorm of reporters clustered outside. I did not expect the firestorm inside.
I paid the astronomical monthly rent on this place and thus theoretically had a right to enter, but today I had to fight my way through another throng of journalists. Some of them knew me well enough to realize I wasn’t going to entertain questions, but some hurled them at me as I squirmed between bodies and minicams.
I noticed a few from national cable networks and one from the Big Three. This case was attracting major-league attention. Which I knew from experience only made everything a thousand times harder. Especially for the defense attorney. No case was ever aided by 24-7 news coverage, most of which assumed the accused was guilty and slanted every story accordingly.
“Mr. Kincaid, what’s your response to the prosecution’s press release?”
“Is it true Omar al-Jabbar has confessed?”
“How do you feel about being investigated by the Bar Association?”
That one made me miss a step, but I kept moving.
“Sources indicate your client was building a bomb in his basement. Care to comment?”
I know I should’ve plowed ahead. How many times am I going to make the same mistake? But that one I couldn’t let pass. I’d reached the limits of my tolerance. “Who are these sources?”
The reporter, a female I recognized as a reporter for a prominent local daily, seemed startled that I stopped, much less responded. “I—I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Fake news posted to social media?”
“I—I can’t divulge—”
“Because you’re ashamed to admit how lame it is?”
“No, but—”
“A responsible reporter with a reputable source should have no trouble identifying it.”
“Some sources wish to remain anonymous.”
“You didn’t say it was an anonymous source. Why would it be? My client can’t hurt anyone from behind bars.”
“Can you confirm or deny the report—”
“You mean the gossip? It’s not a report unless it’s based on something factual.”
She had no reply.
“Or did you just make it up yourself? To see if you could get a quote out of me. And you’ll run my response to implicitly suggest the truth of the rumor. You’re not a reporter. You’re a gossipmonger. And that makes your paper a tabloid. A gossip rag.”
“Some sources have suggested—”
“Here’s my suggestion. Tell your readers the truth. If you’ve found a verified fact, report it. And if you don’t know something, admit that you don’t know it. Don’t report gossip as news. It demeans your publication and, quite frankly, demeans you as well.”
With that, I pushed my way through the door. This little tirade, of course, would do me no good whatsoever. She’d be gunning for me, the usual media response to anyone who has the audacity to say the emperor has no clothes. Christina would chew me out royally.
Felt good, though.
The office lobby was less crowded but still chaotic in its own way. Tanya sat in her usual spot behind t
he counter, and if I didn’t know better, I might think nothing had happened the day before.
I offered my best smile. “Any messages?”
“Only a few thousand.” She pushed a spindle toward me. “Some famous names on that stack.”
“Yo-Yo Ma?”
Her head tilted. “Is that a boy band? No, more like television news personalities.”
“That’s considerably less exciting.”
She ripped a message from the middle of the stack. “Here’s one you’ll want to give particular attention.”
And then my eyes fairly bulged. “I’m being audited?”
“The IRS will arrive Thursday.”
“I’m trying a case. I don’t have time for this.”
“That’s more or less the point.” Christina stood behind me. “You don’t imagine for a moment that this is a coincidence, do you?”
I scanned the message for more details. “It could be.”
“Have you gotten to the part about frozen assets yet?”
“What? Which accounts?”
“Virtually all. Personal and business. Frozen indefinitely until the IRS completes its review.”
“What’s the point of that?”
Christina shrugged. “Officially? To prevent you from absconding with funds the IRS may want to garnish to pay off whatever they find you owe.”
“They won’t find anything. You know I’m scrupulously honest on my taxes.”
“I do know that, but they’ll still find something wrong.”
“Now you’re just being cynical.”
“I’m acknowledging that someone sicced the IRS on you, and it wasn’t so you could come out smelling like a rose.”
“Politicians can’t order an IRS audit.”
“Nixon did. Repeatedly.”
“Thrillkill is not Nixon.”
“He wants to be. And you have no idea how much influence or how many friends a well-connected prosecutor might have.”
“It’s possible this was someone else’s idea.”
“True. But that doesn’t make the situation any better.”
“Neither does this story,” Tanya said, pointing at her computer screen. “According to social media, you’ve been laundering money for drug pushers and terrorists.”
“What?” I ran around to look. “What happens when you click on the link?”
“You go to a website that tries to steal all your personal information. And has no facts to support the claim.”
“That’s outrageous.”
“Or a great compliment,” Christina said. “Fake news shops only target people they think will draw clicks. That’s how they drive up their advertising rates. So in a way, this is a compliment.”
“Not one I appreciate. Call in Mabel.” Mabel Torino was our accountant. “See if she can be here to meet them on Thursday.”
“Already done.”
“With luck, she can keep the auditors entertained while we do our jobs.”
Tanya cut in, though her voice was soft. “Does this mean I won’t get paid next week?”
“I don’t know.” But I quickly corrected myself. “Scratch that. You’ll get paid, even if the accounts are frozen.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I’ll sell my watch.”
“That Mickey Mouse watch won’t raise twenty bucks.”
“I bought it at Disney World!”
Christina rolled her eyes. “And no one else has ever done that.”
“I’ll find the money.” Tanya probably didn’t have extensive reserve funds. “You’ll get your check.”
“Thank you.”
“Christina, send a request to the US Treasury. Use the Freedom of Information Act. See if you can find out who initiated this investigation.”
“That won’t produce anything useful.”
“You’re already sending a dozen FOIA requests. You can prep one more.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Christina picked up the spindle. “Have you been through the rest of these messages?”
“I haven’t even set down my briefcase.”
She ripped another one out of the middle. “Move this one to the top of the stack.”
I scanned it quickly. My lips parted. This is what the reporter was talking about.
I knew there would be backlash. Even the IRS audit didn’t surprise me that much. But this did.
“I’m being investigated by the Disciplinary Committee of the Bar Association?”
“Someone filed a complaint,” Christina answered.
“Who?”
“They wouldn’t tell me. Said they had to protect the identity of the complainant, at least until they decide how to proceed. Some kind of whistle-blower-protection concept.”
“Thrillkill.”
“Or a pal. No way of knowing for sure. Anyone who’s a member of the bar can file a complaint. For that matter, so can clients.”
“I’m pretty sure Oz isn’t complaining about me. Especially since they’re not giving him phone calls. Do you have any idea what I’ve supposedly done?”
“Only the vaguest. The woman I talked to said there was some suggestion you might have concealed a criminal enterprise.”
“Like what?”
“In other words, that Oz told you what he was going to do before he did it.”
“That’s a complete lie.”
“I know. But the best lies have an element of truth. Oz did talk to you before the murder. And he did expose the depth of his hatred for Nazir.”
“That’s a far cry from revealing a murder plot. So long as he doesn’t tell me he’s planning to hurt someone, I’m required to keep client statements confidential.”
A courier entered with a thin FedEx parcel.
Christina laid her hand on my shoulder. “Ben, this is another distraction. One more thing you’ll have to deal with while you’re handling a high-profile case for an extremely unpopular client who’s getting national attention. It’s divide and conquer. Plus, this is bound to get negative press coverage. Bar Association notices are open to the public.”
“So they report that the Bar Association is investigating. No big deal.”
“You know better than that. The press will report the investigation in such a way as to suggest there’s already been a ruling against you. The local paper hates lawyers and Democrats, and you’re both. They’ll probably run this on the front page. They’ll declare your guilt before the case is even heard. Just like the lynch-mob mentality has already decided Oz is guilty.”
I crushed the pink slip in my fist. “I wish the Disciplinary Committee spent more time policing people who practice law improperly and less time going after high-profile targets.”
“Stay calm, Ben.”
“Seriously. We’ve got the second-floor Mafia extorting money from opposing parties, basically saying pay up or your divorce will take four years and cost a hundred thousand bucks. We’ve got old-school practitioners who use motions practice and bogus discovery to inflate their fees. But the Bar Association leaves them alone.”
“Did you hear the word ‘calm’? You do not need to make enemies of the folks who could yank your license at any time.”
“Which is why no one ever says anything. Same reason no one calls out the news media when they report unsubstantiated rumors as if they were fact. Everyone’s afraid of becoming a target. A hint of gossip and suddenly uninformed trolls are trashing you all over the Internet.”
“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Ben.”
“I don’t like it.”
She patted me on the shoulder. “I know you don’t. And tonight, you can retreat into a nice Trollope novel and pretend you’re living a hundred and fifty years ago. But for now, you have to deal with this case you’ve thrust yourself into.”
“Ben?”
Tanya only spoke a single syllable, but the tremble in her voice made it sound more like a cry for help. “Yes?”
She held up a single sheet of paper, something that had
obviously come out of the FedEx envelope. The paper bore no identifying markers.
The message couldn’t be more alarming if it had been composed of letters cut out of a newspaper.
DEATH TO TERRORISTS. AND THEIR LAWYERS.
And beneath that, in slightly smaller letters:
WE’RE WATCHING YOU.
When I thought I could speak without being betrayed by my voice, I said, “Who do you think sent this?”
Christina shook her head. “Don’t know. Too many possibilities. I’m sure the return address is fake.”
“Angry racist? Anti-Arab hard-liner? Survivor of the OKC bombing?”
“The CIA?” Christina suggested, as another disturbing possibility.
Tanya cut back in. Water welled up in her eyes. “Is it true? Is someone . . . watching us? Like now?”
Almost without thinking, I did a 360, looking all around. “No one else is here. No one could sneak past all those reporters undetected.” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true.
Christina tilted her head. I knew what she was thinking.
“Call Todd Barrow,” I said. “Have him perform a sweep. If there are any hidden cameras or listening devices, he’ll find them.”
“Unless the government has some new tech he doesn’t know about.”
I ignored that. “In the meantime, let’s be circumspect. Sensitive conversations might be best conducted outside. Take a walk to the Myriad Gardens. Enjoy some tropical plants.”
Tanya’s head fell to her desk. “I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.”
“You need to go home.”
“I don’t want to leave you without—”
“Chris and I can take it from here. Go home and rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow morning.” I hoped. Because hiring and training a new receptionist was the last thing I wanted to do at this juncture. “Christina and I have dealt with this sort of thing before. You haven’t. Go home and chill for a bit.”
She nodded and gathered her belongings.
What I didn’t tell her, or Christina for that matter, was that I was just as terrified as she was. This reaction was greater than anything we’d faced in the past, and I knew how ugly people could be when driven to extremes or, worse, when they fought for something they believed in. But right now, they needed me—hell, everyone needed me—to be strong.
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