“You’ll have to call one of your other witnesses,” the judge said. “You have several names on your list. Get one on the stand.”
I wasn’t particularly anxious to admit that most of those names were either speculative or bluffs. “I don’t have anyone present in the courtroom.”
“Then call them up and tell them to get their butts over here pronto!”
The judge was losing his happy buzz.
“What about your mystery witness?” Thrillkill said, still amusing himself. “Didn’t you promise the jury that by the end of the trial they’d know who really committed the crime? Who is it? The mysterious figure who disappeared from the scene of the crime? Nazir’s supposed drug supplier? Why don’t you put that witness on next?”
If I hadn’t been so keenly aware that murder was a capital offense, Thrillkill would’ve died right then and there.
“Okay,” Thrillkill continued, “if that doesn’t work for you, why not call your client to the stand? He’s in the courtroom.”
“That is not going to happen.”
“It will eventually. You have no choice.”
“I have a lot of choices.”
“It would be malpractice not to call him. He’s all you’ve got. All that matters. You just want to save him for last.”
“You don’t know jack—” I bit the words back, but it took all the willpower I had. “Your Honor, could we perhaps recess for the day? I’m sure that by tomorrow—”
“No can do, pardner. I need this trial over as soon as possible.”
Why? Pressing fishing trip? “I’m not sure—”
“That’s the way it’s going to be.”
Thrillkill steepled his fingers quietly.
The judge continued. “This is just one case out of many on my docket. The most important case in the world to you, I’m sure. But not to the rest of us.”
The short hairs stood up on the back of my neck. This case wasn’t just important to me. This had made national news. Half the cable news stations were obsessing over it. And he just wanted to get it over with? I was starting to feel uneasy.
“You have to get over this attitude that the world revolves around you,” the judge continued. “I gather you were big stuff back in Tulsa, but here you’re just another lawyer, one of many I see every day. And if you think I’m going to bend the rules just to—”
“My wife is missing, you pompous blowhard!”
The judge’s chambers fell silent.
I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never done anything like that in my entire life. All at once everything I’d kept bottled up inside erupted.
The judge cleared his throat. To my relief, he didn’t reply with equal vigor, though he must’ve been tempted. “I’m sure she’ll turn up. In the meantime—”
“How can you be sure? Do you know anything about this?” I couldn’t shut it off. “I know Christina, and she’d be here unless it was absolutely impossible. So why isn’t she? Why are all my witnesses disappearing? Why is my client going to die for something he didn’t do? Why does my sister hate me? And—And—”
I found I was crouched over, one hand pressed to my forehead, tears in my eyes.
“And I think my little girl has some kind of brain damage.” I fought like hell to keep myself from crying. But I didn’t entirely succeed.
“This case has been a tremendous strain on us all,” the judge harrumphed, after a long awkward silence. “Maybe an early recess wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world—”
He was interrupted by a knock on the door.
I looked up and saw Michael Hickman enter the judge’s chambers. I’d seen him come and go throughout the trial, but I hadn’t spoken ten words to him since that waste-of-time meeting in Thrillkill’s office.
He saw me flushed and barely breathing—obviously had no idea what to make of it—but didn’t comment. “I, uh, have some news.”
“Does it pertain to this case?” the judge asked.
“Very much so.”
“Then let’s hear it.”
Despite the judge’s instruction, he hesitated to proceed. “Mr. Kincaid, I’m afraid this concerns you.”
“No,” I whispered. “Please, God. No.”
“Skip the preliminaries,” Thrillkill said. “Just tell us what’s happened.”
He crouched down close to me. “I’m—I’m so sorry, Mr. Kincaid. I’m . . .” He wiped his hand across his brow. “I’m afraid there’s been another murder.”
51
I raced across town, violating every known traffic law. I didn’t give a damn. I had to see it for myself. The judge was gracious enough to let me leave, not that he had much choice under the circumstances. Even the most hard-nosed judge on earth had to admit that this was an extraordinary situation.
I raced to the front door. A cop stood outside, protecting the crime scene, while four others circled the perimeter. I recognized the lead guy. Rollins, if I recalled correctly.
I hoped maybe if I kept moving and acted as if I knew what I was doing, he wouldn’t stop me. Wrong again.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Rollins said, holding up a hand. “This is a restricted area.”
“Do you know who I am, Officer?”
“I’m . . . afraid I do.”
“Then you know why I want in there?”
“My orders are clear. As of yet I have not received permission to allow anyone in but authorized homicide personnel.”
In retrospect, I’m amazed I was able to hold it together at all. I’d already fallen apart in front of a judge. Could a total breakdown be far away? “Are you going to make me beg?”
I could see something was on the kid’s mind. He was debating whether to say it.
He finally did. “You’re the lawyer who repped Judge Roush, right?”
The gay Supreme Court justice. That was a firestorm, back in the day. Amazing how quickly the world changes. “I am.”
He nodded, then gave me a small salute. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing. Don’t touch anything.” He stepped aside.
I didn’t wait for him to reconsider. This is an incredible world we live in. Just when you think you’ve figured everything out, people are full of surprises.
Techs were scurrying around, but I still managed to get a good view of the scene of the crime. And the victim.
Yasmin al-Tikrit. At least, that’s who they told me it was. I never could have figured it out on my own. The feisty female chemist hadn’t just been killed. She’d been destroyed.
“What happened?” I gasped.
Rollins came in behind me. “Judging from the state of the apartment, she had a disagreement with a person who had an extremely powerful gun. And lost.”
“Or that’s what someone wants you to think.”
The place was a wreck—glass coffee table shattered, chairs upturned, scientific papers strewn everywhere. I spotted a blood-smeared indentation on the wall about eye level. I’m guessing someone’s head went into the wall the hard way.
Every research scientist I’d ever met was tidy, orderly. All their ducks in a row. But this apartment looked as if a hurricane had swept through.
“How’d she die?”
“The coroner hasn’t spoken.” Rollins spoke slowly, obviously not sure he should tell me anything. “But I can see she took a gunshot to the heart and the head, which does tend to cause death.”
I looked at her battered remains. “That wouldn’t explain . . . all this.” She’d obviously been beaten. Blood covered her entire body. Her right arm was twisted back at an unnatural angle. Her right leg was broken.
“Yeah. She’s a mess.”
“This is more than just a disagreement. This is the work of someone who wanted her to suffer.”
“I gather she was some kind of scientist,” Rollins said, gesturing toward the paperwork.
“Chemist. Engaged in a research project. Something about renewable energy, if I recall correctly.”
I glanced at the periodic tab
le mounted on the wall just above her desk. Some of the elements were smeared with red: aluminum, iodine, potassium, iridium. At first, I thought they’d been marked in blood. I was relieved when, on closer inspection, I realized it was just a marker pen.
I noticed something else on her desk. A visa application. Specifically, an I-130 Petition for Alien Relative. I knew that had to be approved by the USCIS. Usually, the sponsoring relative had to demonstrate adequate income or assets to prove the newcomer wouldn’t become a burden on society. And it had to be completed by a lawful permanent resident or a foreign national who had been granted the privilege of working and living permanently in the United States.
Did this have something to do with PACT? Or HOPE? Or Abdullah, the man behind the curtain no one could track down?
I knew there was much more going on than the pathetic little iceberg tip I was presenting in my defense. Ninety percent of this case remained underwater. And because of that, a brilliant woman had died.
And Omar might be next.
I heard a struggle on the steps behind me.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, you can’t go up there.”
“And how are you going to stop me? I only see four officers. And only two of you have guns.”
“Ma’am—”
“If you don’t move immediately, I’m filing a police-brutality claim against every one of you. And don’t laugh it off, because my husband is the best attorney in the world.”
That could only be one person.
I glanced at Rollins. “My wife. She works with me. Do you mind if she comes in?”
I could tell he did but probably thought it better to acquiesce than face the anger of the titan. “She can’t touch anything.”
“She knows.”
I met Christina at the top of the stairs.
“Ben, what in the—”
I wrapped my arms around her so tightly it cut her off in midsentence. Something about a shoulder to the mouth tends to end conversation. I squeezed as hard as I could without cracking her ribs.
“Ben, what is the matter with you?” She tried to push away, but I wasn’t letting her go. Yasmin’s death was a tragedy, but I’m ashamed to admit that when I realized the victim wasn’t Christina, all I felt was inexpressible relief.
I heard Rollins somewhere behind me. “I’d offer to leave you two alone, but that isn’t an option. Maybe you should get a room. Somewhere else.”
“I was so afraid,” I whispered into her hair.
“Well, pull yourself together. I heard you had a meltdown in chambers.”
Word travels fast. “When did you see Yasmin last?”
“Not an hour ago. We prepped for her testimony. I think we had it sounding pretty good, not that it matters now. She was going to dismantle the lopsided, slanted, deceptive portrait Thrillkill painted of Oz. Then she checked a text, and suddenly there was nothing I could do to keep her in the office. She raced out the door, promising she’d be back at the courthouse in time.”
“That’s a promise she’s not going to keep.”
“No joke. I blew an hour looking for her. Sorry I didn’t see your texts. I turned my ringer off. What happened here?”
I filled her in on what little I knew about the murder. “It probably relates to the Nazir case.”
“But it’s possible it doesn’t.”
“In addition to being tragic, it’s devastating to our defense. One more blow to an increasingly impossible case.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Christina crouched down, peering at the battered remains of Yasmin’s face. “Tragic, but surely you can see the upside to this.”
“An upside? To murder?”
“Put your feelings in a box, Ben. Think about that case you’re trying. What’s been your biggest defense problem?”
I mulled that over. “No SODDIT.”
“That just changed.”
“Because .
“Oz is in custody, so he couldn’t possibly have committed this crime. Someone else is out there. And assuming you can get the judge to permit you to introduce evidence of this new murder—”
“Which is a big if.”
She granted that with a nod. “But if you can, or if the jurors hear it on the evening news, then they’ll realize there’s someone capable of committing murder. Someone who isn’t Oz. Any unanswered questions work in Oz’s favor. They create doubt.”
I tried to run the angles through my head. “It’s still not much.”
“It’s more than you had this morning.”
True enough. I felt like a complete vulture, trying to spin this hideous murder to my advantage. But Christina was a pragmatist. And I had a man’s life in my hands. I didn’t have the luxury of being above it all.
This recess wouldn’t last forever. The judge had been generous, sort of, but tomorrow morning he would expect the trial to resume. We would undoubtedly have a flurry of motions that would kill at last an hour. I’d try to admit evidence of the new murder; Thrillkill would try to suppress it. I couldn’t know the outcome for certain, but the judge had ruled with Thrillkill on every matter of import so far. Why should this be any different?
Christina still stared at that horribly mangled corpse. “I don’t know if you ever seriously doubted this, but you want to put Oz on the witness stand. Next.”
“Why?”
She laid her hand on my shoulder. “Because everything just changed.”
52
We had to wait for an uncommonly long time for the judge to return to chambers. He’d decorated it with the usual suspects: photos of grandchildren and OU football memorabilia, a few throw rugs, and some framed prints illustrating “DETERMINATION” and “INTEGRITY,” which I suspected were carryovers from the previous occupant. Nothing that would distract anyone for long.
Santino had a private bathroom, which he eventually emerged from. Apparently, breakfast was not agreeing with him. He all but lumbered to his large oaken desk, rested his hands on the ink blotter, and gave me a steely eye. “Convince me you’re not wasting my time.”
I cleared my throat. Seemed we were going to cut straight to the heart of the matter. “We’re not, Your Honor. I will respectfully suggest that, given the violent death of one of the prosecution’s own witnesses, the playing field has changed.”
“I will have to disagree with that statement,” Thrillkill said. He reclined in the most comfortable chair, making a point of appearing unruffled.
“There’s another murderer out there,” I said. “Not my client. Someone is killing off people in this Iraqi immigrant community.”
“Mr. Kincaid,” the judge replied, “the fact that another murder has occurred does not prove your client wasn’t guilty of the first.”
“And if I may add something,” Thrillkill said, “Agent Nazir was not a member of this community. There’s a huge difference between monitoring PACT activities and being a member.”
“There’s a difference,” I agreed. “But huge? Not so much. They all knew each other.”
“We’re not going to dismiss,” Thrillkill said, “if that’s what you’re after. Your man was found at the scene holding the murder weapon, his prints on the gun and powder on his palm. He’s guilty, and we all know it.”
“I don’t know it,” I shot back. “I just know someone really wants us to believe it. Which is not the same thing.”
The judge looked frustrated—never a good sign. “What is it you seek, Mr. Kincaid?”
“I want the jury to know about Yasmin’s murder.”
“No. That’s not relevant. It will only confuse matters.”
“Your Honor, I was planning to put her back on the stand, to correct the misapprehensions Mr. Thrillkill created with his selective direct. Now I can’t do that.”
The judge pursed his lips. “I’ll inform the jury that you wanted to call her back to the stand but . . . she was unavailable.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor, but that’s not good enough. The jury will never have a fair understandi
ng when one lawyer gets to use a key witness and the other doesn’t. I wanted to bring up additional matters when she was on the stand the first time, but you told me to wait till I put on my case. I’m putting on my case now, and guess what? I can’t call her.”
“I have many powers, Mr. Kincaid, but raising the dead is not one of them. I’m not calling a mistrial, either. This case has dragged on much too long. No mulligans.”
“I suppose,” Thrillkill said, still markedly unworried, “we could consider retracting the prior testimony of the deceased.”
“The jury has already heard it,” I pointed out.
“I could instruct the jury to disregard her prior testimony,” the judge said. “Exclude it from their deliberations.”
“And we all know how much good that will do. You can’t unring a bell. They’ve been prejudiced by the slanted questions put to her on direct.”
Thrillkill chuckled. “You mean by her truthful answers?”
It was all I could do to keep from wrapping my fingers around the man’s unctuous little throat. “You don’t see anything you don’t want to see. Because you’re more interested in your political career, and you don’t care if an innocent man dies if it helps you get elected.”
Thrillkill sat up. “Excuse me, Kincaid, but don’t take your petty—”
“Gentlemen!” The judge actually pounded on his desk. “Let me remind you that even though we are in chambers, this trial is still in session, and we are on the record, and any comments you make will be directed to the court, not to each other. Do you understand me?”
We both nodded, chins tucked. I felt like I’d been taken out to the woodshed—because I had. And I deserved it. This case was turning me into a crazy person.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” I said. “But I don’t think this problem can be fixed by telling the jury to ignore something they’ve already heard.”
“Then tell me what you want. Short of a mistrial. What would make you happy?”
I saw my opening. Even though I thought it was hopeless, I took my shot. “I want the jury to know that I’m not calling Yasmin back to the stand because she’s dead. I want my client to be allowed to testify about what went down between him and Nazir. The interrogation. Including the torture. Twenty-one days of incarceration without being charged. I want them to understand how this country treated a war hero, basically because he had the audacity to convert to the Muslim faith and to show sympathy to people in need. I want them to understand what this case is really about, not just selective bits and pieces, so they can reach an educated conclusion about what happened. I know you could probably argue that it’s not probative, but it’s the only way the jury will ever really understand this case.”
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