Justice Returns

by William Bernhardt

  “I will ask you to admit that at the time of the murder, you bore significant ill will against the United States government.”

  Oz thought for several beats before answering. Good for him. “I fought for my country on the battlefield.”

  “Not at the time of the murder. At that time, you supported anti-American interests.”

  “I completely disagree.” Stay calm, Oz. Stay calm.

  “You opposed US involvement in the Middle East.”

  “After I returned from service, I exercised my First Amendment rights to speak out against something I opposed. That’s not anti-American. That’s what defines America. Freedom of speech.”

  “Our former vice president said those who don’t support American policies are helping the terrorists.”

  “He needs to reread the Constitution.”

  A little too much sting for a defendant, but I don’t think the jury minded much. Thrillkill was obviously needling him.

  “But the fact is—you were helping the terrorists, weren’t you?”

  “Absolutely not. Never.”

  “You worked with ISIS.”

  “Never at any time did I so much as lift a finger to advance ISIS’s political agenda, which I completely oppose.”

  “You helped Abdullah Ali.”

  “I helped PACT.”

  “And you’re aware that Abdullah is on the CIA’s watch list.”

  “The CIA watches literally tens of thousands of people. Most of them are of Middle Eastern descent.”

  “Because they are suspected terrorists.”

  “I’m not in a position to explain CIA motivations. I don’t think you are, either.”

  The more defensive Oz acted, the more suspicious he became. As “un-American” as it might seem, the witness stand is one place where we do not admire those who stand up for themselves. It tends to lead, to quote Shakespeare, to a feeling that the witness “doth protest too much.”

  “You will acknowledge that Abdullah was suspected of terrorist activity?”

  “I never saw any evidence of any terrorist activity.”

  “I will direct the witness to answer the question,” Thrillkill said, putting a little force into his voice. “You were aware that Abdullah was suspected of terrorism?”

  “Yes.” Oz paused. “But then, so was I.”

  “Another point the jury should bear in mind,” Thrillkill added, with more than a little snark. “And what a coincidence that the two of you should be working together.”

  “Objection,” I said. “They weren’t working together on terrorism, and the prosecution has never put on the slightest evidence suggesting that they did.”

  “I apologize,” Thrillkill said. “I meant nothing inappropriate. I’m sure these two suspected terrorists were working on something completely innocuous.”

  My jaw clenched. “Are we going to try this case on evidence or snotty innuendo?”

  The judge looked even angrier than I did. “Counsel are both directed to be quiet. Immediately.” He gave us a fierce look. “I will have no more talking objections. State your objection and be quiet. I can rule without coaching.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “This objection is sustained.”

  Thrillkill continued unruffled. “Sir, would you admit that the fact that the CIA detained you for twenty-one days suggests that they had serious reason to suspect you of terrorist activities?”

  “No. Desperate people do desperate things in desperate times.”

  “And in your view the CIA is desperate.”

  “Objection,” I said. “Relevance. Also, lack of personal knowledge.”

  “Sustained.”

  Thrillkill feigned frustration. “They must’ve had some reason to keep you so long.”

  “As I’ve said, they were hoping I had information about Abdullah. Which I didn’t.”

  “They didn’t detain him.”

  “They can’t find him.”

  “But they held you—”

  “The US kept six men at Guantánamo Bay for more than twelve years without charging them. Then shipped them off to Uruguay. Does that prove those men knew anything? No. It proves the US used them, then wanted them out of the way.”

  “Why would Agent Nazir want you out of the way if you weren’t—”

  “Because I was dating someone he had a prior connection to. Someone he had tortured and humiliated. Mina Ali.”

  “You were in a . . . romantic relationship with her.”

  “That was Mina in the video you showed. How can we pretend Americans have any privacy when people like you are allowed to put our private affairs on display?”

  Thrillkill cut him off. “That was Mina Ali?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long had this relationship been going on?”

  “Not that long. Nazir probably thought that if two people he had mistreated became allies, the truth about his past might become public knowledge. Nazir tried to embarrass Mina to break us up.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t make that sex video. Nazir did. The master spy. He recorded us, then tried to use it to humiliate her. Showed it around the family, the mosque. Her family demanded that I marry her. When I declined, Mina had to leave her mosque, was shunned and shrouded by her family.” His teeth clenched tightly together. “In other words, once again, Nazir had destroyed someone’s life. Without mercy or remorse.”

  55

  This is why lawyers hate surprises. People think trial attorneys are masters at thinking on their feet, being spontaneous. Wrong. The secret of good trial practice is advance preparation, slowly and carefully considering every possible contingency. But all that planning falls apart when there are important facts no one bothered to tell you.

  Had Oz just made himself more sympathetic to the jury? Or had he given them another reason to believe he killed Nazir? This was the most complicated trial I had ever managed, and it was proving much too complex for this bear of little brain.

  Evidently Thrillkill was having the same trouble assimilating all this, because he changed the subject. “You refused to release your psychiatric records, true?”

  “I was never consulted.”

  “I’m sorry. Your therapist refused to release your records.”

  “Objection.” I knew I was playing into Thrillkill’s hands, but it had to be done. “Medical records are privileged by law. It’s completely inappropriate for counsel to bring this up on cross.”

  “Sustained.”

  The ruling was obvious. But Thrillkill wanted to remind the jury that Oz was seeing a therapist—which suggested to the old guard that he had some kind of mental problem. He also wanted to plant the suggestion that Oz was hiding something.

  “You acknowledge that you’ve seen a therapist, correct?”

  “I already discussed that.”

  “There must have been a reason.”

  “The military encourages soldiers to seek counseling when they return stateside. Especially if they’ve been wounded.”

  “And the reason they promote this therapy—”

  “Objection.” I sensed where this was going, and I wanted to stop it dead in its tracks. “The witness does not establish military policy and has no way of knowing why policies were put into place.”

  “Sustained.”

  Thrillkill tried again. “I assume the reason therapy is recommended is that in the past people suffering from PTSD have engaged in violent or dangerous activities.”

  “Objection!” I said, too loudly. “This is outrageous. Now he’s trying to convict the defendant based on the fact that he served his country.”

  Thrillkill looked appalled. “I was not—”

  “The objection is sustained,” the judge said curtly. I was not surprised to see that a former JAG court judge didn’t care much for this line of questioning. “Mr. Thrillkill, I think it’s time for you to move on.”

  Nothing warmed my heart more than seeing the judge get rough with someone else.

  “You serve Abdullah’s organi
zation.”

  “I’ve worked for PACT. I’ve aided the cause of equal rights for Arab-Americans.”

  “And you’ve worked to bring more Muslims into the United States.”

  “True.”

  “Why would you do that when you have so many disagreements with the US government?”

  “Now you’re being disingenuous. If you’d lived a day, or for that matter ten minutes, in what’s left of Iraq or Afghanistan or Syria, you wouldn’t ask such a foolish question.”

  I could see Thrillkill weighing whether he wanted to take that baton. He didn’t.

  “Did you discuss these complaints against the United States with your friends in ISIS?”

  “I have no friends in ISIS.”

  “Sounds like you engaged in extensive discussions with them.”

  “They tried to recruit me. They were unsuccessful. I’ve never done anything that would hurt my country.”

  “You accepted gifts from ISIS agents. You smuggled prostitutes across the border.”

  “I did no such thing. I helped people build better lives. In many cases, prostitution is exactly what the people I helped were escaping.”

  “So you insist that you were not involved in the sex trafficking that is so prevalent in the area where you live.”

  “Correct. I know nothing about it.”

  “Nothing. Hmm.” He shuffled a few papers. “Were you responsible for bringing over a woman named Karma Khan?”

  He nodded. “I remember Karma. Her aunt works as a maid at the La Quinta in Midwest City.”

  “Were you aware that she’s currently working as a prostitute?”

  “No,” Oz said. “I’m sorry to hear that. If it’s true.”

  “Since you’re challenging the veracity of my statement, let me present you with her arrest report.” No point in objecting. Oz’s remark opened the door. “May I approach the witness?” He passed the report to Oz, then retreated to his usual position. “As you’ll see, she’s been picked up for soliciting. Twice.”

  Oz laid down the paper, the sadness evident on his face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “So your testimony is that you didn’t know?”

  “I didn’t.” His voice choked slightly.

  “Spare me the crocodile tears, sir. You brought her over for the express purpose of turning her into a prostitute.”

  “That’s a disgusting lie.”

  “Would you please read to the jury the location where your protégé was arrested?”

  He read the addresses off the arrest sheet. They were both on South Robinson, the area Thrillkill had mentioned before. Near where Oz lived.

  “But you didn’t know she was a prostitute.”

  “I still don’t know that.”

  “So you’re claiming both arrests were mistakes?”

  “The police have made mistakes before. And I see no indication of any convictions.”

  “How many times do you expect the jury to believe that story? If law enforcement made as many mistakes as you suggest, this country would be in anarchy.”

  “Objection,” I said. “Argumentative.”

  “Sustained. Mr. Thrillkill, your job is to ask questions. Nothing more.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I’m sorry. I’m just having trouble getting straight answers.”

  I jumped up. “Your Honor—”

  Thrillkill held up his hands. “I’m sorry. Withdraw the remark.” As if that would make it go away.

  “So to recap,” Thrillkill continued, “you didn’t know Karma Khan was a prostitute. Working in your neighborhood. Did you ever see her on your drive to work? Perhaps on a street corner?”

  “No.” Oz contained himself, but I could see rage boiling behind his eyes, and I’m sure everyone else could, too.

  “Did you ever make any attempt to check in on the young women you brought into this country?”

  “In the first place,” Oz said, “it wasn’t just women. In the second place, it’s not really possible for me to follow up on them after a point. Unlike the CIA, I do not stalk private citizens. My role was to help them obtain a visa and find work. Once that’s completed, they tend to move on.”

  I tried to send Oz psychic commands. Stay calm. No matter what happens.

  “Once you’d obtained a green card for these women, did you turn them over to someone else?”

  “Employers, if that’s what you mean.”

  “And by employers you mean pimps?”

  I jumped to my feet. “Objection!”

  Thrillkill shrugged. “It’s a fair question. If the answer is no, he can say no.”

  The judge’s lips curled. “I’ll allow it.”

  “I did not turn anyone over to a pimp,” Oz said, teeth clenched. “I don’t know any pimps. “Most of the people we brought over are now productive members of society.”

  “Are you sure? I thought you said you didn’t keep tabs on them.”

  I could see Oz’s hands gripping the front rail. “I am not a pimp. I am not a sex trafficker. I have never been and would never be involved in such a thing.”

  “But you’ve killed people. Haven’t you?”

  Thrillkill came back with that so quickly I could see it was all planned. He wanted Oz to lose his temper. He wanted Oz to look dangerous.

  If he could accomplish that, the evidence, or lack thereof, wouldn’t matter so much.

  “Only on a field of combat,” Oz replied.

  “I imagine taking your first victim is the hardest. After you’ve killed your first human being, the others probably come much more easily.”

  “Objection,” I said calmly, trying not to escalate the anger factor in the room.

  “Sustained,” the judge said. “Let’s get back to the murder at hand.”

  “Were you aware that Agent Nazir was investigating links between sex trafficking and terrorism?”

  “No,” Oz replied. His voice had traveled from having a hint of an edge to being almost all edge. “Agent Nazir did not confide in me about his work.”

  “He had a theory that terrorists were using the underground railroads employed by sex traffickers to bring terrorists into the country. In other words, that the two activities were closely connected.”

  “Is there a question here?” I asked. “Or is the prosecutor just giving us gratuitous hearsay testimony from the dead?”

  Thrillkill didn’t wait for a ruling. “My question is whether you were aware of any such link, sir?”

  “No,” Oz replied. “How could I be? Since I knew little about terrorists and absolutely nothing about sex traffickers.”

  “You seem terribly oblivious to the world around you. Very closely around you. You’re in constant contact with terrorists and sex traffickers, yet you want us to believe you know nothing about them.” Thrillkill shuffled a few more papers. “Are you also denying that you owned a gun?”

  “No.”

  “So you weren’t involved in terrorism, and you weren’t involved in sex trafficking, but you did make sure you had a weapon on hand.”

  Oz hesitated. “I live in a dangerous neighborhood.”

  “I know. It’s full of terrorists and prostitutes. Everyone there, probably, except you.” He shuffled a few more notes. “And you don’t deny applying for an open-carry license.”

  “No.”

  “What would be your reason for wanting to carry your weapon openly?”

  “I already discussed that. Safety.”

  “You can’t protect yourself with a concealed weapon?”

  “It sends a message.”

  “So you were trying to scare people.”

  “I was trying to prevent people from messing with me. Soldiers carry their weapons openly, too, and for a reason. It discourages attacks.”

  “You know what?” Thrillkill said. “I’ve lived in Oklahoma City my entire life. Even spent some time down on South Robinson. But I’ve never felt the need for a weapon. Much less one dangling from a holster around my waist.”

 
; “You haven’t been chained to a wall like an animal for twenty-one days.”

  Thrillkill pounced. “So you carried the gun because you were hoping to get even with the men who did that with you.”

  “No.”

  “Particularly the chief interrogator.”

  “No.”

  “You hated Nazir and you wanted him dead.”

  “Well, what if I did?” Oz sprang out of his chair, leaning against the rail. “That bastard deserved to die!”

  A shroud fell over the courtroom as his words reverberated in the dead space. It was like a moment trapped in amber. I’m sure Oz wanted to take it back as soon as he’d said it. But it wasn’t going away.

  I didn’t know whether an objection would help or hurt. Thrillkill had needled him, baited him, and ultimately gotten the reaction he wanted. He wasn’t so much asking Oz questions as gently gliding a noose around his neck.

  Oz fell back into his seat, tiny tears seeping from the corners of his eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like. Being humiliated like that. I served my country, and my reward was shame.”

  “And you blamed Nazir.”

  “He destroyed my life more than the military or the Iraqis or anyone else. He left me with nothing.”

  Thrillkill spoke quietly. “Sir, you did in fact carry a gun to the press conference at which Agent Nazir was killed, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” His voice was little more than a croak.

  “And that was your gun. The one you bought, you owned. The one for which you got the permit.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that gun was in your hand when you were arrested, wasn’t it?”

  It was as if he’d lost the will to resist. “Yes.”

  “And you heard the testimony of the ballistics expert. Stating that your gun was the murder weapon?”

  “I did.”

  Thrillkill nodded. “No more questions.”

  56

  I made no stops on my way home from work. Christina tried to console me, saying even the best attorney can’t rewrite history, but it didn’t help. I thought the case was winnable, and I’d let victory slip through my fingers. I still didn’t believe Oz shot that man. But I knew the jury did. I couldn’t figure out how anyone else could’ve done it. And I couldn’t come up with another plausible suspect.