Sent: MAYBE SATURN HAS IT.
Received: IT IS THERE.
Sent: IT IS NOT.
Received: IT IS THERE.
Sent: IM NOT CONVINCED IT WILL HELP.
Received: TRY. THE DAY OF RECKONING IS FAST APPROACHING.
The recipient had a cloaked and encrypted source code. I was certain it was a disposable one-use-only phone, so I didn’t bother trying to trace it. These people were professionals. They would not make a rookie mistake.
I was surprised when she went to the storage shed. For a long time, the shed had been covered with crime scene tape, but that had been removed shortly before the trial began. Apparently, the police took the locks with them.
This was the one instance in which my equipment failed me. I could not see inside the shed. Was she still looking for something? Taking something? Planting something?
Mina called her brother, the young one, Kir. I wondered whether I should be concerned. The boy was young and brash and exactly the sort who might decide to tell the police everything he knew in a flash of conscience.
I got this conversation almost from the start. Most was of no import. This is how it ended:
“The pigs are winning.”
“It only appears so at this moment.” She tried to calm him, with little success.
“They can destroy anyone. Simply by waving their all-powerful hand.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Look what they did to you!”
I heard her sigh heavily. “This is not a productive conversation. And it comes at the worst possible time. I will call you when I am home.”
She disconnected the line. Even then, I could hear the young boy seething.
She spent more time aimlessly working her way through the empty apartment. I thought her purpose, whatever that might be, was concluded. It was almost as if she hesitated to leave. As if she did not want to leave.
But at last she did. So far as I could tell, my duties were complete. I phoned my handler and asked if there were further instructions.
I made sure I had a secure line, using the cell reserved only for these reports. I relayed the highlights and promised photos in the morning.
“Would you like me to send them now?”
“No. I can’t look at them now. The morning will be soon enough.”
“Is there anything else you would like me to do?”
“No.”
“The prosecutor?”
“Pointless.”
“The lawyer? His wife?”
“I have that under control.”
“Then I will stand down.”
“Very good. I will contact you with further instructions tomorrow.”
In my mind, I gave a little salute. “I am, as always, yours to command. Good night, Julia.”
40
In my experience, the coroner is rarely the most exciting witness the prosecution has at its disposal, which is why they usually call them early and get rid of them quickly. They must establish that a death occurred, and the cause of death is sometimes of interest. Best to simply get it over with.
In this case, I suspected Thrillkill delayed the testimony primarily because he was afraid of what I might do to the man on cross-examination. Or perhaps I flatter myself. Whatever his faults might be, Thrillkill was thorough, and he had the essential lawyer gift for looking at a situation from all sides.
Clarence Cooper was a respected medical examiner with a national reputation, a pleasant change of pace from some previous forensic “experts,” like the former chemist for the OKC police who falsified evidence leading to hundreds of convictions and eleven executions. More recently, Massachusetts had to dismiss over 20,000 criminal cases when it was discovered that a chemist was faking the proof. Cooper knew his stuff, though, and he could be trusted to say nothing that wasn’t 100 percent accurate. On the witness stand, he seemed comfortable and calm, always professionally dressed, the picture of authority. I didn’t need to worry about devising clever cross-ex questions to trip him up. That was not going to happen. But I could count on him to testify honestly about a few interesting anomalies I’d detected in his report.
Thrillkill established that Dr. Cooper performed the autopsy and outlined his general operating procedure.
“Were you able to establish a cause of death?” Thrillkill asked.
“Yes.”
“And that is?”
“Agent Nazir died of a gunshot wound to the head. That caused traumatic injury plus a severing of the blood and oxygen flow. The technical term would be cranial asphyxiation.”
“Any mysterious circumstances?”
“No.”
“Any other findings relevant to cause of death?”
“The matter is clear-cut. There’s no doubt about it.”
“Did you match your findings with those of ballistics?”
“Yes. And I found markings on the brain that parallel those detected on the bullet.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
Cooper turned slightly to face the jury. “Nazir was killed by a bullet to the brain.”
“Thank you. Pass the witness.”
I rose to my feet. “Dr. Cooper, I was just wondering—did you perform any toxicology tests as part of your A-scan?”
“I did. It’s required by the state. Even when, as here, it’s not at all necessary.”
“Could you explain to the jury what an A-scan is?”
“An A-scan is the first level of inquiry—trying to determine the cause of death. Here, it was so obvious there was no need to do a more invasive B- or C-scan. And no need for toxicology, in my opinion.”
“But you did the tests anyway.”
“Yes.”
“What were your findings?”
“No sign of poisoning. He died from the gunshot wound.”
“But he wasn’t exactly clean, was he?”
Out the corner of my eye, I saw a few jurors shift in their seats. Good. Always reassuring to know someone is paying attention.
“He hadn’t been poisoned, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s not what I mean. You found some substances you weren’t expecting, right?”
“I never go into any examination with preconceived expectations. Tends to taint one’s objectivity.”
“Okay, let me be more direct. Did you find any foreign substances in his blood? Like, for instance, intoxicating substances.”
Cooper flipped a few pages into his report. “Yes. Here it is on page five. I found traces of both alcohol and cocaethylene.”
“Alcohol? How much?”
“Not that much. Around point zero six percent BAC.”
“And you performed the autopsy . . . around six hours after his death.”
“Yes.”
“So at the time of death, the alcohol concentration would’ve been greater.”
“Possibly.”
“Or to put it another way—he was drunk in the middle of the day.”
“I couldn’t testify about his behavior. He did have traces of alcohol in his blood.”
“And while we’re discussing intoxicating substances, would you please tell the jury what cocaethylene is?”
“That is a by-product produced by the combination of alcohol and cocaine in the blood.”
“So he was drunk and high?”
Cooper started to answer, but Thrillkill cut him off. “Objection, Your Honor. I’m shocked that even Mr. Kincaid would sink to this level. Is there any reason to defame the dead?”
Right back at him. “I don’t know if this is defamatory, Your Honor, but it’s certainly interesting. And relevant.”
“It’s not relevant to the cause of death,” Thrillkill replied.
“I never said it was. But it might give us some insight into the victim. Which in turn might give us some insight into the real reason he was killed. People who take illegal drugs consort with all manner of dangerous people.”
There it was. I’d given the jury some small reas
on to buy the SODDIT.
“The objection is sustained. Mr. Kincaid, your point, though interesting, is outside the scope of direct examination. When you put on your case, you may recall the witness if you like. If you really think that’s worth the jury’s time.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” But why would I do that? I’d already made the only point I would ever make with this witness. I sat down happy.
I wouldn’t have been so smug if I’d known I was scant moments away from having the rug pulled out from under me but good.
41
I’d done everything I could to prevent them from calling Yasmin al-Tikrit to the stand. I was not successful. Her testimony was essentially cumulative, adding to Thrillkill’s ongoing effort to demonize PACT. But I feared her science background would give him the basis to unleash all kinds of specters in the jurors’ minds.
“You have a degree, do you not?” Thrillkill asked the slender woman who wore tortoiseshell glasses. She was plainly Middle Eastern and strikingly attractive. Her bearing signaled confidence and strength. Even before she spoke, she conveyed a sense of intelligence.
“Yes. In chemistry. A PhD.”
“And you work . .
“I am not currently employed.”
“But you work, do you not?”
“At PACT, yes.”
“Please remind the jury what PACT is.”
“PACT is a nonprofit organization dedicated to preserving and protecting the rights of Arab-Americans.”
“It’s a political organization.”
The space between her eyebrows narrowed. It didn’t take a psychic to see that she was irritated. “I don’t see it that way. PACT fights for the fundamental human rights that all people are entitled to. According to the Declaration of Independence.”
“Political rights.”
“Among others.”
“And PACT has advocated extreme action on occasion, correct?”
“You would have to tell me what you mean by extreme.”
“Something other than lobbying congressmen.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Thrillkill was smart enough to leave it alone. She’d never admit to anything illegal. But he’d planted the possibility in the minds of the jurors. “You knew Agent Nazir, correct?”
“I did.”
“And you didn’t like him much, did you?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Would it be fair to say that you hated him?”
“I had no personal relationship with him and thus no strong feelings. But many of the people I worked with disliked him.”
“But your field is chemistry.”
“As I have said.”
“Isn’t it true you’re working on a weapon? A chemical or biological weapon that could be used against the United States?”
“No. Privately, in my spare time, at home, I am looking for a renewable energy source. Something to replace the dependency on oil that has done this nation so much harm.”
“But your research potentially has military applications.”
“The military thinks everything has military applications. I am conducting pure research. I am looking for something to help people, not hurt them.
“You’re looking for something that can be used against the USA. The country where you live. You take advantage of our way of life while you secretly try to destroy it.”
“Objection,” I said. “Argumentative. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Mr. Thrillkill was running for office.”
The judge shot me a harsh look. He had a low threshold for sarcasm. “Sustained. And both remarks will be stricken from the record. You may continue.”
“You have a laboratory at home, correct?”
“As I have said.”
“And you receive funding from PACT?”
She hesitated a moment. “I receive a salary.”
“Have you created the superweapon they want yet?”
“I never said—”
“I think we can all assume they’re not paying you for nothing.”
“They’re paying me because—”
“Please wait for the question, ma’am. Has this research PACT financed produced any results?”
She stared at him. “I produce results every day.”
“Any practical applications, then?”
“Not yet.”
“Anything that could be used in combat?”
“Are you talking about my private scientific work?”
“If you say so.”
“Then the answer is no.”
Thrillkill peered at her, letting an uncomfortable silence play out. Then, in an eerily calm quiet voice: “You know the defendant, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, you’re former lovers.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“For all I know, you may still be lovers.”
“And it still would be none of your business.” She sounded hostile now. The jury did not like it.
“Did you ever hear the defendant mention how much he hated Agent Nazir?”
“Yes.”
“And you know Mina Ali?”
“Yes.”
“Who also despised Agent Nazir.”
“With good reason.”
“Sounds to me like PACT is just one big, plotting, bomb-baking hate team anxious to kill Agent Nazir at the earliest opportunity.”
“Objection,” I said, as loudly as possible. I was grateful for any excuse to interrupt Thrillkill’s flow.
“Sustained,” the judge said, but Thrillkill was already returning to his chair.
“That’s fine, Your Honor. I think we all know what PACT really is. No more questions.”
I stumbled through some perfunctory questions, trying to suck the life out of the prior exchange. But I knew I was kidding myself if I thought anything I did would make the jury forget what they’d heard.
“It’s okay,” I said, clasping Oz’s arm. “Thrillkill made a lot of noise, but he didn’t actually prove much.”
Oz did not look comforted, and the expression on Christina’s face was downright sour.
She turned her head to make sure the jury couldn’t hear. “He didn’t need to. He got the jury to read between the lines. First rule of persuasion. Show, don’t tell.” She started a second thought, then waved it away.
Didn’t matter. I could imagine what she was thinking.
Thrillkill made the jury believe PACT was ISIS, al-Qaeda, the SLA, and every other terrorist organization combined. That would go a long way toward getting them to convict Oz. Hell, they might put him away just to get him off the street.
42
This might’ve been the grimmest lunch on record. Christina and I separated from Oz so we could talk openly, perhaps even discuss something other than the case. We splurged on sandwiches from Napoleon’s delivered by courier, but it didn’t help. This case was heading downhill so fast that it would take a miracle to stop it from crashing at our feet. And neither of us had a miracle on hand.
“I think Thrillkill will finish his case tomorrow,” Christina said. “Have you decided who you’re going to call first?”
“No. Or who I’m going to call last or in between. I got nothing.”
“You’ve got your client.”
“Putting him on the stand would be a disaster. He’ll hang himself.”
“You may not have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, sweetheart.” I pursed my lips. “I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”
“Maybe you could get someone from the CIA to talk about how they treated Oz.”
“The government blocked all my subpoenas. Cited national security concerns. I doubt the judge would allow the testimony anyway.”
“Maybe someone from PACT?”
“Haven’t we had enough of that? More harm than good, I think.” I needed to change the subject before I became suicidal. “How are things back in the office?”
“Oh, about the same. Death threats, harassing phone calls. Tanya is about to go off the deep end. Wants to know if the firm will reimburse her for Valium.”
“She’ll find her inner strength.”
Christina arched an eyebrow. “And you say that because . . . you like her thong?”
I blinked. “She wears thong underwear? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyway, I say that because Tanya has a terrific role model for inner strength. You.”
“Well played.”
“How are things at home?”
“Same. Julia is a lifesaver. I don’t know how we’d get through this crisis without her. She handled that seizure and everything else like a pro. Bad news at Mom’s Day Out, though. They’ve asked for another parent meeting. I think they’re going to kick Emily out.”
Just as a Tulsa school had done to Joey. My worst fears realized.
“That specialist at St Anthony’s has almost finished screening Emily.”
“And?”
“Haven’t heard anything yet. But soon we’ll know if you have anything to worry about. Not that the lack of anything to worry about has stopped you from worrying in the past.”
I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. “Let me know what happens, okay?”
“I will.”
“The straight scoop. Nothing omitted. No paraphrasing or euphemisms. I want to know what’s up with my little girl.”
“Of course.” We both looked away from one another. Because we knew if we didn’t, one of us would start to cry. Probably both of us.
My iPhone buzzed. “Rats.”
“News?”
“Thrillkill. He’s making an offer.”
“A good one?”
“Why would he make a good one now?” I scanned the text. “He’s hinting that there’s worse testimony to come. And if we’re smart, we’ll cave before it happens.”
“Prosecutors always say that. He wouldn’t be making an offer if he didn’t have doubts.”
“Yeah.” I pushed out of my chair. “Still, I gotta take it to my client. And this is not going to be pleasant.”
***
Oz stared at me like I’d just sold his grandmother to the Republican Guard. “Life?”
“Life.”
Justice Returns (Ben Kincaid series Book 19) Page 21