Justice Returns (Ben Kincaid series Book 19)

by William Bernhardt

  Oz put his trust in me. And I failed him.

  And Julia.

  I didn’t even want to go home. Julia would be there. Probably Christina already told her the grim news, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as having to face her, having to tell her that this man she cared about was headed to a lethal injection, and it was all my fault. She’d been doing great with the girls. Christina was talking about asking her to stay permanently. But now? I’d be lucky if she could stand to be in the same room with me.

  Sadly, there was nowhere else to go. And I was desperate to see my girls.

  Christina met me at the door. With a grilled cheese sandwich.

  “Is that for me?”

  “Well, I’ve heard other wives greet their husbands with a martini, but since you detest the taste of alcohol, this will have to do.”

  “Thanks,” I said, hanging up my coat. “But I’m not hungry.”

  “What does hunger have to do with grilled cheese sandwiches? It’s not like you eat them for their nutrients.”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Suit yourself.” She set the sandwich down on a plate.

  “Girls in bed?”

  “Of course. They’re fine. There’s someone else I’d like you to see before you look in on them.”

  Someone she wanted me to see? “You haven’t gone out and bought me a puppy or something, have you?”

  She shook her head. “Something much better.” She opened the den door.

  “Skipper!” And a second later, a huge, barrel-chested man of my acquaintance strode out the door in a white T-shirt and tattered jeans. “How the hell ya been?”

  Loving. My investigator of many years. Complete salt of the earth. A more devoted man never lived. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed so hard I thought he’d cripple me. But to tell the truth, I didn’t mind too much.

  I was anxious to catch up and see what had been happening in his life lately. Seems he’d been to Australia, done a walkabout, taken up meditation, and found his center, whatever that means. But it wasn’t long before the discussion turned to the trial in progress. “Hear you’re up against the wall on this one.”

  “It’s a tough case.”

  “Against a prosecutor who’s trying to screw you over.”

  I shrugged. “He wants to run for governor.”

  “So he needs a conviction. Regardless of whether he nails the right man. Some things never change, huh?”

  “True enough.”

  “You know he’s in with the CIA. And they’re still tryin’ to cover up Roswell. They got all the evidence stashed at Area 51.”

  I decided to give that digression a pass. “You’re looking healthy, Loving. I think you’ve dropped a few pounds.”

  “It was overdue. I had to get myself together. But I got my head back on straight. And I feel like a million bucks. I run my own private investigation agency now. And I don’t take any cases I don’t want or don’t believe in. It’s made me a new man.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. What brings you here?”

  “What do you think?” He gave Chris a smile. “Your little honey said you needed help.”

  “I do not need help.”

  “She predicted you’d say that. So I dropped everything and got my butt over here.”

  “You didn’t have to—”

  “Of course I didn’t have to, Skipper.” He slapped me on the shoulder hard enough to leave a welt. “But you stuck your neck out for me more than once. ’Bout time I did the same.”

  I gave Christina a stern look. “It would appear you’ve been a busy bee.”

  I heard Julia’s voice. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

  A second later, she emerged from the kitchen—followed by my former office manager.

  “Jones!”

  “Hey.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “Julia and I were whipping up a little dessert.”

  “Baked Alaska?”

  “For you? No. Rice Krispie treats.” He grinned. “Hear you’re still fighting the good fight, boss.”

  “I’m not your boss anymore. Not that I ever really was.”

  “Old habits die hard.”

  “What have you and Paula been doing?”

  “Just keeping our heads above water. I think you know she became assistant director of the whole Tulsa City-County Library system. Unfortunately, no one under fifty seems to want print books anymore. The libraries are all about e-books and computers. She resigned and started her own small publishing business. She writes and edits. I handle the business end. We’re getting by.”

  “That’s terrific. I’m sorry Christina dragged you down here. I’m sure you have many—”

  “Nothing more important than you, boss.” He didn’t have to touch me. I felt the hug in his eyes. “Nothing at all.”

  I glanced at the table. That sandwich was starting to sound good, but it would be rude to eat in front of my guests. “I think we’ve wasted your time. The trial will likely end tomorrow. I don’t have any more witnesses. I wanted to call the guy who was spotted running from the scene of the crime, but I couldn’t find him.”

  Loving put a thumb to his chest. “I did.”

  “What? Overnight?”

  “Nah. Chris called me days ago.”

  I glared at my spouse. “You didn’t mention it to me.”

  Christina shrugged. “Seemed pointless—unless he found something. Which he did.”

  “How? The police couldn’t find the guy.”

  “I have a habit of going places the police don’t,” Loving reminded him. “And Jones was a big help. For once.”

  Jones ignored the jab. “Online data searches. Credit card companies don’t use packet protection nearly as well as they should. Got some interesting leads from the CIA, too.”

  “You hacked the CIA?”

  “You think Snowden is the only person who knows how to crack a firewall? If anything, he just showed how easy it is. And how much the government spies on our personal lives. Which, when you think about it, is a bad combination.”

  “So who is this guy?” I asked. “Does he know anything useful?”

  “I’m not saying he’ll win your case single-handedly. But he definitely throws a few added wrinkles into it.” Another grin spread across Loving’s face, ear to ear. “And that’s not all I got.”

  “Another witness?”

  “Sort of. Who’s the other important player in this case you haven’t been able to get your hands on?”

  I thought for a moment. “You found Abdullah Ali?”

  “And I got him where he can’t get away.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Tell me you haven’t broken laws.”

  “Which laws?”

  Best not to know.

  Jones did a dead-on Marlon Brando impression. “Loving made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  “When can I talk to them?” I asked. “Where are they?”

  “See,” Jones said, “that’s the most interesting thing about this. There is no ‘they.’”

  “I’m not following you.”

  Jones and Loving exchanged a knowing glance. “Abdullah is the guy who disappeared from the scene of the crime.”

  57

  Trying to get the judge to accept an eleventh-hour witness is never a pleasure. And in a capital murder case, where the stakes are so impossibly high, every irregularity is a struggle. Add the fact that the eyes of the nation were upon us, and the prosecutor was counting on this case to augment his political plans, and you had an even tenser situation.

  I did have one factor to my advantage, however. Thrillkill had added a new witness during his case. I think my fleeing witness had more credibility than his jailhouse snitch. And no judge wants to give a defendant anything he could potentially use on appeal.

  Judge Santino peered at me through those thick, black glasses. “You’re saying you had no inkling you were going to call this man to the witness stand prior to last night?”

  “Your Ho
nor,” I replied, “I didn’t even know this man existed prior to last night. I mean, I knew there was a man named Abdullah Ali. But I had never met him and had no reason to believe I could find him.”

  “And yet,” Thrillkill said, in his usual suggestive louche voice, “you did.”

  “My investigator brought him to my attention last night.”

  “Your investigator? Corwin? Or that big guy, the one who went on the walkabout?”

  How did Thrillkill know about that? I didn’t know about that myself till Loving told me the previous night. “I don’t see what difference it makes. The point is we found him, and he has relevant knowledge.”

  “And you were able to convince him to testify. Against his own best interests.”

  I tilted my head. “My investigator can be extremely persuasive.”

  The judge turned his attention to Thrillkill. “You have any objections? Other than the obvious?”

  “Other than the fundamental unfairness of calling a witness I’ve had no chance to investigate?”

  “I’m not required to give you a witness list or to tell you anything about my case in advance,” I noted.

  “You indicated the defendant was your final witness.”

  “I thought he was.”

  “And then,” Thrillkill said, spreading his hands wide, “a miracle occurred.”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “Every trial attorney should be entitled to at least one miracle.”

  The judge overruled the objection, and I called Abdullah Ali to the witness stand. He was dressed in traditional Muslim garb, a crochet taqiyah and kurta. I will confess I tried to get him into a Western suit and tie, maybe something from Dillard’s, but he refused. I didn’t feel good about encouraging him to hide his heritage, but at the end of the day, my job was to prevent Oz from being executed, so the less “other” this key witness looked, the better.

  Abdullah’s beard was mostly gray, and his voice had a lot of gravel in it. He appeared about sixty, but I wondered if he was older. He seemed calm and well mannered. As he spoke, I began to understand why. In his life, he’d faced situations far more intimidating than a jury.

  He explained that he was raised in Iowa, but at some point, his father got a job at the US consulatein Saudi Arabia. As a result, he had frequent contact with US military personnel. At the age of nineteen, he started college, two years in a Saudi Arabian school followed by two years at Oxford. After he finished his studies, he traveled to Afghanistan. “In the eighties,” he explained, “I became a freedom fighter.”

  “Please tell the jury what that means.”

  “It means, as the name suggests, that I fought for a nation trying to preserve its freedom from invaders.”

  I decided to beat the jury to the punch. “So you’re saying you were a terrorist.”

  “Far from it. We never used any terror techniques.” His weight, facial hair, and friendly demeanor suggested Santa Claus, not a terrorist. “We didn’t even have explosives. But we were effective. The area you call Afghanistan has been subjected to more invasion and attempted conquest in the last hundred and fifty years than any other place on earth. Its peoples are accustomed to fighting for their homeland.”

  “Did you work with the Taliban?”

  “The Taliban did not yet exist, not in its current form. Neither did al-Qaeda or ISIS.”

  “Did you know Osama bin Laden?”

  “I knew of him. He was prominent in the fight against the oppressor.” He paused. “The fight against the Russian invaders. Because he and I both fought with the United States.”

  “You helped the US?”

  “We all did. Of course, the US was not officially involved, but in reality the US was actively attempting to prevent Russian expansion. And we were successful. After much bloodshed and misery, the Russians went home. But the toll on Afghanistan was unimaginable. Once the Russians lost interest, so did the US. They withdrew all support. That war-ravaged nation was left with no infrastructure, no army, no schools, virtually no government. Starvation became rampant. Petty warlords replaced legitimate governments. Chaos reigned.”

  “And you blamed the United States.”

  “I did not. But many did. Osama bin Laden did. It was the abandonment of Afghanistan that fueled his hatred of the US—and we all know where that led.”

  “This is a fascinating history lesson,” Thrillkill said, rising. “But what has it got to do with this case?”

  “If the court will just give me a moment,” I said, “I think that will become clear.”

  “I’ll give you some leeway,” the judge grunted. “But not forever.”

  I returned my attention to the witness. “You explained why some people who fought in Afghanistan in the eighties bore resentment toward the US. Did that include you?”

  “No. I took a different view.”

  “Which was what?”

  “I felt that the only long-term solution to this repeating pattern of aggression was to eliminate the incentives. In the nineteenth century, when Great Britain invaded our lands, it was to expand their empire. When it became evident that a diverse empire of unwilling subjects was unsustainable, they retreated. Similarly, during the Cold War, the US sought to prevent the expansion of the so-called Communist threat. Since that time, the primary reason for US interest in our region has been oil.”

  “I’m sure you’re aware many would dispute that.”

  “And they are free to do so.” His hands spread open, his beard curling in a genial smile. “But you have asked me to provide my view. The first US invasion of Iraq used the pretense of saving Kuwait, a nation about which the US cared nothing. A nation of barbarism, decadence, and greed. Please. The US went in to protect its oil supply. The next time, the US used nonexistent weapons of mass destruction to justify the invasion. But the true mission was keeping the Strait of Hormuz open. To maintain the free flow of oil. If not to control it.”

  “Some would say the US went to Iraq because of 9/11.”

  “Well, bin Laden was in Pakistan, as US operatives had known for some time. So why invade Iraq and Afghanistan?”

  I left that question alone. The jury had enough background to understand where this testimony was going. Time to move on.

  “After the fighting in Afghanistan in the eighties ended, did you remain politically active?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I lived in Iraq and, using my science background, worked in a laboratory there.”

  “Did you work with anyone we might know?”

  “Yes. Yasmin al-Tikrit. My dear, late Yasmin.”

  “The jury heard from her earlier. She was your colleague?”

  “And friend. She and my sister, Mina, were close. There was nothing they would not do for one another. Mina had been able to help her in a time of need, and she remained faithful to Mina and our family ever after.”

  Out the corner of my eye, I spotted Mina in the rear of the courtroom. Their brother, Kir, was with her. Neither looked particularly pleased.

  I continued. “We’ve heard talk about a so-called superweapon. Did you work on that?”

  “No. We were trying to devise an efficient, renewable energy source. Something other than oil. To end the political interest in our region. We did so with the support of the Hussein government. The so-called energy crisis of the nineteen seventies produced fear and desperation in Washington. Of course, the US had enough oil to supply its domestic needs, especially if it implemented some minor conservation measures. But your President Carter lowered the speed limit and suggested that people turn down the thermostat—and the nation all but impeached him for it. It became clear the US did not want to conserve, and that meant it needed foreign oil. We felt the only way to keep the US out of our lands was to find another energy source.”

  “Was that realistic?”

  “Speaking as a scientist, I believe it is not only realistic but inevitable and necessary. Current estimates show our known oil reserves will be completely depleted around 2050. What do
we do then? Alternative, sustainable energy sources would have already been developed but for the efforts of American Big Oil.”

  “That sounds a little paranoid.”

  “It is no different from the way RCA suppressed television until Philo Farnsworth’s patents expired. It is no different from how Big Oil used its influence to delay the development of the electric car. They reap enormous profits. Why would they want that to end?”

  “So, despite living in an oil-rich nation, you were developing a new energy source.”

  “Correct.”

  “Yasmin said her work could have military applications.”

  “She said the government could adapt her work into a weapon. What else is new?”

  “There’s a big difference between a power source and a weapon.”

  “Is there? Please, take the example of nuclear fission. That could be a source of limitless energy, if we learned to use it safely. But that is not why it was developed. It was developed—and deployed—as the most devastating weapon ever seen. Solar energy similarly has the potential to be a source of endless energy, or a horrible weapon.”

  “So you disfavored military applications of your project.”

  “I did. Which is why I ultimately resigned from the project. Eventually, I was granted admission to the United States. I worked in Oklahoma City at Chesapeake for years. Then I heard that my old colleague Yasmin had come to the US and lived not far away. You can imagine my interest. Eventually, my concerns about the status of Arab-Americans led me to form PACT. My work had produced a sizable savings, and I had little need for it, so I donated it to the cause.”

  “You were familiar with Yasmin’s work?”

  “Yes, but we did not fund her work. That was the US government. That is why she was allowed to emigrate. I believe the CIA kept a careful watch over her.”

  Thrillkill rose. “Is it my imagination, Your Honor, or did Mr. Kincaid indicate that at some point this would have something to do with the homicide case?”

  The judge nodded. “He does have a point, Counsel.”