Mujahid's eyes narrowed. "That was a dangerous game. My friend, Abu Samar, might have shot you."
"Perhaps, but not with that gun. There are no bullets."
Mujahid said something to Samar, who squeezed the trigger. The gun clicked, empty, but still Ajmaani's face had drained of color for a moment. She recovered quickly, however, and glared at where the wounded bodyguard gasped and struggled for air.
"His larynx is crushed," Mujahid said. "It will continue to swell until it cuts off all air. If he is to live, he needs a doctor."
Ajmaani stood, revealing a handgun she'd been hiding beneath the table. She walked over to the injured man and studied his desperate face. "Inshallah," she said and ended the man's torment.
Signaling for the other guards to remove the body, Ajmaani then walked over to look Samar in the eye. "Your friend," she said to Mujahid. "Where is he from?"
"He is Malay," Mujahid replied. "We have been in jihad for many years together."
"Does he speak English?"
"No, only Malay and some Tagalog from living in the Philippines." Ajmaani turned back to Mujahid. "You are looking well," she said. "I understand that you are ill with cancer?"
"Appearances can be deceiving. The pain medication, thanks be to Allah, allows me to continue to do His work, though some days are better than others. However, there isn't much time, so if you are finished with the games, may we proceed?"
"Yes, we must move on. Come with me; I want to show you how we've been preparing for your arrival."
The woman led the others out of the room and down a hallway. She arrived at another room, swung open the steel door that guarded the dark interior, and invited the others to enter ahead of her. As Mujahid and Samar walked in, the recessed lights in the ceiling gradually became brighter, revealing the contents of the room.
An overhead projector sat in the middle of the room facing a screen. On a large table next to the projector was a roll of blueprints, and on shelves lining a wall hundreds of rectangular packages marked "Danger. Explosive. C-4" were piled.
"What do you think?" Ajmaani asked, nodding at the explosives. Mujahid turned to her. "I could attack a fortress with this amount," he replied.
Ajmaani smiled even wider and gave a little bow. "Exactly," she said.
30
"Ah, Mr. Karp, just the man we wanted to see." Former U.S. Attorney Dennis Hall stood up and motioned for Karp to take the seat next to him. "We prosecutors need to stick together on this," he explained. "Mr. Epstein and I were just debating what I call the insanity of the insanity defense. Would you care to weigh in?"
It was 6:30 on Monday morning, and The Breakfast Club was already at it. There was a definite nip in the September air that hadn't been there just that past week, but they were still sitting outside wearing sweaters, jackets, and caps.
"Afraid I'm going to have to pass," Karp replied. "I still have a trial going on, and the walls have ears. I thought I'd stop by for the pancakes and to listen to better minds than mine. The defense starts its case this morning. So if you don't mind, I'll just be part of the peanut gallery."
"I hardly think that's the case," Bill Florence, the former newspaper editor and Breakfast Club trivia expert, said. '"Peanut gallery' refers to the people sitting in the uppermost, cheapest seats in a theater during the nineteenth century. If they didn't like the show, they threw peanuts at the stage and those seated below them. Today, of course, it refers to people whose opinions are considered unimportant, which is certainly not you."
Hall turned to Epstein. "Where were we? Oh yes ... the insanity defense as it stands now is a farce. It's just an escape mechanism for violent criminal misconduct. In this particular case, it's clear that the defense thinks that a mass murderer, Jessica Campbell, should escape justice because she was suffering from a delusional belief—i.e., a direct pipeline to God—that created irrational motivations—saving her children's souls—which compelled her to act out violently."
"So there's no such thing as 'not guilty due to mental defect'?" Epstein retorted. "Just lock them all up and throw away the key, even if they're completely out of touch with reality."
"Nonsense, nobody's saying that, but how like a defense attorney to immediately jump to an extreme scenario."
"As opposed to simply hanging people for jaywalking," Epstein shot back. "But do go on."
"Thank you, I think I shall. Obviously, we don't want to be incarcerating—or executing, my overly dramatic friend—someone who is truly insane. Doesn't know what planet they're on. Thinks they're shooting giant lizards from Venus, not people ..."
"Believes that God told her to kill her kids..."
"No, because then she's aware that she is committing murder," Hall replied. "But perhaps, if she truly believed God told her that pushing them off the Brooklyn Bridge would turn them into angels and they could then fly to heaven, there'd be a difference. In other words, someone who, based upon a mental disease or defect, did not know or appreciate the nature and consequences of her acts ... or know that those acts were wrong."
"But isn't it obvious that Campbell has some sort of mental defect?" Gilbert asked.
"Something like half of everybody in prison now qualifies as a sociopath," Plaut replied. "The rest are schizophrenic or narcissistic or obsessive-compulsive. If having a mental defect is your criterion for not being responsible for committing crimes, then there's no point trying to lock anybody up. They're all mentally ill."
"What if that defect meant she couldn't control herself?"
"Isn't one of the major purposes of the criminal justice system to incarcerate those violent criminals who cannot control their violent impulses but instead act them out?" Hall countered.
The old men argued on for another half hour and then gave it up just as Karp finished his pancakes and stood to leave. "Oh, I meant to ask you all a question," he said.
The Breakfast Club members stopped talking and glanced at each other like little boys who'd hit a baseball through a neighbor's window and now were going to be brought to task for it. "Go ahead," Gilbert said.
"It's probably not something you can help with. But I thought that given your activities in the senior community, perhaps you might have heard something about a group of older gentlemen running around kidnapping private citizens and making wild accusations."
"It's a big city," Saul Silverstein replied. "Lots of us old geezers roaming the streets. Why do you think we'd know them?"
Karp shrugged. "I don't know. Just a hunch."
"Are the police looking for them?" Gilbert asked.
"Good question. They did commit several major felonies. But I don't think the victim is pressing charges ... for the time being."
"That's good," Father Sunderland noted.
Karp gave him a funny look. "Why, Father, are you condoning this sort of behavior?"
The priest shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. I was just thinking that perhaps these men would have learned their lesson and won't be repeating it."
"My hope as well. If I could speak to them, I'd warn them that they're treading in dangerous waters. Apparently they passed on valuable information; however, it's time for them to let others handle the situation, unless, of course, they have something else to say of import."
"No, they don't," Gilbert replied. "I mean, I would think they would have said all that needed to be said and will probably just lay low now."
"That's all I needed to hear. Thanks. And if you do happen to run into these nefarious gentlemen, please convey my message."
"We certainly will, Mr. Karp," Hall promised.
Karp looked at his watch. "Oops, 7:15, sorry to eat and run, gentlemen. Thanks for the conversations, they have been ... most illuminating."
As he got out of the taxi across from the Criminal Courts building, Karp heard the roar of a subway train passing beneath the street. He immediately felt guilty. Tonight the new crescent moon would appear in the sky, signaling the start of Ramadan. If Jaxon was right, terror
ists were plotting to attack the subway system tomorrow. But they'd all agreed that they couldn't shut down the city's main transportation system without causing mass panic.
Of course, that will be nothing if people die, he thought. But they didn't know how, where, or when these guys were going to strike. If they shut the city down this time, and nothing happens, what do they do the next time someone makes a threat?
Karp wondered where Lucy was in all of this. Jaxon had told him that she was working undercover. "She's safe, I have guys who watch her 24/7," he said. "But it wouldn't be good if she stopped by the loft and the bad guys put two and two together. I don't have the manpower to watch the whole Karp-Ciampi clan."
It had been a lonely weekend on Crosby. Marlene and the twins were staying in Queens to spend a little time with her dad; the boys had a long weekend off from school and were hoping Grandpa could be persuaded to go with them to Coney Island. Then on Tuesday, they were all going on a field trip to the New York Stock Exchange. So he was a bachelor until Tuesday night.
The protesters in front of the courthouse hardly acknowledged his arrival. Monday morning blues, I guess. Even Treacher seemed worn out. He merely waved from Dirty Warren's stand, where he and the newspaper vendor were playing chess.
Kenny Katz was waiting for him in his office. "I want to make one last pitch to put on our own psychiatrist to counter the crap the jury is going to hear today," he said.
"We don't need 'em," Karp replied. "It's only playing into the defense's hands to make this a showdown between shrinks."
Karp had kept the state psychiatrists, and even the hired gun Katz had located, on the witness list. But that was to keep Lewis guessing. Meanwhile, he stayed with the game plan of playing it straight and simple. Even the small touches of emotion from the Baker Street gang had come off as genuine precisely because he hadn't tried to squeeze it out of them.
"Look, Kenny, first of all, I think prosecutors make a big mistake by trying to 'out-shrink' the shrinks. When you start trying to play psychologist, using their language, you're in their territory, which puts you at a disadvantage."
"Which is why we call someone who speaks the language and can explain their bullshit to the jury," Kenny countered.
"Why give it that much credibility? The defense wants this to be a trial about how crazy Jessica Campbell is. We want this to be a trial about whether she knew what she was doing and was aware that it was wrong. That's all we want to prove, and we don't need a shrink to do it."
Kenny's shoulders sagged, and Karp knew why. The kid had poured his heart and soul into the case—engaged in all the painstaking preparations and pre-trial hearings. Now he thought that Karp might lose the case if the defense's expert witnesses confused the jury; all it would take was one unsure juror and Campbell was off to the funny farm instead of prison.
"You've done a great job with this case," Karp said. "I gave you the ball and you ran with it. But I want you to think long and hard about what I'm saying now. You did it without resorting to fifty-cent words or cheap theatrics; this has been strictly about the evidence, no smoke and mirrors, no confusing the jury with fancy phrases and psychobabble. You've heard me talk about my mentor, Francis Garrahy. Well, he used to constantly remind me that this job isn't just about prosecuting criminals and throwing them in jail. The DAO is supposed to stand for something; it's supposed to stand for the truth, and the truth doesn't need to be embellished or danced around." Karp wondered if he was getting through. He knew this went against everything taught in law school. "I hope you'll see that these parades of expert witnesses are mostly meant to confuse the issue, not illuminate it. Each side calls upon its paid witnesses to reach ironclad, but totally divergent, opinions on the defendant's state of mind. It's at best conjecture."
Psychologists and psychiatrists could not testify "with the degree of scientific certainty that someone like a ballistics expert could," Karp went on. "And this reliance on pseudoscience betrays the purpose of a criminal trial, which is the search for truth guided by the rules of evidence, and the meting out of justice. For Lewis and all those lawyers like her, it's all just a game in which, if they win, criminally violent and unpredictable individuals are exonerated, not because they provided a legitimate defense—like self-defense—but because their hired-gun psychiatrist was more convincing than the state's hired-gun psychiatrist."
Karp looked at his watch. "We're on in ten minutes. Don't look so glum, Sergeant Katz. We're going to win this on the facts and the evidence. Now, are you with me?"
Kenny heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I'm with you. Lock and load, let's go rest our case."
Like the crowd outside the courts building, the spectators inside the courtroom seemed to also be suffering from the Monday malaise. There were even a few empty seats as Karp and Katz entered and made their way to the front.
After the jury was seated, Dermondy looked at the prosecution table. "I believe we are still on the People's case in chief. Please call your next witness."
Karp rose to his feet. "The People, Your Honor, have concluded our presentation."
"What?" Lewis demanded, jumping to her feet. "What about your psychiatric expert?"
Kenny shot Karp a look. It was almost a plea, but the boss shook his head. "Not going to call him."
Lewis's face turned red. "Your Honor, may we approach the bench?"
"Please do. I'm as curious about this turn of events as you are," Dermondy replied.
When the lawyers reached the judge, Lewis angrily insisted that the prosecution was trying to pull a fast one. "This is a case about the mental condition of the defendant," she hissed.
"I beg to differ," Karp said. "This is a murder case. You're claiming the defendant has a mental health excuse..."
"Illness."
"Excuse," Karp repeated. "We're saying she doesn't, so we don't need to confuse the issue with more psychologists and psychiatrists."
"But we read the report by Dr. Drummond, and we're prepared to rebut it with our own witnesses," Lewis complained.
"Now you won't have to do that," Karp replied mildly, enjoying how the coloration of her face kept changing with her emotions. "It will save your client money." Ooooh, nice shade of purple.
Dermondy shrugged. "Sorry, Miss Lewis, but I can't force the People to call a witness. We're going to have to muddle along with whomever you call to the stand to explain the psychological issues. Are you prepared to call your first witness?"
"No, I'm not," Lewis snapped. "My witnesses are not scheduled to show up until after the noon break. As Mr. Karp so blithely noted, these people are expensive and charge by the hour. We expected this examination and cross to last most of the morning, and then I intended to file several motions to dismiss."
"Well, then, Miss Lewis, I suggest you file the motions, and we'll see what time we have before the noon hour," he said. "In the meantime, I suggest you have an assistant get on the telephone to see if you can get your witnesses here sooner."
When the jury was gone, Lewis made two motions asking that the case be dismissed. The first asserted that the judge had erred at the competency hearing when he had ruled that Jessica Campbell was competent to stand trial. This motion was a routine effort to preserve the record for appeal, and Karp knew Lewis did not expect a favorable ruling. Dermondy noted that she had not offered any new evidence to support her position. The second motion was also routine. She argued that the People had not made out a prima facie case and that therefore there was no reason for the defense to present a case.
"As you know, Your Honor, in an insanity trial the state must prove not only that the defendant killed the victims, which we concede, but also that she was aware of the nature and consequences of what she was doing and that she knew it was wrong," she said. "As I've said all along—to no avail—these witnesses and the manipulated so-called evidence presented by the state does not prove their case, but rather reinforces our contention that Jessica Campbell was legally insane at the time of these unfortunate and tragic de
aths. Every point they made had a better explanation as proof of extreme mental illness.
"One, Mrs. Campbell believes that she was talking to God and that she was 'sacrificing' their lives to send them to God in order to save their souls. Does that sound like a mentally responsible person to you? Two, cleaning the bathroom to such an extreme is certainly the obsessive-compulsive behavior we often see with psychoses; certainly no rational person would think that such 'housework' would prevent them from being caught and punished. It all points to the fact that Jessica Campbell, who was suffering from an extreme case of postpartum depression, was a very sick woman and needs a hospital, not a prison cell."
Judge Dermondy looked over at Karp. "Your Honor, just two quick points," Karp said. "First, based upon the substantial credible evidence in the record offered during the People's case in chief, we have more than satisfied our legal burden of presenting to the court and jury a prima facie case. So the People's case will suffice unless contradicted and overcome by other evidence that the defense now has the opportunity to present. Secondly, Your Honor, as Miss Lewis knows, there is in law a presumption of sanity, meaning responsibility, which the defense seeks to rebut. Similarly, the law provides that an individual is presumed to intend the natural and probable consequences of her acts. No clear and convincing evidence has been presented to rebut these presumptions. So unless Miss Lewis has a crystal ball and is determined that the jury will see the case her way only, her motion is devoid of legal impact."
"I have to agree with Mr. Karp's basic premise," Dermondy responded. "The presumptions have not been rebutted, Miss Lewis. Moreover, the People have presented more than sufficient evidence in the record to permit this jury to render a verdict. Your motion, Miss Lewis, is denied."
The judge looked up at the clock on the wall. "Well, we've managed to use up all of an hour. I'm going to send the jury to lunch early, and we'll start at noon. I suggest you get a witness here, Miss Lewis."
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