Karp limited his questioning of the experts so as not to give them greater weight than he felt they deserved. As if only mildly curious, he asked each if there were any studies that “proved” that “all, or even many, people who experienced what the defendant experienced as a child became murderously violent many years later after they were removed from the environment.”
“I believe there is anecdotal evidence to support this view,” the second expert replied.
“Would it be fair to say that by far most people who experience even such horrors as you’ve described in Chechnya do not end up becoming murderers themselves?” Karp asked.
“That’s probably fair,” the expert admitted.
After the expert left the courtroom, there was a short, quiet, but heated conversation at the defense table. Then, sounding resigned, Langton rose to call Ahmed Kadyrov to the stand, obviously against his attorneys’ wishes.
For nearly an hour, Kadyrov wept as he described the rape and murder of his mother and sister and how that came into play in Olivia Yancy’s apartment. He claimed that he had not intended to harm either woman and had merely bound Olivia to keep her from escaping when her mother showed up.
“She attacked me,” he cried. “I was frightened and fought back. Suddenly she was like the Russian soldiers and I was defending myself and the girl on the bed. I don’t remember stabbing her, but then she was lying on the floor with blood everywhere.”
“What happened then?” Langton asked.
“I turned to the other girl, and I don’t know, my mind snapped,” Kadyrov said. “Suddenly I was Russian soldier and she was my mother. I felt rage and… after that I blacked out. The next thing I know, I am standing in front of mirror trying to wash blood from my hands.”
Kadyrov buried his face in his hands and cried in great racking sobs. But when he looked up, hoping to see some measure of pity in the jurors’ faces, he found none.
“Mr. Kadryov, you made a great show of crying on the stand,” Karp said. “Can I ask you how many times you cried for these women you butchered?”
“Many times.”
“Really?” Karp asked. “Did you cry when you saw the terror in Olivia Yancy’s eyes, or as you told the Cassinos, did you tell her to shut the fuck up or you were going to cut her head off?”
“I was thinking I was Russian soldier.”
“And did you cry as you were raping Olivia Yancy while her mother lay dying on the floor?”
Kadyrov didn’t answer. He just sat there, stone-faced, as Karp took another step toward him.
“I know you want us to believe that you thought you were a Russian soldier,” Karp said sarcastically. “But did you cry when you yanked her head back and sawed away at her neck? Or as she drowned in her own blood?”
“No. I-”
“And long after you were no longer thinking you were a Russian soldier, like when you were at the Cassinos’ apartment and boasted that you were the Columbia U Slasher, did you cry then?”
“No. I could not show weakness.”
“Nor, apparently, compassion or remorse. And how about later when you went to the Cassinos’ apartment to try to get the blue shirt back so that it couldn’t be used against you in court, did you cry then?”
“No, I was frightened.”
“More frightened than Beth Jenkins or Olivia Yancy?”
“Objection,” Langton shouted.
“I withdraw the question,” Karp said. He glared hard at Kadyrov, who blanched. “You didn’t cry at all for these women, did you, Mr. Kadyrov? Instead, you enjoyed murdering and raping them, didn’t you?”
“Objection! The witness has not said that.”
“No, you haven’t yet, have you, Mr. Kadyrov,” Karp said, continuing. “But you liked seeing the terror, hearing their helpless cries, knowing that they were aware they were going to die at your hands, didn’t you, Mr. Kadyrov?”
“Your Honor, I’ve objected!” Langton shouted.
“Sit down, sooka!” Kadyrov screamed from the stand. He stood and faced the jury as the court officers started to move toward him, but Karp extended his right arm and motioned for them to stop.
Spitting, Kadyrov yelled, “If you vote to kill me, you’ll have my life on your consciences. I’ll haunt your sleep and will be in the shadows watching you for as long as you live.”
Calmly, without batting an eye, Karp said, “Sit down, Mr. Kadyrov, your threats have the impact of a feather. We’re not through with you yet. Your Honor, no further questions, but I do want to call a rebuttal witness.”
“Your Honor, I am calling Moishe Sobelman, whose experiences as a child are not just similar to those of the defendant but greatly exceed them in horror,” Karp told the court. “The defendant just gave us a sob story about how the atrocities he committed against Olivia Yancy and Beth Jenkins are somehow excusable in light of what he experienced as a child. Mr. Sobelman is an expert in his own right regarding the murder of family members by soldiers acting under the guise of military authority, as well as how someone might cope with such an experience.”
Dermondy thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m going to allow it, Mr. Karp, but let’s not overdo.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Karp said, and turned to the back of the courtroom, where in a moment Moishe Sobelman entered.
Carrying himself with dignity, the little man made his way to the witness stand and took the oath to tell the truth. Then, under Karp’s questioning, he told the story of Sobibor, the Nazi death camp-the deaths of his mother, sister, and father; the horror of working as a Sonderkommando — until at last he came to his days as a partisan and the capture of the three German SS officers whose car had broken down.
The old man paused to wipe at his eyes and blow his nose. “I played the part of judge, jury, and, may God forgive me, lord high executioner. With my anger raging inside, I decided that the punishment must fit the crime.”
The courtroom was absolutely still as Sobelman finished his story. But Karp had another question. “Mr. Sobelman, what did the Nazis do at Sobibor after you escaped?”
“They murdered everyone who remained and then bulldozed the place and tried to make it look like farm country,” Sobelman replied. “As if it had never happened.”
“And why do you think they did that?” Karp asked.
“I think they knew that they had gone beyond the boundaries of all civilized society,” he said. “And that they knew what their punishment would be if the world found out what they had done there.”
“And what would that punishment have been?”
Sobelman blinked and then lifted his chin. “The same as what I meted out to Hans Schultz. For some evil, there is only one answer. And that is to be cast beyond the circle of all humanity. For some evils, only death is justice.”
EPILOGUE
Karp handed the crime scene photographs to the jury foreman and stepped back. The photos depicted the brutal outrages Kadyrov had inflicted on Olivia Yancy and Beth Jenkins. Now the jurors, as well as the police officers and crime scene technicians who’d been called to view that horrible outrage, would have the visual result of the defendant’s inhumanity indelibly imprinted in their minds’ eyes.
The photographs were not admitted in the prosecution’s case-in-chief. Judge Dermondy had ruled that their prejudicial impact against Kadyrov had outweighed their probative value. But during the sentencing phase, the prosecution had more latitude. The AME’s vivid descriptions of the physical impacts, the sheer devastation of two individuals, was graphic and horrifying. Yet the photos, by any civilized measure, were emotionally appalling.
From experience, Karp knew that time would help those images fade, but he also knew that they would never go away entirely. He also believed that the administration of justice required that good people-cops, attorneys, and private citizens called to serve on juries-do their jobs thoroughly and witness evil’s work so that evil could be
