Zehra. “How can you represent him, considering what a racist and sexist he is?” The overhead lights reflected off her large glasses.
Zehra shrugged. “It’s tough. He stands for everything I have worked against in American Islam. That backwards, sexist, inflexible, hateful… ugh. I’ve got to ignore it.” She shook her head to clear it. “If he would listen to us, I’d suggest he cut his beard and dress in clean western-style clothing. Try to get him to look middle-class. The jury may feel more comfortable with him.”
“Plus, our guy’s got like, a major bad attitude.”
“Tell me about it,” Zehra said. “It’s the defendant’s choice to testify or not, but he shouldn’t. His attitude alone will convict him.”
They both buried themselves in the work and remained silent. When Jackie wasn’t looking, Zehra reached into her briefcase and pulled out a chocolate cupcake. She leaned down and took a big bite. Probably go right to my thighs, she thought but then justified it by all the work she labored through.
“Is this the worst case you’ve ever had?” Jackie interrupted her.
Zehra pushed back in her chair. “No, I think the toughest ones are when you think your guy may be innocent. Usually, the prosecution wins about ninety-some percent of the time. In some ways, the easiest are those where you know the defendant’s guilty. If he’s found guilty, it doesn’t bother you as much.”
“So, this case is tough ‘cause maybe he’s not the killer?”
“Yeah, but I hate the guy so much, it’s going to be hard no matter what.” Zehra’s head jerked up. “Hey, where’s BJ?” She looked at her watch and pulled out her cell.
He answered after four rings. “Z … I’m sorry. I’m on my way to Chicago. Momma’s got some problems.” His voice had a sharp edge to it. “I’ll be back Sunday, for sure.”
“Don’t worry. You’ve done all the heavy lifting up to now. Take care of her, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Hey, babe, you see that friend of yours, you be sure to let somebody know where you are. He paused for a moment. “I know you didn’t want me to poke my nose into it, but I did a little checking. And besides, you got the best of the federal government baby-sitting you. Heard anything about your car yet?”
“BJ! I told you to butt out.”
“I’m worried about you, Z. Here’s the problem: my sources can’t find any record of this guy. If he’s a legitimate scientist at that company, wouldn’t he have some history?”
“I don’t know. I can’t think about it right now.”
“I’ll be okay.” She hung up and told Jackie what happened.
“What about Dr. Stein’s testimony?”
“Harmon will fight like hell to keep Stein’s testing out of evidence. The issue for the judge is to decide if Stein qualifies as an expert or not. The jury will decide if the DNA testing exonerates El-Amin. Again, we don’t have to prove that, just create doubt that the original testing was accurate. I think Goldberg will let it in, but if he doesn’t, we’ll go downhill fast.”
Jackie stood up and lifted a four-inch notebook off the table. She carried the three-ring binder to Zehra’s side of the table. “Here’s the trial notebook. Everything. And I got it all backed-up on my laptop, just in case.” She opened the front cover. “See … I’ve got all the legal motions right here, the pleadings, Complaint here.” Jackie flipped through a few more sections.
“Good work. It’s tedious, but we have to know every detail and every fact of the case before hand. During the trial, we won’t have time to learn it. I remember a case I helped prosecute where we charged a guy with strangling his girlfriend to death-first-degree murder because of the premeditation. We figured the defendant had lots of time to think about what he was doing as he cranked down on her neck.”
“Sounds like premeditation to me.” Jackie walked back to the table to pick up her cup of Starbuck’s tea.
“We thought so too until the medical examiner testified truthfully, that the victim’s neck was broken within seconds from the pressure of the guy’s hands. Any effort on his part after that, didn’t add to her death. Since death was almost instantaneous, he didn’t premeditate it. Jury found him guilty of second-degree murder instead.”
“Were you mad?”
“Not so much mad as disappointed. The guy got about half the time in prison as a result.”
“And you didn’t see it coming in trial?”
Zehra shook her head. “We’d read the ME’s autopsy report and had interviewed him beforehand. It was just something that came up. A fluke. And the defense jumped on it.”
“How are you gonna handle the judge?”
“I’m happy to get assigned to him. He’s honest and pleasant to work with. Trying a case is hard enough without having to work with a jerk for a judge. If we had a more sympathetic client, we could pull on Goldberg’s social worker strings.”
Jackie sipped her tea. “What’s that?”
“Before going to law school, he was a social worker. He’s always got a soft spot for people in trouble. Our problem is El-Amin won’t generate any sympathy from anyone. My strategy, if he’ll cooperate, is to keep him as quiet as possible. The less Goldberg hears from him, the better for us.”
“This is like, overwhelming. How do you keep it all going?”
Zehra stood and laughed. “An old prosecutor who trained me often called it a circus act: you’ve got to keep three or four plates spinning in the air at all times. One falls and you lose.” She stretched her arms above her head then ran her hands through her hair several times.
Zehra thought of Mustafa. She wanted to see him and hoped the relationship could work out. Because she wanted to date in her religion as much as she could, it was hard to meet men. And her mother’s ‘friends’ were usually losers. In Mustafa she saw an intelligent, attractive and faithful Muslim man who was interested in her. The combination was hard to find. And she had to admit she felt some lust for him. If only he’d respond.
But doubts nagged at her. Beyond BJ’s warning about Mustafa’s truthfulness, there were other odd things he’d done and hazy feelings she couldn’t identify that bothered her about him.
“Jackie, do you go out with men other than Vietnamese?” she asked.
“Sure. But then, I’m Christian so it works out easier. Lots of the white guys say they find me ‘exotic.’” She laughed and cocked her hip to the side. “Can you imagine? Actually, I don’t meet that many Vietnamese men. But then, I’m an American, so who cares?”
Zehra turned to the window and watched flashes of green off the trees, tangled in the blowing wind. The quality of green in the leaves deepened as summer came closer and the temperature rose. A storm was moving in from the west.
She was anxious to meet Mustafa tonight. A break in the trial prep would be wonderful. The event sounded interesting and fun with the students. How would Mustafa react around them? It would be fun to see that side of him.
Zehra thought of her promise to BJ. She keyed on her cell phone. The only other person connected to the case that she could think of was Paul Schmidt. She decided to text him a message. Zehra told Paul she was meeting Mustafa and gave Paul the location of the school. She closed the phone and had a guilty feeling. Should she have done that? The FBI agent would be with her. Was there really any problem?
Thirty-Nine
The only quiet place Paul could find to think for a minute was a corner of the conference room with the large window. He practiced deep breathing and let his eyes float up into the sky. Thunderclouds trundled in from the west.
He’d been trained with both the Rangers and the FBI to remain calm in a crisis. He had to force his anger at Joan Cortez out of his mind until later. Paul thought of the humiliating raid on Ammar’s house. This time, he couldn’t screw-up-for the sake of his career or for the lives of thousands of others.
Paul turned around to see Dr. Samson back in the room talking on a cell phone. Techs set up several computer monitors on the conference table. More coffee had appeared on the small table on the side.
Conway bulled his way through the crowd at the door and ordered everyone to clear out except the crisis team, which included Paul. Conway lit up a cigarette in spite of the pained look on Samson’s face. Conway drew in
