Fatal Convictions (12 page)

31

Khalid Mobassar’s arraignment was scheduled for 9:00 a.m. in Virginia Beach General District Court. Despite his promise to stay away, Alex pulled into the parking lot at 8:45 and had to walk nearly half a mile in the muggy heat and drizzling rain to the courthouse. By the time he navigated his way through the metal detectors and rode the escalators to General District Courtroom No. 3, it was 8:59.

The bailiff was turning people away at the door, but he let Alex through because he was part of Khalid’s legal team. Attorneys, spectators, and reporters filled the benches and lined the walls. Alex pushed his way to the front and found an empty spot against the side wall. Shannon was seated in the second row, waiting her turn and studying some documents. Alex managed to get the attention of the older gentleman sitting next to her. When Shannon saw Alex, her face lit up and she slid past others in the row to come talk with him.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

“How’s Ghaniyah?”

“This whole thing has really set her back. She went into a shell. Several women from the mosque came to her place and helped clean up. Her daughter is trying to get a visa home from Lebanon, but that’s hit some red tape.”

Shannon stepped a little closer to Alex and lowered her voice. “Khalid is despondent and worried sick about Ghaniyah. If the judge denies bail or sets it too high, I’m worried our client might do something drastic.”

Our client.
The words weren’t lost on Alex, but now was not the time for an argument. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’m just saying that we’ve got to win this hearing.”

There was no need for Alex to remind Shannon of the obvious—if they were hoping for a lenient judge, they had come to the wrong courtroom. By arbitrary assignment, Judge Henry McElroy would be handling the arraignment and bail hearing. A former prosecutor, McElroy wasn’t quite the hanging judge, but he was close. In General District Courtroom No. 3, there was a lot of talk about the presumption of innocence. But in practice, the prosecutors and cops were presumed correct until defense attorneys proved them unequivocally wrong.

“What kind of bond could Khalid even post?” Alex asked.

Shannon motioned for him to keep his voice down. “He says there are others in the mosque who could help.”

Alex wrinkled his brow at the thought. “If he does that, everyone will assume it’s Hezbollah money.”

“I know,” Shannon whispered. “I’ve told him that.”

A few minutes later the bailiff announced the entrance of Judge McElroy, and the entire courtroom stood.

“Be seated,” the judge intoned. McElroy was a large man with a round face, slumped shoulders, thinning hair, and reading glasses that looked about two sizes too small. He seemed to be sitting up straighter than normal today, undoubtedly mindful that the cameras were rolling. It occurred to Alex that this would be McElroy’s big opportunity to show what kind of law-and-order judge he was.

He took a few minutes to explain the process, talking more slowly and pronouncing his words more clearly than he typically did. At about nine fifteen, he started the “shuffle of shame.” One by one the defendants paraded into the courtroom in handcuffs and leg shackles, sat next to their lawyers, were informed of the charges against them, and were asked how they were going to plead. The defendants had a right to be dressed up and presentable on the day of their trial so that the orange prison jumpsuits wouldn’t scream “Guilty!” to the jury. But there was no such right for an arraignment or bond hearing.

To nobody’s surprise, McElroy had intentionally saved Khalid’s case for last. “Defendant 10-3417, Khalid Mobassar, arraignment and bond hearing,” the clerk announced. There was a rustling in the courtroom as all eyes turned toward the side door.

“Let’s take a ten-minute break,” Judge McElroy said.

During the recess, Alex and Shannon settled in at the defense counsel table. Taj Deegan, wearing a gray suit, came over and shook their hands. She was smiling and looked perfectly at ease. “Is there something special about this next defendant?” she asked.

“You mean other than the fact that he’s innocent?” Alex asked.

“They’re all innocent,” Taj retorted. “It was probably self-defense.”

Shannon ignored the banter and leafed through some documents. Taking the hint, Taj wished Alex luck and returned to her table.

32

After an appropriate amount of time so the anticipation could reach a fevered level, Judge McElroy reconvened court and asked the bailiffs to bring in the defendant. Alex noticed Shannon wipe her sweaty palms against her skirt.

Khalid came in the side door looking like he’d just been captured from a Taliban assault camp. His hair was unkempt, his beard uncombed. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he put his head down as he did the inmate shuffle toward the defense counsel’s table, the chains around his ankles jangling. The orange jumpsuit hung on his thin body, and the pants were partway up his shins, exposing a few inches of bare leg between the bottom of his pants and his flip-flops. Shannon and Alex shook the man’s hand and gave him the seat between them.

In a few moments, he would be arraigned on the charge of conspiracy to commit murder. If convicted, Khalid was looking at life in prison. In many other states, it could have been worse. Virginia still adhered to the “triggerman rule,” meaning that the only person who faced the death penalty for a murder would be the killer himself, not an accomplice or even someone who ordered the killing. Twice, the state legislature had passed bills trying to change that rule, but a Democratic governor had vetoed them both. Alex suspected that after Khalid’s case, the new Republican governor would sign a similar bill into law as soon as he could.

The arraignment itself was mercifully short. Judge McElroy had Khalid stand and informed him that he was charged with conspiracy to commit murder. He noted that Khalid had retained counsel and asked if Khalid understood the charges against him.

Khalid kept his posture ramrod straight, his chin up. “Yes, sir.”

“How does the defendant plead?” This question was directed to Shannon and Alex, who stood next to their client.

“Not guilty,” Shannon said. Though she tried to sound authoritative, her voice was more of a squeak than a battle cry.

“I’ll entertain argument on the request for bond,” McElroy said.

Taj Deegan went first, and the defense lawyers took a seat. “This man has been on the DOJ’s terrorist watch list since he came into the country. That’s how we obtained the text messages ordering the murders of Ja’dah Fatima Mahdi and Martin Burns.”

At this, there was a murmur of excitement in the courtroom and the clacking of computer keyboards. These were fresh details, Alex knew. It would be fodder for the news broadcasts that night.

“We are also investigating whether the mosque led by Mr. Mobassar is partially funded by organizations connected to Hezbollah,” Taj continued. “If Hezbollah is involved, no matter how high this court sets bond, Mr. Mobassar will be out of jail in a matter of hours.”

The rumors of Hezbollah connections had been swirling in the media for the past several days, but mentioning the terrorist organization in court had a sobering effect. Alex could see it in McElroy’s face. How could a judge consider releasing a man accused of honor killings who had ties to a terrorist group like Hezbollah?

“Mr. Mobassar is a foreign national. The risk of flight to a country that would deny extradition is great. If ever there was a case where it would be inappropriate for
any
bond to be set, this is that case.”

When Taj took her seat, Shannon moved quickly to the space between the two counsel tables where her adversary had been standing. Judge McElroy was jotting down a few notes, and Shannon waited for him to finish, standing at attention with no notes. She looked as if she might be preparing to make the first run on a tumbling routine.

McElroy looked up. “You may begin.”

“At a bond hearing, it’s the burden of the
commonwealth
to prove that the release of the defendant would be a danger to society
and
that he constitutes a flight risk. Tossing around loaded buzz words and engaging in fearmongering does not constitute such proof.”

Alex knew his partner well enough to read the intensity on the tight lines of her face and neck muscles. This was no act; Shannon believed every word she was saying.

“Khalid Mobassar came to this country at the invitation of a prestigious university because he is an Islamic
reformer
,” she continued. “He lost both sons in the endless stream of Middle Eastern violence. He knows better than anyone that the violence must stop. For him, this is not just an intellectual theory. He has been victimized by the same jihadist mind-set that he now opposes with every fiber of his body. Don’t let him be victimized by
American
prejudice and stereotypes too.”

Shannon paused. Alex could sense an extra layer of tension in the air as a result of her stridency. Even the defiant way she stood there with her jaw thrust forward sent an unmistakable signal that she was ready to take on the world.

“Americans always wonder why moderate Muslim leaders don’t speak out more forcefully against terrorism. Well,” Shannon said, “here is somebody who did—and look at the treatment he gets. The commonwealth’s attorney talks about ‘suspected’ ties to terrorist organizations. But where’s the proof? Where are the funds traced from Hezbollah’s accounts to the Islamic Learning Center in Norfolk? Where are the e-mails or phone calls or messages from Hezbollah leaders?” Shannon fired a glance at Taj Deegan as if she actually expected an answer. Taj stared back.

“If the federal government suspected ties to a terrorist organization, why did they let Khalid enter the country in the first place? We all know that the government’s activities under the Patriot Act have cast a wide net—at times based on unfounded suspicions. Mr. Mobassar is apparently on the government’s list because he is Lebanese and a leader in the Islamic faith. How is that not racial and religious profiling?”

The question elicited a scowl of disapproval from Judge McElroy. The race card. Alex was hoping his partner wouldn’t trot it out quite so early.

Shannon took a breath, softened her tone, and talked about the commendable things the Islamic Learning Center did for the community. She ended by noting that Ghaniyah Mobassar had been in a serious automobile accident and needed her husband at home. He would never leave the country when his wife needed him so badly. In fact, Khalid would be willing to surrender his passport until the trial was over if the government was truly concerned about his fleeing to Lebanon.

Shannon sat down, and Alex leaned across Khalid to tell his partner that she’d done a fabulous job. McElroy gave Taj Deegan a chance for rebuttal, but Deegan brushed it off. “We believe the evidence speaks for itself,” she said.

At that, the judge announced another recess so he could prepare his ruling.

* * *

When court reconvened, a somber-looking McElroy had the deputies bring Khalid back into the courtroom. McElroy folded back a few pages on his legal pad and began reading his ruling without looking at the cameras. “Although Ms. Reese has done an excellent job arguing for the defendant’s release on a minimal bond, the court is nonetheless convinced that Mr. Mobassar constitutes a risk to women in the Muslim community who might be inclined to switch to another religion. The court also believes that Mr. Mobassar presents a substantial flight risk given his connection to countries that may or may not honor an extradition request from the United States.”

McElroy looked up from his notes and focused on Taj Deegan. “The court agrees with Ms. Reese that the commonwealth has presented no tangible evidence of Mr. Mobassar’s alleged connections with terrorist organizations like Hezbollah. Therefore, this court cannot and does not consider that type of speculation as part of its ruling.”

For the first time, Alex felt a small glimmer of hope. Would McElroy actually cut through all the inflammatory rhetoric and grant Khalid bail? He didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

“I’m therefore granting the defendant bail in the amount of 1.5 million dollars. Conditions of bail will be as follows: First, Mr. Mobassar will surrender his passport and may not leave the commonwealth of Virginia. Second, Mr. Mobassar will wear an electronic ankle restraint so that his movements may be tracked at all times. Third, Mr. Mobassar will be able to attend to his duties as imam at the Islamic Learning Center and care for his wife. As part of those duties, he may go to the store and run necessary errands, but other than that he is to be confined to his home and to events at the Islamic Learning Center.”

Shannon was on her feet. “May he also go to his attorneys’ offices to help prepare for the case?”

“Of course,” Judge McElroy answered. He looked at Taj Deegan and Shannon Reese one last time. “Anything else?”

Deegan shook her head and Shannon gave the judge an enthusiastic “No, sir.”

“Then court is adjorned.” McElroy banged the gavel and left the bench. He had probably angered more than a few conservatives today, but Alex had a newfound respect for the man.

It took guts to ignore public opinion and do what you thought was right.

33

On his drive to the office, Alex thought about the potential backlash from the bond hearing. In his conspiratorial mind, he even considered the possibility that Judge McElroy may have ruled in favor of Khalid for just such a purpose. By allowing Khalid out on bond, he would generate strong reactions against the Muslim community. Conservatives would be especially irate. How could a judge free someone with terrorist ties?

And by setting the bond at a high amount, there would inevitably be questions about where the money came from. But he and Shannon didn’t have to play this game. He picked up the phone and called his partner while the thought was fresh in his mind.

He got voice mail and remembered that she was planning on visiting Khalid in the jail. He decided to leave a message.

“We need to tell Khalid
not
to post bond. If he does, there could be such a public outcry that he’ll
never
get a fair trial. There’ll be all sorts of questions about where he obtained the money. Call me when you get a chance.”

When Alex arrived at his office building, he was surprised to find a few reporters camped in front of the building. The attention this case generated was growing by the minute. He hoped his firm could still extract itself from representing Khalid before the firm name became forever synonymous with the representation of suspected terrorists.

Alex took a deep breath and walked past them, ignoring their questions. “Does your client deny he sent text messages from his phone ordering the killings?” “Does the Islamic Learning Center receive funding from Hezbollah?”

Undeterred, a few of them followed Alex into the building. When he reached the firm’s reception area, the reporters were still on his tail. Sylvia Brunswick was looking as bad as Alex had ever seen her.

“Migraine?”

She nodded. Alex could almost see the invisible jackhammer pounding away at her temples. She handed him a number of phone slips and ignored the ringing phone, rubbing her eyebrows with her left hand. “These are the messages I took before it got really ugly.”

Alex turned and faced the reporters. There was a TV crew, a photographer, and one or two others. Alex had only three seats in his waiting area.

“Make yourselves at home,” he said. “But please try to keep it down. My assistant has a migraine.”

“Will you be taking any questions?”

“—issuing any statements?”

“Let’s at least get a picture of you behind your desk.” The man who said this had been snapping pictures since Alex arrived at the building.

“Unlike a lot of lawyers, we do our talking in the courtroom,” Alex said. “Mr. Mobassar’s not guilty, and we look forward to vindicating him in a court of law. Have a great day.”

Alex turned and headed for his office, leaving Sylvia and the reporters to keep each other company.

When he reached his office, he forwarded his calls to Sylvia and started running through his messages. His e-mail address was listed on the firm’s Web page, and as a result, his in-box was filled with vitriolic notes related to the bond hearing.

He deleted them and started surfing the Internet for news coverage. He knew he was in trouble when the bond hearing was the lead story on both CNN and Fox News. So far, his firm’s name was buried deep in the story, but he knew it wouldn’t remain that way for long.

Many criminal cases, Alex knew, were won or lost at a motion to suppress hearing. The commonwealth’s case against Khalid hinged on a text message recorded under the authority of the Patriot Act. If Alex and Shannon stayed with the case, they would have to challenge the Patriot Act and, in particular, whether Khalid’s alleged connections to Hezbollah provided sufficient grounds for tapping his text messages. If they lost that challenge, the court would be saying it believed the Department of Justice had sufficient grounds for thinking Khalid posed a terrorist threat. If they won, the public would say that Alex and Shannon had sprung their client on a technicality.

The more Alex analyzed the case, the more he knew the firm needed out.

* * *

Before Shannon made it to the firm that afternoon, Sylvia poked her head in Alex’s office, flinching in pain so that he would not forget how terribly she was suffering, and announced that two members of Alex’s church were there to see him.

“From my
church
?”

Sylvia checked a note. “They said their names were Bill Fitzsimmons and Harry Dent.”

Fitzsimmons and Dent were the Mutt and Jeff of the deacon board. Fitzsimmons was tall and lanky with a long, hooked nose and black bifocals. Dent was a short, bald man with an Adolf Hitler mustache and a boulder-sized chip on his shoulder. Alex had long ago quit trying to win Dent’s affection.

“Send them in,” Alex sighed. He hesitated to reward his assistant for her contorted facial expressions designed to highlight her pain, but he decided she was no use to him in this state. “And why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”

“Thank you,” Sylvia said, as if wondering why it had taken Alex so long to figure out that she was entitled to go home.

Alex spent the next twenty-five minutes listening to Harry Dent share his concerns about Alex’s involvement in Khalid Mobassar’s case while Bill Fitzsimmons nodded along. Harry understood that Alex was a lawyer and sometimes had to take cases he didn’t like. But weren’t there other lawyers who could handle
this
case? Couldn’t Alex tell the judge that he had a conscientious objection to working on
this
case? Their little church was already struggling. They couldn’t afford this kind of publicity. Harry even threw out the name Jeremiah Wright, which Alex thought was entirely unfair.

Alex considered digging in his heels and staying on the case just to spite Harry Dent. Some of Harry’s concerns were legitimate, but he sure had a way of making Alex want to argue with him on every point. Instead, Alex kept his composure and expressed his thanks to Harry and Bill for coming by. “I’ll give it some thought,” Alex promised.

“Will you know something by Sunday?” Harry Dent asked.

“It’s not that simple,” Alex responded. Perhaps he needed to remind Harry about the time he had helped Harry’s nephew with a DUI. Had Bill forgotten how Alex helped him and his wife through some marital challenges? But Alex decided not to bring any of that up. Why use political chips if he was going to withdraw from the case anyway?

“I need to talk to my partner. But I promise you this: when we make a decision about whether or not to stay in the case, you’ll be the first to know.”

Alex could tell that Harry Dent was not satisfied with the answer, but there was little left to discuss. “Well, you know our concerns,” Harry said. The man always had to have the last word.

“We’ll be praying for you,” Bill added.