Fatal Convictions (31 page)

85

Friday morning, after a few hours of restless sleep, Alex threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, contemplating what lay ahead. A few more days and it would all be over. He had been so immersed in the “trial tunnel” for the past few months that any semblance of a normal life had disappeared. He woke up thinking about the case. He went to bed thinking about the case. It seemed like he spent every waking moment working on it.

He allowed himself a few minutes to think about how great it would be when the trial was over and he could enjoy the holiday season. He could sleep in. He could decorate his condo and buy some presents. By Christmas Day, Khalid would be either a free man or facing life behind bars. Nara would either be safe and free to live her life, or she would be in hiding, constantly looking over her shoulder for the deadly agents of Hezbollah.

Today’s witness would probably decide both Khalid’s and Nara’s fate.

The pressure of the challenge started squeezing in on Alex, constricting his chest. He blew out a deep breath and tried to relax.

It was time for some strong coffee.

* * *

Fatih Mahdi looked like he had aged ten years since the preliminary hearing. He stood in the well of the courtroom dressed in his traditional Muslim garb and affirmed that he would tell the truth. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked at once both sad and determined. His black beard, dark complexion, and receding hairline played into the Muslim stereotype. But when Mahdi testified, he mumbled softly, and the spectators in the courtroom leaned forward and strained to hear. Several times, Taj Deegan asked him to speak up.

The prosecutor made every attempt to personalize Mahdi, but he was not cooperating. He never looked at the jury and didn’t allow himself to relax. His broad shoulders slumped forward, and he hunched over the microphone.

The substance of his testimony was about what Alex expected. He told the jury how he met Ja’dah and how devoted she had been to the Muslim faith. He described their life together.

“Did you love her?” Taj Deegan asked.

“Very much.”

Mahdi’s life centered around his work and the mosque. Deegan did a good job of portraying him as deeply religious but not fanatical.

Mahdi testified about his friendship with Khalid and Ghaniyah Mobassar. They had been through a lot together in Lebanon. He had helped Khalid mourn the loss of two sons, and he described the way those losses affected Khalid.

He also testified about how Khalid’s views as the imam in the Norfolk mosque became increasingly unorthodox. Though Khalid was his dear friend, Fatih Mahdi had led the opposition to certain doctrines that Fatih considered heretical. According to Fatih, the more resistance Khalid Mobassar encountered, the more strident and adamant he became. Those in the mosque who opposed Khalid were usually forced out.

“About six months before the death of your wife, it seems you stopped being critical of Mr. Mobassar. Can you tell the jury what happened?”

Fatih hesitated at the question, looking down to collect his thoughts. “I sensed that all of the dissension and turmoil was driving my wife away from the faith,” Fatih said. He kept his eyes on Taj Deegan, who had stationed herself next to the jury box.

“I still believed that Khalid was wrong, but I realized that if I continued to fight, I might lose both a friend and my wife. I continued to debate things with Khalid privately, but I chose to cease any public criticism. I prayed instead that Allah would show him the way.”

As Fatih testified, Alex studied the jury and didn’t like what he saw. The whole tenor of the courtroom seemed to be one of empathy and respect. The man certainly didn’t come across as a jihadist who would order an honor killing of his own wife.

“I’d like to turn your attention now to the events surrounding the death of your wife,” Taj Deegan said. She spoke softly, helping to sustain the courtroom mood. “Please tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury how you learned that Ja’dah had converted to the Christian faith.”

For the next several minutes, Fatih talked about the changes he saw in his wife and how he had followed her one Saturday night to Beach Bible Church. He seemed genuinely ashamed of what he had done. When he talked about seeing Ja’dah with Martin Burns, his face reflected the lingering memory of the heartache he had experienced. She had rejected both her husband and her faith, Fatih said, but he still loved her.

One of the reasons he had sought counsel from Khalid was because he hoped Khalid’s more progressive view of the faith might break through his wife’s strong reservations. In Fatih’s mind, he had brought his wife to America in order to help Americans find the Muslim faith. Instead, he felt like the American culture and the Western brand of Christianity had corrupted
her
.

Taj Deegan had the witness describe in detail his conversation with Khalid and his reaction when he learned that his wife had been beheaded. Fatih spoke in soft and measured tones about learning of his wife’s death and the evidence that pointed to his good friend as the one who ordered her killing. He shed no tears but seemed like a man who was still in shock. If he had broken down and cried during his testimony, it would have come across as phony. But to Alex’s great chagrin, Mahdi’s subdued answers and perplexed demeanor came across as very genuine.

Shannon leaned over to Alex. “He makes a better witness than I thought he would.”

“I know,” Alex whispered back.

Taj Deegan checked her notes to ensure that she hadn’t missed anything. “One last question. There are those who say your brand of the Muslim faith is demeaning to women and fosters honor killings. What do you say to that?”

Fatih Mahdi squared his jaw and looked directly at Taj Deegan. “The great Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, was most respectful to women. True followers of Mohammed would never oppress women and would certainly never sanction something as heinous as honor killings. Only those who falsely claim the name of Allah and distort the Qur’an engage in such things.”

“Thank you,” Taj Deegan said. “I have no further questions.”

“Does defense counsel have any cross-examination?” Judge Rosenthal asked.

“I might have a few questions,” Alex said.

The judge gave Alex a wry smile. “Perhaps before we get started, we should take a ten-minute break.”

86

When Rosenthal gaveled the court back to order, the spectators fell unnaturally still. There was none of the usual whispering or shuffling around. The jury leaned forward, knowing the case could well be decided in the next few hours.

Alex felt his own palms moistening with sweat, his heart hammering against his chest.
Breathe deeply; stay calm.

“Good morning, Mr. Mahdi.”

“Good morning.”

The jitters would go away when he drew first blood. Hopefully that wouldn’t take long.

“In your view, America should be governed by Sharia law; isn’t that right?”

Mahdi furrowed his brow. “America has a long tradition based on English common law,” he said. “It would not be practical to suggest that the laws of this country be overhauled to reflect the religious beliefs of a small minority of Muslims.”

“Nice tap dance,” Alex said, “but let’s try it again.”

“Objection!”

“Sustained.”

Alex thought about how to best phrase the question. To him, a sustained objection was never the final word; it was only a suggestion to rephrase. “Isn’t it a goal of the Islamic Brotherhood to have every country where their members reside governed by Sharia law?”

Mahdi appeared to relax, as if he had just discovered the cause of an unfortunate misunderstanding. “Perhaps as an organization, that is one of the Brotherhood’s stated goals. But the Brotherhood is only espousing the belief that the Muslims who live in that country should have their own affairs governed by Sharia law in Sharia courts. And this vision is for sometime in the future, perhaps at a time when many in this country have turned to the Islamic faith and desire to have certain parts of their lives—such as marital disputes or financial disputes with other Muslims—resolved in Sharia courts.”

When Mahdi stopped for a breath, Alex started his next question, but Deegan jumped up to protest. “The witness wasn’t finished,” she said.

“Let the witness finish his answer,” Rosenthal admonished.

Alex waited, frustrated that the judge was interfering with his questioning.

“It’s the same idea the original colonists had in America,” Mahdi continued. “Blue laws. Prayers before legislative sessions. Even the oath most witnesses take before testifying. These are all reflections of the Christian faith. The Brotherhood is just saying that Muslims ought to be able to follow their own faith on certain legal matters. It may, for example, interest you to know that the Archbishop of Canterbury proposed that Britain should consider just such a system.”

“Are you done?” Alex asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now let me ask you a yes or no question. Do
you
personally believe—not the Islamic Brotherhood and not the Archbishop of Canterbury but
you
, Fatih Mahdi—that America should be governed by Sharia law?”

Fatih shook his head. “At this time, no. Maybe someday—but only for those citizens who desire to be governed by Sharia.”

Not exactly a yes or no. But it was an answer Alex could live with.

He walked back to his counsel table and retrieved a copy of an e-mail that Mahdi had sent to a Chicago-area imam in 2008. Ramona had found it in her review of the mountain of Patriot Act documents produced by the government.

Alex handed a copy to Taj Deegan and had the clerk give a copy to the witness. Mahdi studied the document as if he had never laid eyes on it before.

“What is this document?” Alex asked.

“An e-mail I wrote to a leader of a mosque in Chicago.”

“At the time, the recipient of this e-mail was supporting Khalid’s ideas for reform; is that true?”

Mahdi looked at the document. “Yes.”

“Could you please read the first two sentences in the second paragraph?”

Mahdi mumbled his way through it, a sharp contrast to his clear enunciation of a few minutes ago. “‘It is the duty of every member of the Islamic Brotherhood to be an advocate for Sharia law. Your support for Mr. Mobassar is in direct conflict with that duty.’”

Mahdi looked up when he finished, and Alex let the silence hang there for a moment. “And those were your words, correct?”

“Yes. But that sentence does not imply that we will usher in Sharia law immediately. Like your church, Mr. Madison, our Brotherhood seeks to convert others to our faith. Only among those true converts would it be possible to implement some tenets of Sharia law.”

“Where does the e-mail say that?”

Mahdi took a sip of water. “It does not explicitly say that. As they say, you must read between the lines.”

Alex picked up another document from his table, and Mahdi eyed him suspiciously. This was one of Alex’s favorite tricks—get the witness in trouble with a document early in his testimony, and for the rest of the time, the witness would watch with trepidation as Alex picked up other documents. It kept the witness honest. He would never know whether Alex had something else in writing to impeach him with, should the witness waffle on the truth.

“Let’s talk about Sharia law and specifically the rights of women,” Alex said, looking at the new document. “Can a man be convicted of rape based on the victim’s testimony alone?”

Taj Deegan jumped to her feet. “Nobody’s claiming rape here, Judge.”

“But we
are
trying to determine who committed an honor killing—in other words, who places such a low value on the life of a woman that he would order her killed just to restore the honor of her family.”

Rosenthal thought about this for a moment. “I’ll allow it.”

Alex took a step or two toward the witness. “Can a man be convicted of rape based on the testimony of the victim alone?”

“No.”

“How many witnesses does it take?”

“Four.”

“Do they have to be eyewitnesses?”

“Yes.”

“Do they have to be men?”

“Yes.”

“And how many witnesses, in addition to the alleged rapist, does it take to clear a man accused of rape?”

“One.”

“So if the rapist and a friend testify that it was consensual sex, then the man goes free?”

“Yes.”

“And the woman could be whipped for committing fornication—true?”

“Under Sharia law, fornication can be punished by whipping.”

“How many times have you seen a
man
whipped for fornication?”

Mahdi lowered his voice. “None.”

“Under Sharia law, a man can divorce his wife by simply saying the words, ‘I divorce you.’ Isn’t that true?”

“Like America, fault is not required for divorce.”

“Is fault required to be shown if the person who wants the divorce is a woman?”

“It is.”

“But a man can divorce his wife even by sending her a text message, if he so desires, so long as the text message is clear. Am I right about that?”

“A divorce can be granted by any means of communication.”

“And the children—under Sharia law, they’re considered the seed of the man, and he is entitled to custody if he so desires. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Judge,” Taj Deegan pleaded, “is this a quiz on Sharia law, or will we ever get around to relevant testimony for this case?”

“You have a point,” Judge Rosenthal conceded. “Mr. Madison, let’s move on.”

“Yes, sir.” Alex consulted a document and glanced at the jury. The empathy he had seen on their faces earlier was fading. The women especially seemed to be cooling toward the witness. Also disappearing was the nervousness that Alex had felt before he started the cross-examination.

“You divorced your first wife after only four years of marriage; is that correct?”

“Yes. I am sorry to say that it did not work out.”

“And the children stayed with you?”

“They did. They are grown now, but I raised them. They wanted to stay with me. My wife just wanted out of the marriage and out of the home.”

“Did you accuse your first wife of infidelity?”

Mahdi started to speak and caught himself. He glanced at Taj Deegan, apparently looking for a bailout, and then turned to the judge. “Must I discuss the conduct of my first wife in open court?”

“Answer the question,” Rosenthal said. There was no sympathy in his voice.

Mahdi sighed. “She
was
unfaithful. With several men. I tried to handle the divorce with dignity and compassion—never accusing her publicly.”

“Did you ever hit her or abuse her?”

Mahdi straightened with indignation. “Absolutely not.”

“How many witnesses did you have for her infidelity?”

“I didn’t need witnesses,” Mahdi said quietly but with conviction. “She admitted the affairs.”

“Did you split the assets with her?”

“No, Mr. Madison. My wife wanted out of the marriage. She didn’t want the responsibility. She didn’t want me. I granted her that wish by seeking a divorce, and I kept her unfaithfulness quiet.”

Alex shifted gears and spent some time grilling Mahdi about his access to the mosque’s safe. He established that Mahdi was at the mosque nearly every day and could walk into just about any office.

“Did you ever borrow Khalid’s cell phone on the pretense that you needed to make a call because your own phone wasn’t charged?”

“Never.”

Rosenthal had a short—but loud—coughing fit, and Alex glanced at his watch. “Would this be a good time for a break, Your Honor?”

The jurors seemed appreciative, and Rosenthal looked as if he could hardly wait to clear them out so he could rush away for another cigarette.

After the jurors and judge left, Alex sat next to Shannon. “You’ve got him on the run,” Shannon said.

But Fatih Mahdi didn’t look like a man on the run. He was staring at Alex. The look in his eyes promised that this was not over yet.

* * *

After the break, Alex turned his attention to the theological disputes between Fatih Mahdi and Khalid Mobassar. Step-by-step, Alex walked the witness through the history of the dispute, highlighting Mahdi’s vocal opposition to the imam’s teachings.

“And then, about six months ago, you abruptly stopped criticizing Mr. Mobassar publicly. Isn’t that correct?”

“I don’t remember the exact day. But yes, there came a time when I ceased my public opposition to your client’s teaching.”

“That’s when you decided to stop him another way—that’s when you decided to set him up for the honor killing of your wife. Isn’t that true?”

“Absolutely false,” Mahdi said. “I didn’t even know about Ja’dah’s conversion to Christianity at that time. I thought she was still committed to the Muslim faith.”

Alex walked in front of Taj Deegan’s table and parked himself at the same spot next to the jury rail that she had occupied earlier.

“You are aware that in Virginia, if you seek a divorce, your wife is entitled to equitable distribution—half of the marital estate?”

“I was not aware of that. I did not seek a divorce from Ja’dah. Instead, I went to my friend, Khalid Mobassar, hoping that he could talk to my wife and restore both her faith and our marriage.”

“How much are you worth, Mr. Mahdi?”

The witness turned crimson. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question,” Alex said.

Mahdi hesitated and looked at Taj Deegan. But Alex knew she wouldn’t object. This line of questioning was absolutely relevant. Mahdi collected himself. “My net worth, including retirement accounts, is approximately $460,000.”

“And you worked your entire life to save that amount; is that correct?”

“I’ve worked very hard. Yes.”

“So you concocted a plan to save half that sum, restore the honor of your family, and put an end to the reforms of Khalid Mobassar, all in one swing of the sword.”

Taj Deegan was on her feet. “That’s not a question; that’s a closing argument. This isn’t
Perry Mason
.”

“Sustained,” said Rosenthal. “You should know better, Counsel.”

“That’s a lie,” the witness said.

“Mr. Mahdi,” Judge Rosenthal barked, “I sustained the objection. You are not to answer the question.”

“Let me phrase it differently,” said Alex. His strategy was working perfectly. Every objection just drew more attention to the question. “Do you now possess, all by yourself, every penny of the $460,000 that you previously shared with your wife?”

“Yes.”

“Has Khalid Mobassar been discredited as a result of the charges against him?”

“That is not for me to say. That is for this court and jury to decide.”

“And under Sharia law, has the honor of your family been restored as a result of the death of Ja’dah Mahdi?”

The witness leaned forward and glared at Alex. “I would do anything to get my wife back. Your question is an insult to the memory of a woman I loved very much.”

“Is that right?” Alex asked. He walked back to his counsel table, and Shannon handed him a large pile of documents. Alex had been waiting the entire cross-examination for Mahdi to reiterate his love for his wife.

“May I approach the witness, Your Honor?”

Rosenthal nodded. Alex walked to the witness box and handed the documents to Mahdi. “These are transcripts from cell phone calls you had with your wife in the six months prior to her death. Why don’t you point out to me how many times in those calls you told your wife that you loved her.”

Mahdi didn’t even look at the documents. “It was something I told her in person. It was something I showed her by my actions.”

“I guess we’ll let the jury decide,” Alex said.