Fatal Convictions (9 page)

24

Alex sat down next to his client on a soft leather couch with old cushions that sagged under his weight. Alex felt like he was sitting on the floor, knees in the air. Unlike the detectives, Alex had removed his shoes out of respect. The officers took the two chairs in the room, the same ones Alex and Shannon had occupied last week.

The seating arrangement put Alex and Khalid at a definite psychological disadvantage. The officers were erect in their chairs, looking down at Alex and Khalid, who slouched into the couch like two schoolboys in the principal’s office.

The female officer sat across from Khalid and leaned forward, a clear posture of aggression. She was thin and intense, midforties, with curly blonde hair, small blue eyes that seemed too close together, and a narrow face that looked like somebody had placed it in a vise and squeezed. Age wrinkles spread from the corners of her eyes and mouth, and her left eye was bloodshot. When Alex first shook her hand outside, she had introduced herself as Detective Brown.

“I’m Alex.” He flashed a disarming smile. “Do you have a first name?”

“Yes.”

Alex waited. . . . “O-kay . . . then,” Alex said.
Guess I’ve discovered which one’s the bad cop.

Detective Sanderson sat directly across from Alex. He was a pleasant guy with clipped brown hair and a linebacker’s build. He had a pug nose that made Alex think he might have been a boxer in his younger days. He placed a recorder on the table. “Mind if we record this?”

Alex put his own digital recorder next to it and turned it on. “I was going to ask the same thing.”

Sanderson gave his partner a look that wasn’t hard to read—
this guy’s going to be a jerk
—and shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Detective Sanderson stated the names of everyone in attendance and the time and place of the interview, then assured Khalid that he could terminate the interview whenever he wanted.

“Is my client a suspect or a person of interest?” Alex asked. It was the same question he had asked over the phone, but he wanted a response on the record.

Brown gave him a sharp look, but Sanderson responded with a calm tone. “Right now, this is still a missing-person investigation. But to the extent we determine a crime has been committed, everyone who knows Ja’dah Fatima Mahdi will be a person of interest. So yes, that would include your client.”

“Fair enough,” Alex said.

The questions began innocently, mostly background questions about Khalid’s relationship with Ja’dah and Fatih Mahdi. The two families had been part of the same mosque in Beirut and had resettled in the United States within six months of each other. The husband of the missing woman was a friend of Khalid’s and a respected leader in the Islamic Learning Center. Ja’dah, a second wife, was fifteen years younger than her husband.

“When was the last time you spoke with either Fatih or Ja’dah?”

“I spoke with Fatih yesterday.”

“Did he mention that his wife was missing?”

“Of course. He was distraught beyond words. He does not show emotion easily, but he was nearly beyond . . .” Khalid searched for the right word . . . “beyond being reassured. Beyond comforting. He was worried that something had happened to Ja’dah. That maybe she had been kidnapped. Maybe she ran away with someone else, never to return.”

“Do you have any idea where Ja’dah might go if she was trying to get away from her husband? Does she have friends or family in other parts of the U.S.?”

Khalid thought for a moment, the kind of hesitation that Alex coached his witnesses to avoid. “I don’t know,” he said. “And honestly, I cannot imagine her leaving Fatih. Not on her own.”

“Really?” Brown asked sarcastically. “You can’t think of any reason she might want to leave him?”

Khalid looked puzzled, shaking his head.

“What happened to Fatih’s first wife?”

Khalid hesitated again, and Alex made a mental note; they would have to work on this. “She was unfaithful to Fatih. He put her away.”

“What does that mean?” Brown asked. “‘Put her away’?” She emphasized the words, as if Khalid had been talking about putting an animal to sleep.

Khalid kept his voice pleasant, though Alex could see his neck muscles tighten. “Under Lebanese law, he obtained a divorce,” Khalid said evenly. “Under Sharia law, it is as if he was never married.”

“And you’re saying the grounds for this . . .
‘putting away’
. . . was infidelity?” Brown asked.

“Yes, I believe it was.”

Brown checked some notes and gave Khalid a cold stare. “And is it true that under Sharia law, if a woman claims she is raped, she must provide four witnesses or she is presumed to be unfaithful?”

Khalid mulled this over as if it were a trick question. Alex was glad the interview wasn’t being videotaped.

“First, I should point out that Lebanon does not operate under Sharia law,” Khalid explained. “In Lebanon, Sharia law is more like a moral code that some Muslims follow. So in Lebanon, what you say would not be true. In some countries, such as Pakistan, this could well be the case.” Khalid paused, looking unsure of exactly how much he should say. “However, in the case of which we speak, there is little doubt that Fatih’s wife was unfaithful.”

This response triggered a number of follow-up questions by Brown, insinuating that Fatih had something to do with Ja’dah’s disappearance. Khalid steadfastly defended his friend. No, Fatih was not known for a violent temper. Yes, Fatih truly loved his wife. Fatih was a man of truth, Khalid said. His words could be trusted.

“Is Fatih Mahdi a suspect?” Alex asked. It was an obvious question, but he was looking for a chance to inject himself into the conversation.

“Should he be?” Brown looked at Khalid.

“No.” Khalid insisted. He sat up straighter and leaned forward but then stopped as if catching himself. “It is not possible that Fatih would do anything to harm her.” He looked first at Detective Brown, then at Sanderson, seemingly searching for someone who believed him.

“To the best of your knowledge, is Ja’dah Mahdi a loyal follower of Mohammed?” Brown asked.

The question seemed to throw Khalid off stride. The imam looked at Alex. “I cannot answer that question without revealing my conversations with Ja’dah and Fatih,” he said tentatively.

Though Khalid’s comment had been directed at Alex, it was Sanderson who jumped on it. “You didn’t seem to be concerned about that a few minutes ago when you told us how distraught Fatih was when he talked to you.”

Khalid’s eyes widened, a deer in the headlights.

“That’s different,” Alex said. “That wasn’t a counseling situation. These other conversations apparently were.”

“Are you kidding?” Brown asked sharply. “That wasn’t counseling? Fatih Mahdi comes to the imam here and says my wife is missing and I don’t know what to do, and that’s not counseling?”

Alex tried to slide forward a little to match Brown’s aggressive posture, but the sagging couch made it difficult. “Regardless,” he said, “I’m instructing my client not to divulge any private conversations between himself and either Ja’dah Mahdi or Fatih Mahdi.”

“Let me be clear,” Brown retorted, slicing off her words. “We’re trying to find a woman who could be in grave danger, and the next twenty-four hours are critical. We believe your client has information that can help us. And now you’re saying that your client’s conversations with the very woman who is missing are somehow privileged? Don’t you think that maybe she’d be willing to waive that privilege if it might help us find her?”

“We don’t know,” Alex said. “And spiritual advisors can’t ignore the privilege based on assumptions.”

Brown shook her head and grunted her disapproval. Khalid, who had been following the argument like he would a tennis match, now looked at Alex.

“We’re invoking the privilege,” Alex said, staring down the officers. “Ask your next question.”

This time, Detective Brown measured her words. “Do you know whether Ja’dah Mahdi converted from Islam to Christianity?”

Khalid looked at Alex, waiting for permission.

“I’m not asking what anybody said to him,” Brown prompted. “I’m just asking what he knows.”

Nice try.
“Would you have any reason to know this apart from your conversations with Ja’dah Mahdi or Fatih Mahdi?” Alex asked.

Khalid shook his head.

“Then he’s not answering.”

“Did you have a conversation with Fatih Mahdi about his wife converting to Christianity?” Brown asked.

“He’s not answering.”

“Did you talk to Ja’dah Mahdi about her conversion?”

“Next question.”

“Have you ever heard of Beach Bible Church?”

At this, Khalid flushed. He again turned to Alex.

“If you’ve heard about the church outside of your conversations with either Ja’dah or Fatih, you can tell them,” Alex said.

“I haven’t.”

“You’re sure?” Like Alex, Brown seemed to suspect there was more to the answer.

“Positive.”

“Do you know a man named Martin Burns?”

Before Alex could tell Khalid to restrict his answer to nonprivileged information, the imam responded. “No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what an honor killing is, Mr. Mobassar?”

He blanched. “Yes, of course.”

“Does the Qur’an support honor killings?”

At that moment, Ghaniyah Mobassar appeared around the corner, carrying a tray loaded with coffee, cups, plates, silverware, and baklava. She stood in the doorway staring vacantly around the room, some bruises still evident on her face.

Khalid stood and went to her. “This is my wife, Ghaniyah.” He motioned toward the detectives. “Detectives Brown and Sanderson are asking me a few questions about Ja’dah Mahdi.”

“I see,” Ghaniyah said softly. “I wanted to know if I could get anyone something to eat or drink.”

“No, thank you,” Sanderson said immediately. “But if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to ask you a few questions when we finish talking to your husband.”

Ghaniyah looked confused.

“That won’t be possible,” Alex said.

“You represent her, too?” Brown asked. “Isn’t that a bit of a conflict?”

“I think we’re fine here,” Khalid said softly to Ghaniyah, then turned to the detectives. “I’ll be right back.”

Ghaniyah muttered a “nice to meet you” and left with Khalid.

Alex quickly explained about the automobile accident and the residual problems that Ghaniyah was having.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sanderson offered. When Khalid returned, Sanderson told him that he hoped Ghaniyah would make a full recovery.

“Thank you,” Khalid said.

“I think I had just asked about the Qur’an,” Brown reminded him, “and whether it supports honor killings.”

Khalid gathered his thoughts. “Murderers and terrorists use the Qur’an to justify all sorts of conduct, but honor killings are not sanctioned by the Qur’an or any of the hadiths. The prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, said that we should treat our women with respect and kindness.”

Brown checked her notes. “Didn’t the prophet Mohammed, in the hadiths, say to women, ‘I have not seen anyone more deficient in intelligence and religion than you’? Didn’t he say that the majority of hell’s inhabitants were women?”

Khalid inched forward on the couch. The questions plainly agitated him. “Those quotes are taken out of context. Before Islam, Arabic women had no right to own property, get an education, divorce, or even be protected from the brutality of their husbands. Islam changed all of that. Mohammed himself affirmed that men and women have equal duties and responsibilities in serving Allah. ‘I will not suffer to be lost the work of any of you whether male or female. You proceed one from another.’ Those are the words of Mohammed in Sura 3 of the Qur’an.”

Detective Brown paused a moment before continuing. “Did you ever talk to Fatih about the concept of an honor killing?”

“Never,” Khalid said before Alex could tell him not to answer.

“Do you think Fatih is capable of such a thing?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Brown gave him a skeptical look and changed gears. “Have you ever been to Sandbridge?”

“No,” Khalid said, his voice tentative.

“Have you ever rented a house in Sandbridge or considered renting a house in Sandbridge?”

“No.”

“Did you have anything to do with the disappearance of Ja’dah Mahdi?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Do you have any idea where she might be?”

To this question, Alex detected the slightest bit of hesitation. “No.”

“Are you willing to take a polygraph exam if we think it might be helpful?”

Alex didn’t give his client a chance to answer that one. “No, he’s not.”

25

The media soon caught wind of the story, and Alex followed the developments on the local news channels. At 4:00, Alex watched Virginia Beach Police Chief Moses Stargell appear before a bank of microphones for a hastily called press conference. The chief was a big bear of a man, universally admired for his quick wit and street savvy. Today, he looked uncharacteristically glum.

The chief reported the following facts: Ja’dah Mahdi had not been heard from or seen since she left her home at approximately 7 p.m. Saturday. Using phone records and cell tower information, the police had determined that Ja’dah had sent text messages from the Sandbridge area late Saturday evening. Ja’dah had no apparent connections with Sandbridge—no friends or acquaintances who lived there.

The police were combing the area for signs of Mrs. Mahdi. The chief described her car, gave her license-plate number, and displayed a recent photograph along with information about whom to contact with any leads.

The reporters started firing questions, but the chief spoke over them. A white male named Martin Burns was also missing. His absence had first been noticed when he failed to show up for work on Monday morning. The chief displayed his picture and said there was no information about his last known whereabouts.

By early evening, the local stations had begun piecing it together. Unnamed members of a Virginia Beach church said that Ja’dah Mahdi and Martin Burns were part of a group of friends who attended Saturday night church services together. There were rumors that Ja’dah had converted to Christianity. Channel 13 ran an interview with her husband, Fatih Mahdi, who pleaded with Ja’dah, if she was listening, to come home. Various reports implied that Ja’dah had run away, perhaps because she feared reprisals from the Muslim community. Some speculated about the nature of a possible relationship between Ja’dah Mahdi and Martin Burns, but fellow church members dismissed such claims, saying the two were merely friends, part of a larger circle who met together following the church services.

By eleven o’clock, the story was picking up steam on national cable channels. There was video footage of search teams at Sandbridge and snippets of an interview with a square-jawed Fatih Mahdi, his lips trembling as he looked into the camera and asked Ja’dah to at least call and let him know if she was okay.

Alex flipped from one channel to the next, until one newscast nearly jolted him out of his chair. The CNN host was teasing a segment that would air after the break, promising exclusive interviews with the two men who found themselves at the center of the storm—the young pastor of the church attended by Martin Burns and “a prominent imam who leads the Norfolk mosque attended by Ja’dah Mahdi.” The host paused momentarily for effect. “I think you’ll find their perspectives very interesting.”

Alex couldn’t believe what he had just seen. Khalid wouldn’t talk to the press without calling Alex. Would he?

The interview with the pastor added nothing new. Khalid was a different story. It looked like they had placed a backdrop in Khalid’s living room and filmed him there. The cameraperson had used an unflattering angle that somehow accentuated the coarseness of Khalid’s skin, his black beard, and the dark circles under his eyes.

The reporter started with some questions about Ja’dah’s rumored conversion to Christianity. Had Khalid heard about this? Could he confirm or deny it?

Khalid looked stiff and nervous. “Ja’dah was faithful at the mosque and a good Muslim,” he said.

“Did she ever express any doubts about the Islamic faith?”

Khalid shook his head. “I am not at liberty to talk about counseling situations with a member of my mosque.”

“There has been some speculation that perhaps Ms. Mahdi converted to Christianity and thought she was in danger. Would you care to comment on that?”

“In our mosque, she would have nothing to fear,” Khalid said. “Whatever faith she chose to follow, she would always be treated with kindness and respect.”

The reporter looked unconvinced. “There are those who say the Islamic Learning Center has ties with Hezbollah. I think it’s only fair to give you a chance to address those allegations.”

Fair?
Alex wanted to shout.
Ambushing the imam on the air with a question like that is
fair
?

Khalid bristled at the question. “We have no ties with Hezbollah,” he insisted. “We are just people of faith, trying to coexist in this country.”

“Khalid Mobassar,” the reporter said, “lead imam at the Islamic Learning Center in Norfolk, Virginia. Thank you for being with us.”

“You are welcome,” Khalid responded, his face still tight with anxiety.

When the show segued back to the studios, Alex dialed his client.

There would be no more interviews.