Judge Rosenthal used the morning session to resolve the issue of whether to release the transcript from the hearing in his chambers. Media lawyers filed thick briefs and argued at great length. Alex and Taj Deegan both said that there was no reason to release the transcript while they were picking the jury. Judge Rosenthal ultimately decided to take the matter under advisement until the next day.
Alex smiled to himself. The judge would release the transcript, but he would wait until after the jury had been safely selected and sequestered.
By Tuesday afternoon, a jury of twelve members and two alternates was in the box, and Judge Rosenthal promptly released the transcript. Alex made his team, especially Nara, promise not to read or watch any media coverage. Things were about to get even more nasty, and they didn’t need the distraction.
The jurors were predominately white, and eight of the twelve main jurors were women. There was not a Muslim or a person of Middle Eastern descent in sight.
“You call this a jury of his peers?” Alex whispered to Shannon.
“Next time, you pick the jury,” Shannon replied.***
At 10 p.m. on Tuesday, Alex gathered his team in the conference room and cleared off the table. He stood at one end while Shannon, Nara, and Ramona got comfortable in the chairs scattered around the room.
“Ladies and gentleman of the jury, it is my honor to represent Khalid Mobassar…”
It took Alex twenty-five minutes to get through the first dry run of his opening statement. When he finished, the others took turns critiquing his performance. Nara loved it, and Alex could tell that Shannon wanted to roll her eyes. Ramona thought Alex should punch it up a little and give it the kind of drama he brought to his sermons. Shannon said Alex sounded too argumentative. “I don’t want the judge sustaining an objection against us right at the start of the case. I’d rather see you in storytelling mode as opposed to presenting an argument.”
Alex gave the opening a second time, and more critiques followed, sometimes contradicting the first set of critiques. Even Nara pitched in with some suggestions for improvement. Alex tried to keep all the feedback straight for round three.
By the time the clock struck midnight during his third practice session, Alex could feel himself wearing down. His critics, it seemed, were just getting warmed up. Ramona finally broke in and declared that her grandson needed to get some sleep or he might doze off during his own opening. The others agreed, and court was adjourned at 1:10 a.m.
On his way out of the office, Alex glanced at the list on the wall and allowed himself a moment to miss his grandfather. This was the kind of case that John Patrick Madison would have loved. Being the underdog. The world hoping you would lose. A client’s future in his hands. Alex wondered how his grandfather would have approached the opening.
Alex read through the list, though he knew it by heart. Never sue a client over a fee. Even drunk drivers deserve a lawyer; they just don’t deserve us.
Sentence number six, Alex knew, was the result of the tragic accident, caused by a drunk driver, that had killed Alex’s parents. John Patrick Madison had been a firm believer that everybody was entitled to a lawyer, but as he often said, “that doesn’t mean they’re entitled to us.” His grandfather took cases he could believe in. Cases like this one.
And then there was sentence number eight, the one that seemed particularly appropriate tonight: For every case, pray like a saint, and then go fight like the devil.
Alex had certainly been saying his prayers. Tomorrow the battle would begin in earnest.
77
Alex wore a white shirt and yellow tie with his suit for his opening statement. The textbooks said not to alienate the jury by the way you dress.
Taj Deegan apparently didn’t read the same textbooks. The prosecutor displayed a classy nonconformist streak-pressed gray dress slacks with a wide leg, a hunter green suit jacket, gold chandelier earrings, and layered gold chains. Alex admired the attitude. If the jury didn’t like it-tough. Taj did, and that was all that mattered.
When she stood to give her opening, she took a sip of water and walked without notes to the jury box. All eyes were on her, and the prosecutor seemed to like it that way.
“Every year, dozens of fires are set by volunteer firefighters. John Orr, for example, headed a large California arson squad and had a reputation for uncanny instincts about how fires started. It turned out that it wasn’t instinct at all. It was inside knowledge. Orr set the fires himself.”
Alex had been so surprised by Taj Deegan’s opening remarks that he didn’t object until Shannon leaned across Khalid and prompted him.
“I object, Your Honor. If I’m not mistaken, John Orr is not even on trial here.”
Judge Rosenthal looked as confused as Alex. “Sustained,” he said. “Let’s stick to the facts of this case.”
Taj Deegan looked at him and smiled. “Sorry, Your Honor. I just thought it might help to provide the jury with a little context.”
She turned back to the jury, and they were even more attentive than before. “Why would a firefighter start a fire?” she asked. And then quickly added, “And what’s that got to do with this case?”
Alex half-rose to object, but Taj veered in a new direction before he got the words out.
“The defendant, Khalid Mobassar, ordered the beheading of Ja’dah Fatima Mahdi and the execution of her friend Martin Burns,” Taj said. She had that authoritative prosecutor’s voice going now, deep for a woman, a voice that said, Trust me. “The commonwealth will present overwhelming evidence linking the defendant to these gruesome murders. We will show you text messages from the defendant ordering the killings, text messages from the killer’s phone to the defendant confirming the killings, money diverted from the defendant’s mosque to pay for the killings, and an Internet search from the defendant’s computer to find the place for the killings. It’s like he gave us a digital blueprint… digital DNA, if you will. All that evidence points to only one person.”
Taj Deegan paused for a moment so that the jury could take all of this in. She half-turned and looked at Khalid. Alex had coached his client to meet her stare and not blink.
“That evidence alone would be enough to convict Mr. Mobassar beyond a reasonable doubt,” she said, turning back to the jury. “I will go into that evidence in great detail in a few minutes. But that evidence doesn’t answer the question of why he did this. And though the commonwealth doesn’t need to answer the why question in order for you to convict the defendant of conspiracy to commit murder, it sure helps when you’re trying to fit all the pieces together.
“I like to use the analogy of a puzzle.” Taj walked in front of the jury box now, a little chat with her friends who had promised to do justice in this case. “The various pieces of evidence are like the pieces of the puzzle. And when you fit them together, they’ll form a picture of the defendant. But if we understand motive, it’s like looking at the picture on the puzzle box. It helps us understand where the pieces go and how they relate. So let me talk to you first about that puzzle box. Why would somebody order such gruesome crimes?”
Taj had everyone’s attention, including Alex’s, though he tried hard to look disinterested. He scribbled a few notes, the picture of calm. Inside, his stomach was in knots.
“The defendant is an imam at the Islamic Learning Center in Norfolk, Virginia. He is an outspoken critic of fundamentalist Muslims. In fact, he has a very important book that he was about to publish when these honor killings occurred. That book represents the culmination of his entire life’s work. It is his attempt to reform the Muslim faith, a religion that claims 1.5 billion adherents.
“When I sit down, I suspect that Mr. Madison is going to stand up and tell you that his client could not possibly have ordered these murders. That you should ignore the evidence against him because the defendant is not the type of religious leader who would ever order the gruesome act of beheading someone just because they converted to Christianity.”