Randy Singer: Fatal Convictions

Alex reached over and put the stickies on her desk. “Not when he meets the real brains behind the operation. Can you meet with us at three?”

“Today?”

“It could be a great case,” Alex said, his tone changing. He would beg if he had to. Whine a little, if that’s what it took. Alex could bring the work in the door, but Shannon was the one who knew how to get it done.

She sighed and frowned, checking Outlook. Alex suspected she was just trying to torture him a little.

“I might be able to sneak it in. What time will we be back?”

“Five at the latest,” Alex promised. “It sounds pretty straightforward.”

“Right.”

Alex got delayed at an afternoon appointment and called Shannon to let her know he was running late. She was, of course, already there. “No problem,” she said in a cheery voice. But Alex and Shannon had been partners long enough that he could sense a sliver of ice in the tone.

He pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes late, blocking a few other vehicles, and grabbed his suit coat from the passenger seat. The Mobassars lived in a modest duplex a few blocks off Shore Drive, one of several identical duplexes squished together like soldiers lining the streets. Cars jammed every square inch of curb and driveway space. The places looked like they had been built in the eighties, with brick facades, overgrown shrubs, and a few small shade trees in the front yards.

Frankly, Alex had expected a more ornate home for the imam of a mosque that had cost thirteen million to build.

Shannon answered the door next to Khalid, and Ghaniyah stood just behind them. Alex shook hands with his new clients and felt Shannon discreetly step on his toes. Looking down, he noticed her bare feet and the shoe trees next to the door. After introductions, he slid off his loafers and placed them on one of the trees. Maybe I should have worn socks.

“Khalid was just showing me around his study,” Shannon said. “Ghaniyah is fixing a few things to snack on.”

Though he wasn’t one for small talk, Alex dutifully followed Khalid and Shannon back into Khalid’s office. It surprised him a little that Khalid seemed so comfortable around Shannon, given what Alex thought he knew about the way Muslims treated women.

The study featured oak paneling on one wall and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering the others. The space was cramped, but the bookshelves were neatly arranged. Arabic artifacts were sprinkled among the hard-covered texts. There was a lone book on the top shelf.

“The Qur’an,” Shannon said, following Alex’s eyes. “They keep it up there as a sign of respect.”

Alex thought about the various places he typically left his Bible around the condo. Right now, it was probably lying on the floor next to his bed.

“I was just asking Mr. Mobassar about this shelf,” Shannon said, pointing to an eye-level space that contained, among other books, an English version of the Qur’an. Each of the books on the shelf had an ancient look, a soft leather cover, and gold embroidering on the spine.

“These are all versions of the Qur’an,” Khalid explained. “But they are not in Arabic; therefore they are considered merely commentary on the text and not the holy text itself.” He looked from Alex to Shannon and slipped briefly into lecture mode. “We believe that the Qur’an was spoken directly from the angel Gabriel to the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, in the Arabic language. For this reason, Muslims believe that the language of heaven is Arabic and our holy text should only be read in that language.”

Alex nodded.

“What are the other languages?” Shannon asked.

Khalid went to the shelf and put his finger on the spine of each book in turn. “French. English. Turkish. German. Spanish. Mandarin. Russian.”

“And you speak all those languages?” Shannon asked.

Khalid flushed a little. “Yes, but it is not so impressive. Most Lebanese grow up speaking Arabic, French, and English. Many European languages have the same origins.” He paused. “Mandarin was hard. But not as hard as our native tongue. Some say that Arabic is the language of heaven because it takes an eternity to learn it.”

“Your English is excellent,” Shannon said.

“As I said, I have spoken English from my youth.”

Alex knew what Shannon was doing, and he studied the shelves a little more intently. Client assessment was the key in deciding whether or not to take a case. You could learn a lot about a person by spending some time around their favorite books.

And for a Muslim cleric, Khalid’s choice of books surprised Alex.

“You seem to be a fan of Thomas Jefferson and Martin Luther,” Alex said.

“I am somewhat of a disciple of both,” Khalid responded. “They believed in the common man. They were reformers, as am I. Jefferson’s ideas regarding equality and the virtue of the common man would make him popular among my people. But Luther… not so much.”

“Why is that?” Shannon asked.

“My home country has always been the world’s greatest laboratory for democracy,” Khalid began, then cut himself short. “Are you sure you want to hear all this? Some people are bored by my lectures in civics.”

“Absolutely,” Shannon answered with her gymnast’s enthusiasm.

“Sure,” Alex said, though he was starting to worry about whether they were being rude to Ghaniyah.

“Most Americans would be surprised to know that a majority of Muslims-including in the Middle East-believe democracy, not theocracy, is the best way to govern their country,” Khalid said. “A study done by the Pew Global Attitudes Project found this to be true in Muslim countries like Pakistan, Kuwait, Indonesia, and of course, Lebanon. In my country, there are many different religious sects and nationalities-we are the melting pot of the Middle East. But the big division is between Christians and Muslims. By law, our parliament is divided fifty-fifty between Christians and Muslims. Our president must be a Maronite Christian, the prime minister a Sunni Muslim, and the speaker of the parliament a Shi’a Muslim. While this sounds nice in theory, the effect is to blunt the voice of the growing number of Shi’a Muslims. I would like to see more of the one-man-one-vote style of democracy that Thomas Jefferson helped champion in this country.”

Alex processed this for a second. “But wouldn’t that disrupt a fragile political alliance?”

“That is, of course, the argument. But every country with ethnic or religious minorities has wrestled with the same problem. The strongest solve it by protecting minorities through a legal system, not through a quota system in the representative branch.”

“Makes sense,” Shannon said, though Alex wasn’t so sure. The Lebanese had a nasty habit of killing each other for political advantage. Some countries weren’t ready for representative democracy.

“Where does Martin Luther fit in?” Alex asked.

Khalid’s tone turned reverential. “I identify with Luther more than any other historical figure. Reformers live in turmoil. They become marginalized by those they love. Their ideas terrorize the powers that be.”

Khalid’s hands started gesturing more as he warmed to his topic. “Before Luther, the Christian Mass was in Latin, the Holy Book inaccessible to the average person. The Christian faith became whatever the pope and priests wanted it to become because only they could understand the Scriptures and the ceremonies, and they told the people what to believe.

“Luther and the reformers changed that, both inside and outside the Catholic church. The Scriptures were translated into the language of the common person. This made it possible for the Christian God to communicate directly with every person of faith. Soon, Christians started believing that they could speak directly to God without the priests as intermediaries. This is very simplified, I know. But the point is, the masses were empowered, and the stranglehold of religious leaders was broken.”