Randy Singer: Fatal Convictions

Khalid lowered his voice, as if he wasn’t quite ready to announce to the world where his thinking was taking him. “The Muslim faith has yet to experience such a reformation. In the more fundamental Islamic countries, the mullahs and imams control everything. Sharia law becomes whatever the clerics want it to be.

“I am working on my own modest little proposal to challenge that thinking. I am certainly no Martin Luther. But still, his life is an inspiration.”

Khalid looked past Alex’s shoulder, checking the doorway. “Sorry,” Khalid offered. “You discovered my weaknesses-politics and religion.” He lowered his voice. “Ghaniyah has a hard time performing tasks in sequence right now. Perhaps if you could move into the living room, I could help her in the kitchen and join you momentarily. Then we can discuss what really brings you here.”

When Khalid walked past him, Alex caught Shannon’s eye. Her little nod confirmed what Alex was thinking.

The jury’s going to like this guy.

The living room was neat and stark, with no pictures or trinkets. A low ceiling, dim lights, and narrow windows made it feel a little claustrophobic. Alex and Shannon quietly discussed the case while they waited for their hosts to join them.

When Khalid appeared, he placed a tray with a brass coffeepot and demitasse cups on the small table. Ghaniyah placed a second tray next to the first, one that contained a pastry covered with syrup and nuts, along with bread and olive oil, plates and forks.

“How do you like your coffee?” Khalid asked. Shannon, who normally didn’t drink more than one cup a day, surprised Alex by saying she liked lots of cream. She must want this case bad. Alex requested extra cream as well, particularly after he saw the thickness of the jet black syrup that Khalid poured into the tiny cups.

“This is baklava,” Khalid said, pointing to the pastry. “It’s a little rich, but nobody makes better baklava than Ghaniyah. We also have hummus if you prefer.”

To be polite, Alex and Shannon each took a piece of baklava along with their coffee. They settled into the two chairs in the room, and the Mobassars sat together on the couch.

After a few minutes of small talk and nibbling at their food, Shannon put her plate on the floor, took out a yellow legal pad, and smoothly took control of the meeting. She asked Khalid to retrieve a copy of his automobile insurance policy and explained to the Mobassars that their coverage would be limited to $100,000 of uninsured motorist coverage unless somebody could find the truck driver who caused the accident. She politely began asking Ghaniyah questions about what happened.

Alex studied the vacant look in Ghaniyah’s eyes as her husband volunteered most of the answers. The imam’s wife wore a traditional Muslim robe and a colorful scarf but no head covering. She used no makeup, and her thin face looked gaunt and extremely pale. Her most prominent feature was a long and slender nose, slightly hooked at the end. Khalid, sitting next to her, showed none of the hard edge Alex remembered from the hospital.

As Shannon gently prodded for details, Ghaniyah did her best to provide answers. She had been driving south on North Landing Road in Chesapeake, going to meet with some women who attended the mosque. She met with them most every Thursday.

Alex pretended to take a sip of the coffee and slid forward a little in his seat.

“I remember a large truck coming up behind me,” Ghaniyah said. Her words were flat, as if she could barely summon enough energy to talk. “I saw the front grill in my rearview mirror, and I knew he was going to pass. When he started to go around me, I saw another car coming.”

Ghaniyah shrugged and looked past Shannon, as if trying to see the accident happen. “I tried to slow down, but the truck couldn’t get by fast enough and came back into my lane, so I swerved to the right…”

Her voice trailed off, and Khalid touched her shoulder gently. “She remembers heading toward a tree, and that’s basically the last thing she remembers,” he explained. He talked as if Ghaniyah wasn’t in the room. “The doctors say she’s lucky the injuries weren’t worse. In fact, she’s fortunate to be alive.”

For the next few minutes, Shannon peppered both of the Mobassars with more questions. Was the car totaled? Did Ghaniyah remember anything about the license plate number of the truck? the color? any writing on the side?

Ghaniyah apologized but couldn’t remember much in the way of details. The cab was red, she remembered. And the trailer was white. There was writing on the side of the truck, but she couldn’t remember what it said. Everything had happened so quickly. And there was a picture on the side as well-fruits, maybe vegetables. It was some kind of produce truck, maybe. Ghaniyah had no idea about the license plate number. She wasn’t sure that she ever saw the back of the truck.

Her melancholy demeanor and pained expression were a stark contrast to Shannon’s bubbly enthusiasm. “It’s okay,” Shannon told her. “You’re doing great just remembering this much. Your main job is to get better.”

When Shannon finished her questions, Alex pulled the contract from his file. Alex and Shannon had decided beforehand that he should be the one to present it, given the inclination toward male authority in the Muslim world.

As usual, he had actually brought two contracts along-he would first present the one that gave the firm one-third if they settled and 40 percent if they had to file suit. If the Mobassars balked, Alex would whip out a second contract with identical terms except the percentages were lower-25 percent if the case settled and one-third if they filed suit.

But as he watched Ghaniyah’s lifeless demeanor and her husband’s tender manner, Alex suddenly felt a little guilty for conspiring to take so much of his client’s money. Unless they could find the truck driver, the Mobassars would recover a maximum of $67,000 after attorney’s fees, an amount that probably wouldn’t even cover the medical bills. And it looked like Ghaniyah might need some kind of long-term care unless she improved.

Alex put the contract with the smaller percentages on top. “I think we’ve got enough information to move forward,” he said. “We need to let Mrs. Mobassar get some rest.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded and gave her a smile.

He explained how contingency fee contracts worked-“We don’t get paid unless we win”-and told Khalid that it was important that the firm get started on the investigation right away. “You can read it if you want-” Alex shrugged, eyeing the two-page contract as if it were a copy of War and Peace -“but most people just sign.”

“I’m sorry,” Khalid said as Alex handed him the contract. “But I’ve learned to read everything. Is it okay?”

“Of course.”

“Would you like another piece of baklava?” Ghaniyah asked.

“No, I’m good. But it was great.”

Alex and Shannon waited in awkward silence as Khalid reviewed each provision of the contract. To make it worse, Khalid’s cell phone rang; he answered it, asked Alex and Shannon to excuse him for a second, and took the phone into a different room. They could hear him speaking rapidly in Arabic.

After Khalid left, Ghaniyah just stared straight ahead, and Alex started talking to Shannon about the case just to ease the awkwardness. Alex thought about how natural it was to talk as if the person with brain damage wasn’t even in the room.

When Khalid returned, he apologized and seemed distracted. “Where do we sign?” he asked, without reading another word.

Alex showed him and soon had the signatures of both Khalid and Ghaniyah. “Is her signature in this condition valid?” Khalid asked.