Randy Singer: Fatal Convictions

Once Hassan entered the courtroom, he kept his head down. He didn’t think anyone would recognize him, but he didn’t want to take unnecessary chances. He found a spot against the back wall next to a TV cameraman and placed his briefcase on the floor. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall to assess the situation.

His mother, Ghaniyah Mobassar, was on the witness stand. She was dressed in her traditional hijab and head covering, though she was not wearing a veil. She looked tired and haggard and was answering softly enough that the judge told her to speak up. Alexander Madison was prowling around the well of the courtroom, asking questions.

There were two deputies stationed against a wall toward the front, not far from Khalid Mobassar’s counsel table. The larger one watched everything in the courtroom like a hawk. There was a third deputy by the door Hassan had just entered through, but he was preoccupied, whispering to a man who looked like a lawyer. Each of the deputies had a Taser, handcuffs, and a pistol on his belt.

The gun used by the courthouse deputies was a Glock 17, a lightweight pistol that chambered 9 mm bullets. Hassan would have preferred larger-caliber bullets, but he liked the fact that the magazine capacity was seventeen rounds. The only safety on the gun was an internal trigger safety designed to prevent accidental discharge.

The spectators all seemed transfixed by the testimony on the witness stand. Ghaniyah was focused on Alexander Madison, and Hassan was not in her direct line of sight. Fatih Mahdi sat in the second row right behind the prosecutors. Hassan had been told that the lawyers had sequestered witnesses until after they testified. If Fatih was now allowed to watch the rest of the trial, his time on the stand must be over.

Hassan was pleased by his own calm demeanor as he sequenced the best plan of attack. He had trained for this moment; he was ready. His heart was not racing, and he felt entirely clearheaded. But it was more than just his training; his serenity came from a sense of destiny. He had been a dead man walking for years, ready to sacrifice his life for the sake of Allah at a moment’s notice. Finally, that day was here.

The Islamic Brotherhood had adopted a Trojan horse strategy for America, the idea that the best attack always came from within. They had infiltrated the country and were using America’s arrogance and sense of invulnerability against her. Hassan had used the same approach to infiltrate this courtroom.

Americans considered the open court system a great cornerstone of their democracy. Today, Hassan would exploit that openness. He was already in the same room with every person who knew the truth about the honor killings and could therefore deal a crippling blow for the cause of Mohammed. He calmly determined the minimum number of rounds he would need. Three for the deputies. One for Taj Deegan. One for Alexander Madison. One for Shannon Reese.

And one for the man he once thought was his father-Khalid Mobassar.

Hassan listened to the testimony of his own mother. He was concerned that Madison may have discerned the truth. Hassan reached down to his briefcase and removed a yellow legal pad and a pen. He began writing his final note. My name is Ahmed Obu Mobassar, the son of Ghaniyah Mobassar and the stepson of Khalid Mobassar. Several years ago, my stepfather orchestrated events to make it appear as if I had died so that I might become an anonymous agent for the cause of Allah. I have always been the Sent One-the messenger who restored honor to families when their women rejected the Muslim faith. I have done so at the order of my stepfather, a prophet who has promised to lead us in a new direction. But first, he said, we must purify our ranks. As this trial has unfolded, I have sadly learned that my stepfather cares nothing about the glory of Allah. Instead, his desire is to elevate his own name above the name of Mohammed. On this day, as a messenger of Allah, I have come to restore the honor of my own family.

Kayden Dendy had arrived at court early enough to stake out the location he wanted-outside aisle, last row. The windchill that morning had been in the thirties, so he’d left the Harley at home in the garage. Because he was coming to court, he wore a tie and leather jacket. One of his personal rules was that he only wore a real sport coat when he was arguing a case himself.

Alex and Shannon had done as they had promised. In exchange for Kayden’s help the prior night, they had agreed to nonsuit Ghaniyah’s case. Kayden’s client would be happy; his work here was done. But Kayden was a trial lawyer. And he could never resist some good fireworks. He’d known that Alex intended to call Ghaniyah Mobassar to the stand. That would be interesting enough by itself. But he also had a pretty good idea about who the second witness might be.

That one would be worth waiting for.

Kayden sent a few text messages on his BlackBerry and listened as Alex fired questions at his former client.***

Alex felt like he had stepped through the looking glass this morning and walked into the courtroom of the bizarre. Alex in Wonderland -grilling a woman who had been his own client a few short hours before. Ghaniyah followed his every move, her bloodshot eyes broadcasting a mixture of confusion and distrust.

“Do you know what a pen register is?” Alex asked.

Ghaniyah shook her head. Judge Rosenthal reminded her that she needed to answer the question verbally.

“No.”

“You know that Detective Brown and the other officers confiscated all of the computers at your home during their search, right?”

“Yes, I was there.”

“And you know that they examined the hard drives from those computers to look at all the Internet sites you visited?”

“That is what you have told me. Yes.”

“But did you know that under the Patriot Act, the federal government can also monitor the ISP address for your home network and see what Internet sites you visited even if you used a computer that was not seized in the search?”

Alex thought he detected a microsecond of panic flash across Ghaniyah’s face. But if he did, her calm and vacant demeanor quickly returned.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“A pen register is a listing of all Internet sites visited by any computer that used your home wireless router. Do you understand that?”

“Objection,” Taj Deegan said, her voice expressing annoyance.

“On what basis?” Rosenthal inquired.

“For starters, Mr. Madison is testifying, not asking questions. Plus, there’s absolutely no foundation for this line of questioning.”

“I have Detective Brown under subpoena, Your Honor. I intend to put her on the stand later this morning and have her authenticate the pen register for the Mobassar household. I would like to question the witness subject to linking that up later.”

Rosenthal looked at Deegan again. “Any objection to that?”

Deegan was now in a tight spot. If she objected, she might not be able to introduce the same evidence herself. After all, this was supposed to help her case. “Subject to that stipulation, I’ll withdraw my objection.”

Alex walked back to his counsel table and tried to avoid eye contact with Khalid. When Alex had extracted a promise of trust earlier that morning, he knew his client hadn’t anticipated this.

He picked up a document from the table and handed a copy to Taj Deegan. He passed the original to the witness and kept a copy for himself.

“I’ll represent to you that this is a pen register for all the Web sites accessed through your wireless Internet router in the sixty days prior to your automobile accident. I want to ask you some questions about the highlighted entries.”

Ghaniyah studied the document and furrowed her brow. She looked up at Alex as if he had turned into a snake. “Okay,” she said guardedly.