Directed Verdict (36 page)

38

THE TWO MEN IN THE BLACK SEDAN
took notice as the couple left the building and hustled into their automobile. The lawyer followed on their heels and went to his car. “Follow him,” the slender man instructed his partner. “I’ll call for backup to come keep an eye on Moreno.” The mountain man climbed out of the sedan and raced to another car, bent over to avoid attention, keeping one eye on Sa’id.

The other man followed Hanif and Nikki and called in the situation. “Moreno is still inside. She came in a cab and should be alone now. If she leaves, call me.”

Then he put a call in to Ahmed, who had been on his way to Sa’id’s office. The strike would take place elsewhere now, and the best they could do was follow the prime suspects and figure out where.

* * *

Nikki slouched low in the seat, resisting the urge to look at herself in the visor mirror. She wanted to tell Hanif he was doing great, but he wouldn’t understand. She congratulated herself on the fine job she had done in cutting his hair, given the time constraints. In fact, Hanif looked handsome, in a rugged kind of way. She liked his style.

“You look good with your new do,” she said.

Hanif glanced sideways at her, nodded his head in acknowledgment, and smiled.

“You don’t speak English, do you?”

Hanif nodded his head again and gave her the same smile. Nikki breathed a sigh of relief.

She could see the black sedan in the sideview mirror. The driver appeared to be alone, and she hoped the other man followed Sa’id. By now, Rasheed and Mobara should have left unnoticed out the back door, followed the alley to a side street, and hopped in a cab to the embassy. She hoped they had escaped safely. She didn’t allow herself to dwell on the alternatives. Instead, she turned her thoughts toward what she and Hanif must do when they reached the hotel.

At present, she had no clue.

* * *

By 10:05, Brad had exhausted his delay tactics and put Ichabod in a foul mood.

After the witness stepped down, Strobel proudly stood to his feet and announced: “The defense rests.” He renewed his motion for a directed verdict, and the court again took it under advisement.

“Mr. Carson, do you have any rebuttal witnesses?” Ichabod asked without looking up from her writing. “And as I mentioned before, keep it brief.”

Brad stood and glanced around the courtroom one more time, hoping that maybe Nancy Shelhorse had slipped in unnoticed. “Your Honor, we have two brief rebuttal witness. One is an expert witness, our toxicologist, and the other is a fact witness. Unfortunately, with Mr. Strobel’s case concluding so unexpectedly, our witnesses are not yet here. Would it be possible for us to break now for the weekend and then briefly put those witnesses on the stand first thing Monday morning?”

You could tell from the looks on their faces that the jurors thought it would be a good idea. It was the first time they had had any life in their eyes all morning.

“Mr. Carson, you know the rules of this court. If your next witness is not ready, you rest your case. Madame Reporter,” Ichabod said, turning to the court reporter, “let the record reflect that Mr. Carson will be calling no rebuttal witnesses.”

“Wait, Your Honor,” Brad blurted out. “That’s not true. We do have rebuttal witnesses.”

“Then where are they?” Judge Baker-Kline demanded.

“They’re on their way,” Brad insisted.

“And the check’s in the mail,” Ichabod said sarcastically. “Here’s what we’ll do, Counsel, and let me warn you that this is more than I usually do. It goes against my better judgment here, but I’ll do it anyway. We’ll take a fifteen-minute break, and if your witnesses show up, fine. If not, we’ll proceed to closing statements.”

“All rise,” the court clerk announced. “This court stands in recess for fifteen minutes.”

* * *

“I’ll kill her, Leslie. I swear. If I get my hands on her, I’ll kill her.”

“Bella, calm down.” Leslie lifted the pay phone receiver a few inches away from her ear. “What did you find?”

“Nikki sent a message from her handheld last night telling Shelhorse not to come! Can you believe this!”

“How can you even know this, Bella, if she sent it from the handheld?”

“Because these newfangled BlackBerries automatically transmit a copy via satellite to your desk unit whenever your desk unit is hooked up to the Internet. It’s there plain as day on Nikki’s desk.”

“There’s got to be an explanation—”

“Why does everyone insist on defending this woman? First the voice mail. Some guy no one knows offers to pay her a million five. Now the e-mail deep-sixing our main expert witness. I think we’ve got enough to go to the cops.”

“Bella, think for a minute. What if it’s a setup?”

“Leslie!” Bella was screaming so loud that the reporters on the other pay phones could hear. “How can you get any more proof than a recorded voice mail and an e-mail? C’mon . . .”

“All right. But the first thing we have to do is find Shelhorse. She can confirm whether Nikki really sent her the e-mail. We’ve got fifteen minutes, Bella.” Leslie’s mind raced. She had to keep Bella calm. She had to break the news to Brad. She had to keep this fragile case from spinning out of control. “In the meantime, we can’t let Nikki know we’re onto her.”

Leslie forced herself to speak slowly and calmly. She covered the phone and her mouth with a cupped hand so as not to be overheard. “I’ll tell Brad about Nikki. And I’ll call Saudi Arabia and warn both Sa’id and Rasheed not to trust her. If we’re right about this, she’ll just deliver them into the hands of Aberijan.”

“Okay. And I’ll keep trying to reach Shelhorse. But tell Brad that if I’m the first to see Nikki when she gets back into this country, he’s gonna have a murder case to defend.”

“Let’s leave that stuff to Ahmed.” Leslie forced a laugh, trying to lighten things up a little.

She received only a dial tone in response.

* * *

Sarah watched and listened as Leslie rushed back to the courtroom to inform Brad.

“Why is Ichabod so insistent on starting closing arguments
today
?” Leslie sputtered. “You aren’t ready, are you? I mean, is her beloved rocket docket so important that justice just gets steamrolled in the process?”

Brad listened without comment. “We just can’t get a break,” he said in resignation.

“This is so ridiculous,” Leslie continued. “When the icewoman comes back on the bench, let me argue for a continuance. She can’t make us start closing arguments today! She’s at least got to give us the weekend to get Rasheed here . . . doesn’t she?”

If Leslie’s looking for encouragement from Brad right now, she’s looking in the wrong place,
Sarah thought.

“She’s the judge. She can do whatever she wants,” Brad said.

For the first time in the case, Sarah noticed a sagging of Brad’s shoulders and a hanging of his head that told her the fight had gone out of him. He sat heavy in his chair, leaned back, and rubbed his face. It was the posture of confusion and defeat.

“You guys have been great,” Sarah said with a soft tone of encouragement. “This will work out. You’ll think of something.”

“Thanks,” Brad said. But his downcast face never changed expression.

“I’ll get on the phones,” Leslie said. She glanced down at Brad as she was leaving. “You okay?”

He nodded and slumped lower in his chair as she left the courtroom again.

Not knowing what else to do, Sarah sat beside him in his silence. He had been a great encourager throughout the case, had done more than any other lawyer could have done. He had fought the good fight. Now, if he needed someone to just sit beside him silently and watch the precious minutes tick away, that was the least she could do. She sensed that this was not a time for words.

The minutes passed, and the courtroom started filling back up. Brad sat up straighter in his chair and folded his hands on the table in front of him. He stared straight ahead, not breaking his silence. Ten minutes were gone. In five more, the judge would be back on the bench, demanding that they put up or shut up.

It was Clarence who finally got Brad to speak. The big marshal sauntered over to Brad and sat part of his haunches on the table. The oak squealed in protest.

“You don’t need no rebuttal witnesses, Brad Carson. You’ve already opened a can of whuppin’ on ’em just as it is. I’d jest dazzle ’em with one of yer fired-up closin’ arguments and wait fer the money. Brad, I’m tellin’ ya, them jurors is eatin’ out of yer hand. Now git yer chin up before they file back in.”

The simple and complete optimism of the man seemed to make an impact. After Clarence had finished, Brad looked up at the mountain sitting in front of him, forced a grin, and finally spoke.

“Thanks, Clarence. I might just do that.”

Clarence gave Brad a playful punch on the arm, and Sarah noticed Brad wince. It would probably bruise. Sarah was glad the big man was on their side.

As the marshal walked away, a look of epiphany swept Brad’s face. His eyes lit up, and his lips curled into an unforced smile.

“Wait a second, big guy,” Brad called. “You got any big-time cocaine dealers in that jail of yours?”

* * *

Ichabod glowered at him from her high bench. Brad needed another five minutes or so before Clarence would return with an inmate in tow. Getting those minutes would not be easy with the impatient Ichabod.

“Call your next witness,” she demanded.

“Let me handle this,” Brad whispered to Leslie. Her phone calls had been futile.

He rose and walked slowly to the podium. Very slowly. “Your Honor, may I explain the situation with my two rebuttal witnesses?” he inquired politely and deferentially.

Ichabod seemed pleased with his attitude but still emanated a “show-me” look. She leaned back in her chair, folded her arms, and sighted Brad over the end of her nose. “You may explain, Mr. Carson, so long as you don’t hold out any hope that this court will entertain any excuses for witnesses being late. But if you just want to put your explanation in the record, feel free.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Brad replied. “I know the court wants to begin closing arguments on Monday. I would like to propose we have a brief session tomorrow, on Saturday, like we did last weekend, in order to accommodate some unavoidable problems with these two witnesses.”

“I’m not inclined to make everyone in this courtroom come in on Saturday just because you couldn’t get your witnesses here on time, Mr. Carson.” Ichabod paused and shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe she was actually going to ask this. “Who are these witnesses, and what are their problems?”

Brad had his opening.

“The first is Dr. Nancy Shelhorse, an expert in toxicology from the University of Richmond Medical School. She will offer testimony about the toxicology results for Charles Reed and will also rebut the testimony of the former church members regarding the issues of cocaine usage. She was supposed to meet us this morning. We’ve been trying to contact her through cell phones, office numbers, beepers, and who knows what else. We are afraid that something serious must have happened to her on the way to court, and we request a day to investigate.”

Brad didn’t like the idea of announcing in open court his next rebuttal witness. But at this point he didn’t have much choice.

“Our second witness is Rasheed Berjein, the same man who earlier testified in Mr. Strobel’s case by videotaped deposition. Mr. Berjein is prepared to renounce his earlier testimony and state under oath that the only reason he gave such testimony is because he had been threatened by Mr. Aberijan. Mr. Berjein will further testify that there is no truth whatsoever to the allegations that Charles or Sarah Reed, or anyone else in their church, sold or used drugs.”

“And why isn’t he here?” Ichabod asked. Her eyes were still narrow, her arms still folded. The queen of cynicism.

“My paralegal is at this minute in Saudi Arabia helping him to obtain political asylum. We thought Dr. Shelhorse would be testifying this afternoon and Mr. Berjein would not be needed until Monday.”

“Well, apparently you thought wrong,” Ichabod said. “Mr. Carson, neither of these excuses is sufficient. Dr. Shelhorse should have come into town last night, and Mr. Berjein should have been brought to this country earlier. But I’m going to bend over backward to be fair to you without jeopardizing our trial schedule.”

Ichabod thought for a moment, and Brad held his breath.

“I really don’t have much sympathy with regard to Dr. Shelhorse,” Ichabod continued. “She is a local witness and should have been managed properly. But with respect to Mr. Berjein, I can understand that political asylum can be an unpredictable process, and I’m willing to give you one more day to get him here. We will reconvene tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. If Mr. Berjein is not here by then, he will not testify. Closing arguments will commence as scheduled on Monday morning.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Brad said.

“Note my objection, Your Honor,” Strobel said.

“Very well,” Ichabod said. “Anything else for today?”

Leslie handed Brad a note. His eyes lit up, and he turned to see Clarence at the back door of the courtroom, squeezing the arm of a ratty-looking man in an orange jumpsuit.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Brad said. “In light of the fact that Dr. Shelhorse will not be testifying, I do have one brief rebuttal witness to take her place today.”

“And who is that?” Ichabod asked.

Brad turned and pointed to Clarence and his prisoner. “That man standing back there in the orange jumpsuit,” Brad announced.

* * *

Nikki barely had time to change out of the smelly abayya when she heard the knock on her hotel room door and went to the peephole. She kept the chain lock in place just in case. While she checked, Hanif hid inside a closet, ready to pounce on any intruder that might barge into the room.

She exhaled deeply when she saw the distorted and balding head of Sa’id. She unhooked the chain lock, cracked the door open, and yanked him inside.

Hanif slid back the closet door and jumped out. Sa’id grabbed his heart. His mouth was open, but no words came out. He finally managed to stammer out something in Arabic that made Hanif laugh. Still clutching his heart, Sa’id stumbled over to the king-size bed and flopped down, lying on his back.