Reprisal (19 page)

“Anything else needed to fake it?”

“You could also take a small blood sample from anyone and centrifuge it to remove the white cells, which contain DNA. Then, we’d take those remaining red cells and add DNA that’s been amplified from the person you want to frame. Since red cells don’t contain DNA, all the genetic material in the ‘new’ blood sample would be from the other person.”

“And the real person’s white cells, with the DNA, are thrown out?”

“Sure.” Dr. Stein lifted off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his shirt.

“They used saliva and a little blood in the face mask, here?” Zehra said.

“Right. The BCA did nothing wrong. In fact, they’re one of the best labs in the country. But if you give them a phony sample, they’re going to come up with phony results.”

“And you can prove this?” Zehra looked at Dr. Stein.

“Simple. Our test is accepted by many scientists.”

“Why doesn’t the BCA do the same test?”

“They don’t have the test. Why should they? Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of their samples are legit. We’re working with a pretty sophisticated group of criminals in this case. Highly unusual.”

Zehra sat back and looked up at the ceiling. Now what? She looked back at Dr. Stein. “I thought DNA was so reliable?”

He smiled through gray teeth. “Oh, it is. But what’s happened is that, it’s so good, everyone depends entirely on DNA testing. We’re creating a criminal justice system that increasingly relies on this technology. It was only a matter of time before smart criminals figured out a way to beat it.”

BJ drummed his fingers onto the table in a syncopated rhythm. “You gotta keep one step ahead of ’em all the time.”

Dr. Stein looked at his big watch. “Have to run, guys. Anything else I can help you with? I’m available to testify at trial. I charge mileage and courtroom time from the minute I walk into the building. That okay?”

“Sure,” said Zehra. She rose with BJ. They both shook the doctor’s hand. After they left, riding in the car, she sighed and slumped into the seat.

“Wha’s up? We caught a home run, girl.”

She looked out the window as BJ drove out of the parking lot. Without turning around, she said, “Now what?”

“Well … we tell Harmon. He should dismiss.”

“Doubt it. Not with a case this big. They’ll fight it all the way, including Dr. Stein’s test.”

“But you heard him tell us the test’s accepted.”

“Hey, Denzel. Too much publicity. They’re not going to dump it. They’ll give it to a jury, so if El-Amin’s acquitted, the prosecutor can blame it on the jury.”

“Yeah … you’re right.”

After a long moment of quiet, Zehra said, “So, if it’s not El-Amin, who killed the Ahmed boy? And can we find him in time before the trial starts?”

BJ drove slowly toward her condo. Twenty minutes later, they arrived.

“Want a cup of coffee?” she offered.

“Sure. You still got that stuff from Costa Rica?”

In her third-floor unit, she pushed her bike out of the way and told BJ to relax. She started the coffee. He walked in and seemed to fill the place entirely. He stepped out onto her deck, hanging from the sliding door in the living room, and took a deep breath. “The Garden of Eden,” he kidded her.

“You like it?” she called from the kitchen.

“Love it. Put on some music, would you. We need music with this beauty.”

Zehra put a copy of BJ’s CD he’d given her, into the player. She heard two horns start up. “I like it,” she told him.

“One of our guys wrote it. He calls it ‘Ben’s Trumpet.’” When his cell buzzed, he took the call. In ten minutes, he came back inside. His face drooped.

“What? What’s the matter?” she asked.

BJ sighed. “My momma. She’s on dialysis twice a week. She’s having trouble. I may have to go to Chicago. I’m the only family she’s got this close.”

“Hey, anytime. Don’t worry about this. Go anytime.”

He nodded and wandered back outside. “Hey, what’s this, Z?” BJ’s voice carried into the kitchen.

Zehra came out with two steaming mugs. Handed one to him. “Careful,” she said. “What’re you talking about?”

“Uh … this thing.” BJ pointed to the new orchid.

“Don’t you even know what an orchid is? A friend gave it to me. Michael’s his name.”

BJ bent over and peered at it. He stood and laughed. “I know what he’s got on his mind.” His eyes darted up to hers. “You tight with this dude?”

“None of your snoopy business. But, the answer is, no. Just a friend.”

“I could always check him out.”

“Butt out, BJ.” She wagged her finger in his face. “Let’s talk about something important. What’re we gonna do?”

BJ sipped and nodded. “The mask … remember Dr. McWhorter said the mask was commonly used in hospitals? It’s an unusual one. A perfect disguise to hide the real killer’s face. Maybe he works in a hospital.”

“Yeah, and no one could get access to this kid without arousing suspicions unless the killer were Somali, or at least Middle Eastern. There can’t be too many Somalis working in hospitals, are there?” She looked out from the deck and could see the corner of the new bridge crossing the river, replacement of the one that had collapsed two summers ago.

BJ sighed. “Don’t know. And we don’t have a lot of time to run this all down.”

“Wait a minute! I’ve got my friend Paul Schmidt with the FBI. They’ve got the resources. I’ll check with him. See if I can get any info, or if he’s willing to look into it. You’d think they’d want to find the real killer as much as we do.”

She stopped talking. Remembered the odd fact that Paul knew about the alibi witness before anyone else. Maybe she shouldn’t trust him.

BJ left.

Jackie called ten minutes later. She sounded out of breath. “Hey, Z. I think I got something.”

“What’s up?”

“I was going over the autopsy line by line.” She paused. “Gruesome stuff. And the photos … anyway, there’s a note from Chopsticks in the report about something odd she found.”

“What?”

“The victim had these red-like things on his hands and feet.”

“Did Chopsticks say what they were?”

“Nope. But it was unusual enough that she noted it and photographed them.”

Zehra thought for a moment. “We could get second opinion. Go to the Ramsey County ME. I’ll get on it. We’ll have to email all the reports and photos to him right away.”

Twenty-Two

The next morning, knowing she had a more than full day, Zehra left the condo early. She dropped down the elevator to the underground parking lot. From inside the complex, she had access. Otherwise, the lot was secured.

She found her old heap of a car in the corner where she’d left it. Long ago, the remote lock had broken so Zehra started to reach for the key. She stopped.

She found the back window cracked open an inch. She never left her windows open. Panicked, she pulled on the door handle. It popped open, unlocked. After working with criminals, she never left her doors unlocked. Could she have forgotten last night, with all the stress on her?

She bent down slowly to look inside the car. Every part of it had been trashed.

Seats pulled up, glove compartment opened, contents scattered across the floor like a bomb had exploded. Files she had left in the back seat were gone.

Zehra backed away and started to shake. Her mind tried to assert that it was only vandals who’d trashed the car. A random act so common in urban areas. No. She knew that wasn’t true.

Paul’s warning clanged through her mind. Zehra stood still and looked around the deserted lot. Were they still here? Were they watching her right now? She fought to keep breathing, to suppress the panic that threatened to overtake her. Fumbling in her purse, she clutched her cell phone. Her fingers stumbled to dial 911.

Two hours later in her office, Zehra had calmed down. Of course, it had taken the police over an hour to arrive. She was scared but knew that a vandalized car was low on the list of emergencies for them. They promised to look into things, warned her to lock the car, and to be careful. Blah, blah, blah.

A cup of tea helped her to focus on what she had to do.

She called the prosecutor, Steve Harmon. She’d tell him about Dr. Stein’s test and ask to have the case dismissed against her client. With all the weird, scary things going on, Zehra wanted out badly.

When he answered, Harmon panted, out of breath. “I started walking up the last ten flights of stairs to the office.” He paused. “Trying to stay in better shape. I spend so much time chained to this damn desk.”

“Steve, are you familiar with a test done to determine if DNA testing is accurate?”

“Never heard of it.”

Zehra explained what she knew and how Dr. Stein had tested the DNA sample, supposedly from Ibrahim El-Amin. “He said it’s not that hard to plant phony DNA evidence at a crime scene.”

“I know this is part of your job, but I can’t throw it out. Reason one is I think your guy is guilty as hell. Reason two is my boss, the elected county attorney. How do you think he’d look going in front of the cameras to dump the murder charges—the only break we’ve had in all these disappearing Somali cases. And reason three is, I ain’t gonna lose this one.”

“I know and it’s not because I feel sorry for my client, believe me. I can’t stand the guy, but think about this: what if you’ve got the wrong guy? This new testing procedure looks pretty impressive. And you combine that with the alibi witness we’ve found … don’t you see, Steve? You’ve got the wrong guy. You have a duty to let him go.” Zehra’s voice rose.

“If you were any one of a dozen other defense lawyers, I’d hang up now. But, here’s what I can do. Let me see the test results you’ve got, and I’ll check it out. If the test is legit, we can look at the DNA samples that match your guy. I still know it’s gonna be damn tough to get my boss to back-off on this case.”

“I can understand but think about justice. You can’t prosecute the wrong guy just because it’s politically easier.” She started to shout at him. “You just—can’t.”

Harmon didn’t respond for a few minutes. “Look, Zehra, don’t give me that crap,” he said. “I’ve also got the FBI and some federal agencies breathing down my neck, too. Everyone’s looking to wrap this whole mess up with a conviction. You’ve worked here. You know what it’s like.” Harmon paused and spoke again in a softer voice. “If the DNA was faked, we’ll deal with that. But for now, I say he’s guilty.”

She sputtered some more, then gave up. “Okay, okay. I’ll get the info on the test to you right away and contacts for the doctor.” After she hung up, Zehra looked out her window. It wasn’t like her to blow up, but the pressure, the threat, all of it had just exploded out of control. It scared her.

Zehra’s next step would be harder. She’d have to tell her client.

Before she could go to the jail, Zehra had to appear at ten o’clock in court for the sentencing of another client. She planned to go from that hearing to the jail. If she were lucky, she could meet El-Amin before lunch, when the entire jail was shut-down for two hours.

Zehra left her office, carrying her briefcase and purse. The air felt thick and humid. She looked up to the heavy, dark clouds moving overhead, followed by low rumbles from the west. She smelled an electric freshness that confirmed coming rain.

Good—her oasis on the balcony needed rain badly. With her busier-than-usual work schedule, she hadn’t been able to water as much as they required.

She thought of El-Amin. Would she be able to convince Harmon before the trial started? She had about a week. Maybe, considering the new evidence of the phony DNA, the judge would give her a continuance. Of course, El-Amin would have to agree to that.

Zehra shook out her hair, trying to shake out all the conflicting ideas. Just another day in the life of a public defender, trying to juggle a dozen balls in the air at one time.

When she thought of Mustafa, Zehra felt a little lighter on her feet. Of course, it was too early to say, but compared to all the other guys she’d met lately, he shone like a prize. He was a bright spot among all the heavy problems that pressed in and her loneliness lifted a little.

At Hiawatha High School, Dr. Michael Ammar met with the principal, Robert Sandford, who was squeezing hand springs for exercise. His feet rested on the desk before him. “The left hand’s the most important, because you grab the shaft of the golf club with that one. The left’s gotta be the strongest.”

Michael nodded, bored and anxious to see the students. With the launch coming up in a few days, he didn’t have time for this waste. He felt a dribble of sweat work its way down the side of his chest. There were so many things left to be done. In spite of all his meticulous planning, certain events threatened the entire launch. He’d had to protect the network. Take care of loose ends. Make sure people didn’t talk. And, of course, there was the room in the school he had to prepare immediately. That’s where the glorious jihad would begin.

“Thanks so much for your help with the projects for the science fair. As you know, we’ve had a longstanding agreement with Health Tech to send their scientists here. It’s worked out great. We really appreciate it.”