WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1) (24 page)

“Was the scene secured when you arrived?”

“Yes, it was. The police department had already taped the area and had put barricades to prevent traffic from entering the intersection at that corner and at the other end of the street, yes.”

“Were there a lot of people around—apart from the police officers—observing the scene, did you notice?”

“The neighbours were standing behind the tape, yes, and there was a fire truck parked just two houses down the street.”

“Ha!” With a broad grin on his face, Simmons turned to the jury. “Was there a need for the fire department to be there?”

Lieberman nodded. “In my experience, cars that meet an unmovable object at any speed are liable to burst on fire soon after impact—so yes, the fire department might have been needed.”

“Was the car doused with water before you arrived, do you know?”

“No, the car inside and out was dry.”

“Thank you. Now, do you remember if the car doors were closed or opened when you arrived on the scene?”

“I believe the passenger side door was open, yes.”

Simmons went to the evidence table and took the forensic report, leafed through it, and once he found the page he was looking for, he brought the open binder to the witness. “Does this picture depict the passenger side of the car the way you found it when you arrived?”

Lieberman looked at the picture and nodded. “Yes, that’s the way I found the passenger door open.”

Billycan was getting visibly irritated. He bent to Marcel Fauchet to his right and whispered in his ear, “Did this come up in the interview with Meshullam?” Marcel shook his head. “Let’s get him in my office tonight.” Marcel nodded.

“Your Honour, may we show the photo to the jurors?” Simmons was asking when Billycan returned his attention to the witness.

“Bailiff, please pass the open binder to the members of the jury—thank you.” The bailiff nodded, took the binder from Simmons’s hand, and showed it to each juror in turn.

Simmons returned to the witness stand and again planted his hands on the railing. “Now, Mr. Lieberman, let’s go back to your testimony; you said that you lifted a set of two hand prints from the dashboard on the passenger side of the vehicle—is that correct?”

“Yes, sir, that’s right.”

“Good. Do you have any knowledge or could you ascertain when these prints were made?”

“No, sir. We can’t be sure when prints are made—not with any degree of certainty, no.”

“Okay. But could you tell us if these prints were ‘fresh’ or ‘old’, in your expert opinion?”

“They were relatively fresh, in my opinion, yes.”

“Could you qualify ‘relatively fresh’ for the jury then? Were they a week old, a month old or could they have been made on the day of the accident?”

“Objection, Your Honour,” Billycan burst out, trying to divert the jury’s attention. “Defence Counsel is leading the witness.”

“Overruled.” Silverman didn’t like this sort of unwarranted interruption. “Answer the question, Mr. Lieberman.” He shot a reproving glare in Billycan’s direction.

Meanwhile, if Sadir had looked bored yesterday, today he was all ears. He had turned to Simmons several times during Billycan’s questioning on direct, nodding his approval and even smiling, and was now admiring his attorney’s performance.

“Yes, Your Honour...” Lieberman shifted in his seat again. “Relatively fresh prints mean that they were made recently—but I can’t be more precise than that.”

Simmons turned to Billycan, watching for his reaction to his next question. “So would you say it is possible they were made on the day of the accident?”

“That’s a possibility, yes,” Lieberman answered to Simmons’s back.

The implication of that statement didn’t escape the jury or the audience for a moment.

After the luncheon recess, Judge Silverman seemed more relaxed. He even smiled to everyone as he sat down. “Your next witness, Mr. Billycan,” he said in a booming voice once the bailiff had declared the court in session.

“Yes, Your Honour, thank you. The Prosecution calls Dr. Valance to the stand.”

Dr. Valance strode to the witness stand easily, his gait as
flexible
as his demeanour. Well in his sixties, the surgeon appeared to be overall very content with his station in life. He was sworn in, sat down and crossed his long legs. His focused and deciphering brown eyes seemed to be made to observe and deal with the slightest details, which was, in fact, very much needed in his trade.

“Thank you, Doctor, for making the trip. And since we know that your position only allows you to stay in Washington for a couple of days, I will try to make this as short as possible.” Billycan was already near the witness when he posed his first question. “When you stated your occupation for the court just now, you said that you were a neurosurgeon with the St Paul Hospital in Vancouver, BC. How long have you been occupying this position, Doctor?”

“For about sixteen years.”

“And before that?”

“I worked out of the Calgary Hospital for about seven years before that.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Now, let’s turn to the reason that brought you to this trial. In the fall of last year, you operated on a woman who was admitted at St Paul Hospital with a bullet wound to the arm and chest, is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s accurate.”

“Could you describe, as briefly as you can, the extent of the victim’s injury at the time she was brought into the operating theatre?”

By this time, everyone in court, including the judge, wondered why Billycan had not named the victim yet. This strategic manoeuvre was designed to demonstrate to the jury how the doctor had taken particular attention to this case. Billycan wanted to show that Dr Valance was a sympathetic witness, and he hoped he would give “the victim” a name before he did.

“I assume you mean when Ms. Kartz was brought in?” The judge exhaled a sigh of relief while Billycan paused and nodded almost imperceptibly before he answered the doctor’s question.

“Yes, doctor, that’s who I meant. Do you always know the people you treat personally?”

“I wouldn’t say I get to know all of them personally, no, but in such cases as that of Ms Kartz, yes I do.”

“Why did you say in such cases as that of Ms Kartz? What was so particular about her case?”

“Well, for one thing, I had never seen or even heard of a victim with such an
exacted
injury, and then when we went in and examined the extent of the damages to the tissues and bones surrounding the bullet’s trajectory, we were even more amazed.”

“In what way were you amazed, Doctor?”

“I could perhaps draw you a picture…? It would be easier to understand as I explain what we discovered.”

Billycan looked up at the judge. “If Your Honour doesn’t mind, we would like to bring in a drawing pad and easel to enable Doctor Valance to explain graphically what he discovered during surgery.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Billycan.” He nodded to the bailiff. “If you have the easel and writing implement ready, please bring it in, John. Thank you.”

“While the bailiff is doing that, I’ll ask you another question, Dr Valance. Would you mind telling us why a neurosurgeon would be called for a bullet wound injury—any particular reason?”

“Yes. Dr Latimer, the first attending physician, determined that the bullet had lodged itself near the spinal column after examining Ms. Kartz’s ex-rays. In such cases, and if surgery appears to be required at the time, I am usually called to attend or perform the surgery.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Billycan then turned to the bailiff who was stabilizing the easel before the witness stand. “That’s fine, thank you.” John bowed and retreated to his position on the other side of the judge’s bench. As he handed a black felt pen to the doctor, the US Attorney added, “If you could stand up, Doctor, I think it would be easier for you to trace your sketch and make it big enough for everyone in the jury to see what you’re drawing.”

“Yes, of course,” Dr Valance replied, getting up. He approached the easel, and began to draw the right side of a human body. Everyone in court appeared surprised at the ease with which the doctor manoeuvred his pen onto the paper.

“Could you describe, for the record, what you have drawn so far, Doctor?”

“Yes...” He pointed to the sketch. “This is the right side of a human torso... From the neck, the right arm, the thoracic cage limited on the left by the vertebrae, hosting the right lung, to above the waist.”

“Now could you show us what you discovered during surgery?”

Dr Valance took his pen and traced a horizontal line across the upper arm, crossing the armpit, entering the thoracic cage and stopping a half-an-inch from the spine, which he had graphically represented on the left side of the drawing. Replacing the cap over the felt tip, he described what he had drawn. When he finished, he concluded by saying, “The strange thing about the bullet’s trajectory is that it only traversed the humerus at the most solid part of the bone, into and through the deltoid tuberosity, then went through the rib cage, scraping a thin hole through the right lung before stopping millimetres from the T6 vertebrae. It was slowed down by hitting bones prior to stopping. It did not damage the right lung as extensively as one would have expected, and the victim didn’t bleed from the thoracic wound as much as she did from the hole in the upper arm.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” The US Attorney then again turned to the judge. “The Prosecution requests to introduce the drawing as evidence, marking it Exhibit 6, and tendering it to opposing counsel.”

“Very well, Mr. Billycan, so noted.”

Apparently quite impressed, as was the jury, Simmons offered no objection to admitting the drawing into evidence. He actually seemed mesmerized by it.

The doctor, meanwhile, resumed his seat and crossed his legs again. Billycan turned to him once the easel had been set aside so that the jury could view it while the doctor was still on the stand. “In your testimony you mentioned that the bullet stopped millimetres from the spinal column, is that correct?”

“Yes, it did.”

“Did you extract the bullet from the victim’s wound during the operation?”

“Yes, the assisting surgeon did, yes.”

“Do you have first knowledge of what happened to the bullet after the assisting surgeon extracted it?”

“Yes. I ordered it to be taken to the lab and to be couriered to the police forensic lab in Vancouver.”

“And to your knowledge that’s where the bullet ended up?”

“Yes, as far as I know, that’s where it was transferred.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Now if we could return to the surgery; would you explain for the court why the patient’s didn’t show any response in the lower limbs since the bullet did not actually touch the spinal column?”

The doctor appeared to be thinking how he would respond before he uttered the first word of his answer. “If I may, I should first explain that each vertebra hosts an intricate set of nerve endings, which connect to various functions of the body or limbs. In the series of thoracic vertebrae, the nerves attached to the T6 and its neighbours control most movements of the lower limbs. If something severs or damages one of these series of nerves, it affects the motion of the legs. Such as in this case, the bullet only damaged the vertebra superficially, but severed several nerve sections before stopping where it did, causing the patient to lose all motor movements in her legs.”

“Thank you, Doctor. That was very clear. Now, one more question; were you able to repair the damage to the vertebra or nerves at the time of the operation?”

“As usual in such instances, we couldn’t repair any damages to either vertebra or nerves, no.”

“Why was that, Doctor?”

“Because of the swelling around the wound. We had to wait until the swelling went down before we could repair the damages.”

“And did you repair the damages at one point?”

“Yes, we did, this spring, yes.”

“And during the first operation, were you able to repair any other of the patient’s injuries?”

“Yes, absolutely. The patient was able to use her right arm after appropriate recuperation, and never lost the use of her right lung. The ribs that had been damaged healed themselves over time under care.”

“Thank you, Doctor. You’ve been most helpful.” Billycan turned to the judge. “Your Honour, I have no more question for this witness, but would like to reserve the right to recall him at a later time.”

“So noted, Mr. Billycan.” He looked over his glasses at the defence attorney. “Mr. Simmons, your witness.”

“We have no question for this witness at this time, Your Honour.”

“Very well then.” The judge turned to the surgeon. “You may step down, Doctor. We will advise you as soon as your presence in court is required again.”

“Thank you, Your Honour, my pleasure.” Dr. Valance then stood up, stepped off the witness stand and strode out of the courtroom as
flexibly
as he had come in.

Billycan, Marcel and Samuel were sitting around a small conference table in the US Attorney’s office when Darlene came in. The three men stood up, greeted her and sat down again, as soon as she had taken her coat off and sat across from Billycan and beside Samuel.

Billycan said, “As I was saying to Agent Meshullam before you came in, Ms. Stovall, this is going to be an informal meeting. We’re doing this off the record for now.” Darlene nodded and turned to smile at Samuel. She had met him briefly by chance when he arrived in Washington and from that moment, she had been quite impressed by the handsome face, calm demeanour and reserved attitude. There was something mesmerizing about the man, something mysterious. “But if there are some statements worth recording we’ll call in a reporter to take down whatever is said—if that’s all right with you, Agent Meshullam?”

“Yes, I have no problem with that.” Samuel appeared relaxed and no doubt ready for anything the US Attorney would be throwing his way.

“Alright then. The first question relates to your presence in Flint, MI. Could you elaborate on how and when you arrived in that city?”

Samuel stretched his legs under the table. “After I left Ms. Kartz in Chattanooga, I picked up a car and drove to Flint. I arrived at Ishmael’s house in the evening but he wasn’t there…”

“Did you know, or were you aware of his absence before you arrived in Flint?”

“No, I wasn’t. I contacted Mossad then and they told me to wait for him.”

“How long did you have to wait for Mr. Assor’s return?”

“About a week.”

“Okay then, could you tell us how you knew Ishmael Assor?”

Samuel smiled. “Well, I only knew him by reputation and his name was familiar to me.”

“Did you meet him before you arrived in Flint?”

“No, not in person, no.”

“Okay, let’s move on. How long did you stay with him?”

“When he came back, I let him believe that I had just arrived that evening. I wanted to stay only for as long as it would take me to get his routine down and where to take aim.”

Marcel nodded slowly and looked at the Mossad assassin. He obviously didn’t like him. “You mean you were taking the time to plan his assassination?”

“Yes, if you want to call it that, Mr. Fauchet. Mossad made the suggestion to have him eliminated, yes.”

Billycan raised an eyebrow. “When you say, ‘Mossad made the suggestion…,’ do you mean you had a choice?”

“Yes, Mr. Billycan. As I said to Agent Gilford when he and Agent Lypsick interviewed me in Vancouver, we always receive suggestions from our contacts, practically never a direct order.”

“And what happens if you don’t do what is suggested?”

“Two things. First, the job is carried out by someone else, and then you’re retired or forced to pay the price for making the wrong decision.”

“And what happened in this case—did you carry out the
suggestion
?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then the question is how did your prints got in Mr. Assor’s SUV.”

To the other three people around the table there was no reason to smile, but Samuel did. He smiled and shook his head. “You mean the handprints on the dashboard?”

“Yes, Agent Meshullam. How did your prints got in that car?” Marcel was getting irritated.

“I don’t know, sir.”

Marcel was not going to let that go. “Perhaps we haven’t made it sufficiently clear, Agent Meshullam. The prints were made by a person trying to avoid the force of an impact, such as the one you would get in an accident…”

“I know, Mr. Fauchet,” Samuel interrupted. “The officer who interviewed me when I first arrived in D.C. told me about these prints, and same as I told him at the time, I have no idea how they got there. Maybe, they were made to confuse the issue...”

Billycan gawked at the Mossad agent. “And that they did, Agent Meshullam. That they did!”

“You know, Mr. Billycan, there is something you may not know or have overlooked.”

“What’s that?” Billycan asked.

“The fact that my hand prints—entire hand prints—were only taken when I joined Mossad. That’s the only time I recall having made or left hand prints anywhere. Besides, in many circumstances we wear gloves... but not in this instance, though.”

“So, you’re saying that your hand prints were taken only when you joined Mossad?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

“But then, that fact brings two questions to mind.” Darlene’s eyes didn’t leave Billycan’s face. “The first is how could these prints be considered as ‘made recently’ by the forensic analyst?” Heads turned to Samuel, awaiting an answer. “And two, if someone wanted to indicate your presence in the vehicle at any time, why would they choose to leave whole hand prints on the dashboard and not some casual prints on the passenger door handle, for example?”

Samuel swung his head slowly from side to side. “I don’t know, Mr. Billycan. The only conclusion I could draw from these two is that Mossad wasn’t involved in inserting confusing evidence in this series of events.”

Marcel said, “So, you’re saying that someone, who had access to your prints, tried to confuse the evidence by injecting doubt as to your carrying your assignment?”

“But why?” Darlene asked suddenly. “Why would somebody want to confuse the issue?”

Samuel turned his head to her. “Maybe someone is trying to shift the blame from Mossad to someone else?” He paused meaningfully. “All I know is that the suggestion I was given was to eliminate Mr. Assor. That’s all. Maybe the person who tampered with the car was told to leave confusing evidence of my being involved with that tampering, too.”

“Then tell me this, Agent Meshullam, why would the CIA try to instil doubt as to you being responsible for pulling the trigger or trying to divert our attention onto someone other than either themselves or you, for that matter?”

“Because, Mr. Billycan, the CIA needs to uncover who is working in their midst and against them. As it turned out the car tampering seemed to have been designed to kill Agent Assor. I was quite surprised when I saw the car veer out of control as I was about to shoot the man. I was almost unable to finish the job.”

“But the evidence proves that you finished the job, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And according to the forensic lab, the bullet that was extracted from Mr. Assor’s skull was indeed fired from your rifle.” Billycan pushed his chair back and crossed one ankle over one knee. “Given that evidence, and until your prints were found in the vehicle, we had no doubt that you were the person who shot Mr. Assor. As you said, the handprints confused the issue. You could not have been in two places at once.” He paused, joined the fingers of his hands in front of his chest and began flexing them. “But then, I’ve got a problem. For one thing, the forensics’ expert is going to testify that according to their analysis of the car, the passenger door couldn’t have been opened on impact, during the accident. His calculations will ascertain that
someone opened the door after
the accident. So, the question is: have you observed anyone else in the car beside Mr. Assor at the time you took aim?”

Samuel bent his head and brought his legs back under his chair. “I cannot be sure, Mr. Billycan. I was focused on the target, and after the shot, I didn’t take the time to observe what was happening. And once the shot is fired you have a ten seconds’ window before someone is going to look in the direction from which the shot was fired. Taken into account that I was on the second floor of a vacant house, I had to get out from the back door and make my way to the main road before the area would be swarmed with police officers.”

“Did you walk or run to that road?”

“No, Mr. Fauchet, you don’t run from the scene. That’s a sure way to getting caught. I walked and took the first bus that came along at the stop near the corner.” Samuel gave this explanation as if he were talking about missing the last train for the night. His face was expressionless. He showed no emotions or outward signs of remorse for having killed a man, and a compatriot to boot.

Marcel looked at him wordless. He had met many criminals in the few years since he entered the US Attorney’s office, but rarely one as cold as this one. It was almost as if the man was completely void of feelings, which he knew was not the case. How could anyone transform a man in this manner?

Darlene shivered inwardly. She, too, could not believe that a kind and loving human being could be so deadly.

As for Billycan, he uncrossed his legs, brought his chair back to the table and looked down at the report. He seemed unable to lift his eyes to Samuel. “I can tell you,” he said almost inaudibly, “that in all my years as an attorney; I seldom had the occasion to interview someone as unfeeling as you, Agent Meshullam. And yet, behind that façade, or that killing automaton, I’m convinced, resides somebody with a heart and soul.” He finally raised his gaze to him. “You are a very dangerous man, sir, and yet you are also one that holds the key to unlock the door to the many mistakes that have been made in this case.”

Samuel had his eyes riveted on the US Attorney. He knew that the man couldn’t bring himself to blame him for what happened, and for that, Samuel was silently grateful.

“Would you mind if we discuss something else right now?” Billycan asked.

“Not at all, sir. I don’t know what I could tell you, but anything that you will consider helpful, I will be glad to discuss with you.”

“Okay. You said something earlier that I’d like you to clarify for us. You said that the car tampering seemed to have been designed to kill Agent Assor. Could you explain that thought for us?”

Samuel nodded. “I can’t explain the fact, sir, but I thought it was definitely something Mossad would not do. As I said, Mossad does not leave anything to chance, and the tampering of a vehicle leaves too much to chance. I am sure this was not a Mossad job.”

“Then who? Who would you think ordered such a thing?”

“Well…, I hope you’re not asking me to point the finger at someone…”

“No, Agent Meshullam, I am not, but I value your opinion nonetheless, so I’ll ask you again, who do you think would be responsible for such an action?”

“It would have to be an individual with the resources to do so, and the connections to order this type of intervention.” Samuel paused. “And what bothered me the most about the car tampering is that it needed to be done hours—not days or weeks—before I was to do my job. To do that, the person would have to have access to the car during the time I was with Ishmael. I would say he had to do it the night before the incident.”

“Yes, but we still have a problem (and not only with how your prints got on the dashboard) it has to do with the airbags removal from both the steering wheel and passenger side, and to do that, I would suggest it would take more than a few minutes in the dark of night. From that we conclude the person had to be mechanically inclined and would have had a free hand to tamper with the car days before the accident.”

Samuel held up a hand. “If I may, sir?”

“Sure, go ahead...”

“I didn’t know about the airbags being removed, but since they have, I would say that somebody planned to kill Ishmael long before I arrived on the scene.”

“But you were in Flint for a few days before Ishmael returned from Paris, weren’t you?”

“If you’re asking if I tampered with the car, the answer is no. His car wasn’t even at the house when I got there. He had left it at the airport maybe... I don’t know... but it wasn’t anywhere near the house then.”

“Would you have any idea who could have tampered with his car while he was away?”

“Mr. Sadir is the only person I could think of who may have done so—not himself mind you—but he could have ordered someone to tamper with the vehicle while Ishmael was away.”

“What makes you think that?”

Samuel hesitated. “He may have had doubts that I would carry out my assignment when I reported to my contact that I had talked to Ms. Kartz and Agent Gilford in Georgia. Besides, He must also have been aware that I was to wait for Ishmael’s return. Maybe he wondered what would happen in Paris. He wouldn’t have known if I had not changed my mind, or if Mossad had not changed their order to eliminate Ishmael.”

“So, you’re saying this was just a job to ensure that Mr. Assor was killed no matter what happened?”

“Yes, that’s what I thought at the time.”

“And now? Do you still think the same?”

“Yes, partly, yes, but there is something that bothers me in what you said...”

“What’s that?”

“You described the passenger door of the car being opened by someone who was in the car...” He paused. “To me, it means there is yet somebody else involved.” Everyone nodded. “And thinking about what Ishmael said when I was with him, I can’t think of anybody...” He shook his head. “And Ishmael’s routine was quite simple; he would get dressed in the morning, get into his car and go to the nearest mall for breakfast, read the paper, and then return home to go on the internet and contact people he knew or visit a few sites where he could download some music for his collection. He had not dared contact anyone from the CIA in days. Sadir had made sure of it.”