working on this treadmill.”
Zehra shifted in her seat. This talk could go on all afternoon. Better to save it for a happy hour somewhere else. “Steve, we’re here to give you notice of an alibi witness BJ found. We’ll file the formal notice and give you the whole statement when our secretary finishes the transcript, but we wanted to talk about it first.”
Suddenly, Harmon’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned over the desk. The light stuff was over. This was business, and he changed completely. “What alibi?”
BJ started, “I’ve been checking and found a guy who says that during the murder, he was with El-Amin at a mosque. He’s an imam and knows El-Amin well.”
Harmon gulped a big breath of air. “Yeah … yeah. Have you checked this guy out? He’s probably a cousin to El-Amin, putting-up for him.”
“Oh, I know, but in the end, Steve, he’s gonna alibi the defendant.”
“Details, man.”
BJ stretched his long body out in the chair. “I’ll give you the whole Q and A, but the long and short is the imam knows our guy, met him often at the mosque, and on the night of the murder, met him and even had tea—Oolong China tea, he remembers specifically.”
“Sounds like a drug deal to me—Oolong China?” Harmon chuckled at his joke.
“He remembers ‘cause they saw the TV news about the murder.”
“Well … I’ve seen this a hundred times. How do we know your guy didn’t put the imam up to this?”
“The witness says no.”
“Bullshit.”
Zehra leaned forward. “I don’t think you can say that in front of a jury. What if they happen to believe this dude?”
“Bullshit.”
“Look, Steve,” Zehra continued. “I’m not sure what my guy wants, but it’s part of my job to at least check it out. What kind of an offer can you make to avoid trial?”
“Yeah, I got a great offer for this animal: plead guilty. We won’t ask for hanging, which is what he’d get in his own country. Guys, he butchered a young, innocent boy. Wait ‘til the jury sees the photos …” He had a nervous forced laugh. “Heh, heh.”
Zehra remembered it and knew it offered a peek into Harmon’s occasional lack of confidence that he tried hard to cover up.
“Maybe so, but doesn’t the alibi witness make a difference? Can’t you let him plead to something less serious?” Zehra asked. She knew the answer and didn’t blame Harmon at all. Still, as the defense lawyer, she had to ask.
Harmon shook his head. “Don’t bust my balls on this.”
“Remember, dude, the killer was wearing a mask,” BJ said. “Your eyewitness can’t give a great ID.”
“So what? I’ve also got the DNA. You see that?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a match. That’s a conviction in my book. You can call all the alibi witnesses you want. I got the DNA. And jurors all watch TV—DNA’s air-tight proof.”
He was right. Neither Zehra nor BJ said anything for a while. Zehra knew a prosecutor would only drop charges for two reasons: either the evidence was so weak they knew they couldn’t prove the case or because of sympathy for the defendant. Neither applied in this case.
The meeting was over. Zehra stood. “Okay, Steve.” She reached across the desk and shook firmly. BJ bumped fists with him. “Later,” he said.
Back on the public level of the Government Center, Zehra turned to BJ. “Remember we’ve got an appointment at the BCA lab in forty minutes? We’ve gotta hurry, ‘cause I have to prepare a closing argument for that rape case.”
BJ’s thick eyebrows pinched down over his eyes. “What trial is that?”
“Oh, I got a guy who raped his teenage cousin—allegedly. He pled not guilty and waived a jury so the judge ordered us back tomorrow at eight-thirty to make the final arguments. The judge already heard all the evidence.”
“How can you keep these cases straight?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I wish I had enough time to give them adequate attention. I always feel like I’m just hanging on by my
Zehra shifted in her seat. This talk could go on all afternoon. Better to save it for a happy hour somewhere else. “Steve, we’re here to give you notice of an alibi witness BJ found. We’ll file the formal notice and give you the whole statement when our secretary finishes the transcript, but we wanted to talk about it first.”
Suddenly, Harmon’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned over the desk. The light stuff was over. This was business, and he changed completely. “What alibi?”
BJ started, “I’ve been checking and found a guy who says that during the murder, he was with El-Amin at a mosque. He’s an imam and knows El-Amin well.”
Harmon gulped a big breath of air. “Yeah … yeah. Have you checked this guy out? He’s probably a cousin to El-Amin, putting-up for him.”
“Oh, I know, but in the end, Steve, he’s gonna alibi the defendant.”
“Details, man.”
BJ stretched his long body out in the chair. “I’ll give you the whole Q and A, but the long and short is the imam knows our guy, met him often at the mosque, and on the night of the murder, met him and even had tea—Oolong China tea, he remembers specifically.”
“Sounds like a drug deal to me—Oolong China?” Harmon chuckled at his joke.
“He remembers ‘cause they saw the TV news about the murder.”
“Well … I’ve seen this a hundred times. How do we know your guy didn’t put the imam up to this?”
“The witness says no.”
“Bullshit.”
Zehra leaned forward. “I don’t think you can say that in front of a jury. What if they happen to believe this dude?”
“Bullshit.”
“Look, Steve,” Zehra continued. “I’m not sure what my guy wants, but it’s part of my job to at least check it out. What kind of an offer can you make to avoid trial?”
“Yeah, I got a great offer for this animal: plead guilty. We won’t ask for hanging, which is what he’d get in his own country. Guys, he butchered a young, innocent boy. Wait ‘til the jury sees the photos …” He had a nervous forced laugh. “Heh, heh.”
Zehra remembered it and knew it offered a peek into Harmon’s occasional lack of confidence that he tried hard to cover up.
“Maybe so, but doesn’t the alibi witness make a difference? Can’t you let him plead to something less serious?” Zehra asked. She knew the answer and didn’t blame Harmon at all. Still, as the defense lawyer, she had to ask.
Harmon shook his head. “Don’t bust my balls on this.”
“Remember, dude, the killer was wearing a mask,” BJ said. “Your eyewitness can’t give a great ID.”
“So what? I’ve also got the DNA. You see that?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a match. That’s a conviction in my book. You can call all the alibi witnesses you want. I got the DNA. And jurors all watch TV—DNA’s air-tight proof.”
He was right. Neither Zehra nor BJ said anything for a while. Zehra knew a prosecutor would only drop charges for two reasons: either the evidence was so weak they knew they couldn’t prove the case or because of sympathy for the defendant. Neither applied in this case.
The meeting was over. Zehra stood. “Okay, Steve.” She reached across the desk and shook firmly. BJ bumped fists with him. “Later,” he said.
Back on the public level of the Government Center, Zehra turned to BJ. “Remember we’ve got an appointment at the BCA lab in forty minutes? We’ve gotta hurry, ‘cause I have to prepare a closing argument for that rape case.”
BJ’s thick eyebrows pinched down over his eyes. “What trial is that?”
“Oh, I got a guy who raped his teenage cousin—allegedly. He pled not guilty and waived a jury so the judge ordered us back tomorrow at eight-thirty to make the final arguments. The judge already heard all the evidence.”
“How can you keep these cases straight?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I wish I had enough time to give them adequate attention. I always feel like I’m just hanging on by my
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