Fatal Convictions

102

Alex heard the voices before he opened his eyes. The sounds were familiar and comforting, but he couldn’t understand most of what they said. They were voices from another world, soft tones with an occasional laugh or chuckle.

He felt the wooziness of lingering anesthesia and high doses of painkillers. He couldn’t bring his thoughts into focus; his mind felt mushy and unresponsive. He tried to open his eyes but quickly closed them again. He was aware of an uncomfortable tube in his nose and other tubes hooked up to his arms and something packed against his left side.

The voices stopped for a moment, and there was an excited murmur. “He moved. I think he’s waking up.”

He tried to wake up-he really did-but the voices were still so very far away. He could only make out bits and pieces of what they were saying, as if he were underwater and people were calling to him from the surface. His mouth was dry. So dry. He tried to lick his lips; they felt like sand.

But none of this bothered Alex. Not even a little. He was floating in a wonderland of drugs and semiconsciousness, enjoying the warmth of his hospital bed. There was a nagging sense of something not quite right in the back of his mind, something he should be worried about. For a moment he struggled to place it. But the worries of the world could gain no traction in Alex’s state of narcotic bliss. He closed his eyes and relaxed.

“It’s okay, Alex. Get some more sleep.”

The voice was right. He was tired. Everything else could wait.**

*

Sometime later-he had no idea how long-Alex managed to open his eyes and clear some of the cobwebs from his head. The room was dark except for the glow from a television set. The objects around him were strange and unfamiliar. He still felt detached from his body and struggled to break clear from his mental fog. He turned his head slowly to the left and saw his grandmother sleeping in a reclining chair. On the same side, toward the foot of the bed, Shannon was lying on a cot, her back to the bed, curled up with a thin hospital blanket over her.

He tried to say something, but his tongue was too thick, and he couldn’t form the words. His mouth was bone dry; his throat felt like it had swollen shut. He groaned and Ramona stirred. He tried to increase the volume, and this time she sat straight up, turning toward him. She stared for a second and then grabbed his hands. He spoke again, did his best to say, “Thirsty,” and his grandmother put a straw to his lips so he could suck down some water.

“Shannon! Shannon! He’s awake.”

Shannon quickly climbed off her cot, rubbed her face, and came to hover over Alex as well. He was remembering a few things now. The courtroom. The shooter. A sudden blast and a bolt of pain.

His side. He must have been shot in the side.

“I’m glad to see you guys here,” Alex said, his voice husky and dry. “But I always thought that heaven would be a little more plush.”

Over the course of the next twenty-four hours, Ramona and Shannon filled Alex in on the details he had missed. They often had to tell him the same fact on two or three different occasions as he struggled to regain his lucidity.

Ramona informed him that the shooter was Ahmed Obu Mobassar, the son of Ghaniyah and Fatih Mahdi. “He faked his own death years ago so that he could work undercover,” Ramona explained. She told Alex the authorities had found Nara tied up in a vacation home in the Outer Banks, traumatized but unhurt. Ahmed had tried to convince Nara that Khalid Mobassar ordered the honor killings, and he also tried to frame Khalid with a suicide note, but none of that worked.

Taj Deegan had immediately gained access to the pen register for Fatih Mahdi’s home and checked out the two months prior to Ghaniyah’s automobile accident. Just as Alex had suspected, they found sites explaining various aspects of closed head injuries. They also found searches for Sandbridge rental properties and numerous visits to the Beach Bible Church Web site. Most importantly, the pen register for Fatih showed that he was on the bank’s Web site at the exact moment that someone used Khalid Mobassar’s password to wire funds to Beirut.

It was enough to arrest Fatih and Ghaniyah, according to Shannon. In confidence, Taj had told Shannon that Ghaniyah’s lawyer was already talking about cutting a deal. She would testify against Fatih in exchange for a reduced sentence.

Alex remembered the shots that preceded the one that hit him and asked about fatalities. Three deputies had died and two were seriously wounded, Shannon told him. Kayden Dendy had undergone reconstructive surgery on the left side of his face. Because of the threat she had received prior to trial, Taj Deegan had been wearing a Kevlar vest, or she might be dead as well. Ahmed had died from numerous gunshot wounds, including a bullet fired from a gun Taj Deegan kept in her briefcase.

“There were lots of heroes,” Shannon explained.

“Including Shannon Reese,” Ramona added.

The drugs kept Alex on an even keel as he absorbed the news. His mind told him that the deputies were somebody’s father and somebody’s husband. But his emotions barely registered, suppressed by the magic of narcotics and the calm demeanor of the nurses and doctors who took care of him.

It wasn’t until evening on the second day that the full force of the tragedy began to register. Shannon peeked into the room and asked Alex if he was ready for some visitors.

Honestly, he just wanted a little peace and quiet. Visitors made small talk until Alex could no longer keep his eyelids open. When he responded, he sometimes caught himself rambling in and out of cohesiveness, depending on his level of fatigue.

But Shannon apparently wasn’t asking for permission. She disappeared and a few seconds later returned, followed by Khalid and Nara Mobassar.