Fatal Convictions

37

On Saturday morning, Alex threw on a pair of board shorts, a T-shirt, and Chacos and headed to the Belvedere for breakfast. The entire world may have turned against him in the past few days, but breakfast with his grandmother would be a respite from the storm. He needed someone to help him think clearly and navigate his way out of the case in an ethically appropriate manner. His grandmother wasn’t a lawyer, but she had more common sense in her little finger than most people did in their entire bodies.

This morning, Ramona had commandeered one of the coveted booths near the windows. Alex arrived ten minutes late, and she waved him over. Her curly gray hair stuck out from under a visor, and she wore a long, droopy T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The tourists were out in force, and the small coffee shop was overcrowded to the point that the air-conditioning couldn’t keep up. Nothing like sweating a little during breakfast. Alex sat down, and the waitress came over and filled his coffee cup. Just the smell of Saturday morning coffee and sausage on the grill started to relax him.

“I’ve been trying to call the last few days,” Ramona said. “You’re harder to reach than the pope.”

Alex didn’t try to defend himself. He had wanted to talk with his grandmother but hadn’t had the energy to go into it over the phone. He knew they’d have some time to hash things out this morning. “I’ve been a little busy.”

“Well, don’t forget to brush your teeth, get plenty of sleep, and have your devotions.” Ramona smiled, but her matronly humor was lost on Alex. “Oh… they have gotten under your skin,” she said.

For the next twenty minutes, Alex only picked at his food as he unburdened himself with a detailed version of what had transpired over the last few days. He hated to worry his grandmother, but he needed a sounding board. She was generally aware of the developments in the case but was surprised by Alex’s meeting with Taj Deegan and all the evidence against Khalid Mobassar. When Alex told her about the visit from Bill Fitzsimmons and Harry Dent, she about came out of her seat.

“Well,” Ramona huffed, “they’re not paying you a dime anyway. Those two men better be careful what they ask for, or we’ll make them start preaching so we can criticize their sermons.”

“I can’t really blame them,” Alex said. “They’re just trying to protect the church.”

“I do blame them. And Harry Dent has never thought of anyone or anything other than himself.”

The more Alex talked, the less appetite he had. There were a number of people in line staring at them, waiting for the booth to clear. With the other diners sitting so close by, Alex suggested that they finish their conversation on the boardwalk.

“You hardly touched breakfast,” Ramona said. “Going on a hunger strike isn’t going to make this go away.”

Alex forced a smiled and pushed away the plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs. “They didn’t use enough grease,” he said.

They left the Belvedere and walked the half block to the boardwalk. Ramona was seventy-seven, but she moved at a brisk pace. She wore aviator shades under her visor and sported a cute pair of white sneakers with thick soles. As he walked beside her, Alex thought that he just might have the coolest grandmother in Virginia Beach.

“I saw your client yesterday on FOXNews,” Ramona said, pumping her arms as she walked. “I thought he came across pretty well in that little sermon thing or whatever the Muslims call it.”

“You are in a distinct minority.”

“Well, he doesn’t have to be Martin Luther King Jr. You’ve just got to show that he didn’t order the honor killings.”

Alex sensed his grandmother had already emotionally invested in the case and hesitated to tell her what he was really thinking. “Actually, Grandma, I think it might be my job to find Mr. Mobassar a more experienced criminal defense lawyer.”

Ramona gave him a surprised glance but didn’t slow down. “Why’s that?”

As they walked past other, more leisurely strollers and made their way down the concrete “boardwalk,” Alex explained the situation in more detail. His firm couldn’t survive the negative publicity. His heart wasn’t in criminal defense. When he got to the part about Shannon possibly peeling off and forming her own law practice, his grandmother was audibly grunting her disapproval. “I don’t like it either, Grandma. But it was Shannon’s idea, and I don’t know what else to do if I can’t talk her out of representing this guy.”

“Alex Madison, you know precisely what you can do. You can stay with the case and give this Muslim fellow the best defense he could ever have.”

Alex was a little taken aback by the comment. Since the day he graduated from high school, his grandmother had operated on the philosophy that Alex should live his own life, and she would support him in whatever he decided to do. But this conversation, like the one they’d had about his quitting at the church, was headed in an entirely different direction.

“It’s not that I don’t think I could do a good job with the case,” Alex explained. “It’s just that I’ve got other things to worry about. I’ve got to consider how this will impact the church. I’ve got an entire law practice and a duty to my other clients. I don’t want them to suffer because their firm represents an unpopular defendant. I just don’t think it’s in my best interest or Khalid’s best interest for me to stay on the case. Shannon’s either, for that matter.”

They walked along in silence, his grandmother apparently chewing on those thoughts. “Do you want my opinion or my blessing?” she eventually asked.

He really wanted her blessing, but of course he couldn’t say that. “Your opinion, of course.”

“I think you’re making this too complicated. Your job isn’t to worry about how people might react or the domino effect on other cases. Your job is to do the right thing. If people can’t handle that, it’s their problem, not yours.”

“So, what’s the right thing?”

“You’re a Madison; you’ll figure it out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ramona stopped walking and sighed. This was serious. The woman never let anything break her stride. “Let’s… um… let’s take a break for a minute.”

She walked to the rail at the edge of the boardwalk and worked on catching her breath. Alex joined her and looked out over the sand at the shimmering ocean. He braced for the lecture he knew was coming.

“Your grandfather was one of the most hated men around when he brought those cases for court-ordered integration of the public schools,” Ramona said. “They kicked us out of social clubs, sent us death threats, and called us the vilest names you can imagine. People who had been our friends for life wouldn’t even speak to us.” Ramona frowned, and Alex could tell the memories still brought a stab of pain.

“Your grandfather wasn’t perfect; I don’t mean that. But the more people turned against him, the more determined he became. Our friends would ask him how he could sleep at night with all of the violence he was causing among schoolchildren, and he would say that he slept like a baby.

“Your dad had that same stubborn streak. John always wanted your dad to follow him into law practice, but your dad had his own ideas.” When Alex glanced at his grandmother, he couldn’t tell what was going on behind the big sunglasses, but the corners of her mouth seemed tight with emotion. “I think your dad went into the ministry in part to spread the gospel and in part to show your granddad that he wasn’t going to let anyone tell him what to do.”

Ramona breathed a big sigh and patted one of Alex’s hands on the railing. “You remember when you first wanted to be a lawyer?” his grandmother asked.

Alex shook his head. “Not really.”

“It was after you read the book To Kill a Mockingbird. I don’t think you completely understood the story at the time; you were only twelve or thirteen. But the story really resonated with you.

“I think part of it was the relationship that Scout had with her dad. But I think you also really admired Atticus Finch. He was willing to stand in the gap and represent someone the rest of the world wanted to lynch. Even at a young age, you somehow understood the nobility in that.” Alex’s grandmother glanced at him. “It doesn’t surprise me that Shannon’s willing to represent Khalid Mobassar. What you’ve got to decide is whether you’re ready to help her.”