Escape (39 page)

"It sounds like they're at least going to attack the subway system," Jojola said. "But where? I read a tourist brochure that said there are about 700 miles of track; that's a lot of ground to cover."

"And when are the main events to go down?" Jaxon mused.

"I think I know," Lucy replied. "Khalifa gave it away when he referred to the gates of Paradise being open."

"Don't all of these guys think that when they die for Allah, they go straight to heaven?" Jojola asked.

Lucy shook her head. "The gates of heaven aren't always open. According to the Prophet,
'When Ramadan comes, the gates of Paradise are opened and the gates of Hell are closed, and the devils are put in chains.'
I think that's the clue."

"Ramadan lasts for a month," Jaxon pointed out.

"Yes, and maybe I'm taking Khalifa too literally, but he said he will be there waiting for his mujahideen brothers when the gates open. They open the first day of Ramadan, which begins the day after the crescent moon appears in the sky."

"When's that?" Jojola asked.

"Monday night," Jaxon said, "according to the Hayden Planetarium." He pulled out an electronic day-timer and checked the calendar. "Busy day for me. The prince is scheduled to ring the opening bell at the New York Stock Exchange."

"Does the subway run close enough to the exchange that a bomb on one of the trains might bring the building down?" Tran asked.

"A couple of lines run right under it," Grale interjected. "But I venture to guess that it would have to be a really, really big bomb, which would be tough to get on a train unnoticed. And there's no guarantee it would kill the prince, or even bring down the Exchange, which is a pretty tough old building."

"Not a very soft target, which is what terrorists prefer," Jaxon agreed. "There are cops and security people all over the place. However, there's one other possibility—a very soft target—with connections to the Metro and the prince's schedule. After the stock exchange, the prince is scheduled to cut the ribbon at a Saudi Arabian cultural display in one of the exhibition halls at Grand Central Terminal. Security was going to be a nightmare even before we knew about this. A dozen guys in suicide vests could kill a lot of regular folks, as well as one spoiled Saudi prince."

"Shouldn't we ask the mayor or the feds to close the Metro?" Lucy asked.

"Shut down the city? A million-plus people depend on the subway every day."

"Better than thousands of deaths," Lucy pointed out.

"I agree. But what if we're wrong about the day? And we have no idea where along those 700 miles of track the attack will take place—other than an educated guess that it may be Grand Central Terminal. If we tip our hand, what's to prevent these people from waiting for the heat to die down and trying again, only we won't know when?"

"Maybe we raid the mosque," Lucy said. "Lock everybody up. Somebody will talk."

"What grounds do you use for the search warrant? Khalifa didn't name the mosque or Jabbar in his video. We have his wife's word that he attended these classes—so what?—and we know he talked about blowing up the Metro. If we did get into the mosque, and we didn't find anything, who do we lock up? Jabbar, I guess, but who else? The rest of his congregation? If the planning and operations are being handled elsewhere, we'll have let the bad guys know that we're on to them."

"Not to change the subject, but what is Sayick?" Jojola asked.

"There is a town in Uzbekistan called Sayek that has a reputation for. breeding Islamic extremists," Karchovski noted. "It was part of southern former Soviet Union, and has a Muslim population, like Chechnya. Same troubles there—nationalists want republic, extremists want a religious state, gangsters want the opium trade, and Russia wants the oil. If Malovo is part of this, it might make sense. But how, I don't know."

"Sayek
is also the pronoun T in Tagalog," Lucy said. "Maybe it was Khalifa's way of trying to relate to Tatay. Maybe he was saying, 'I await you,' as in at the pearly gates."

"All possibilities," Jaxon agreed, "but which one, or is it something else entirely?"

"If we're not going to ask the mayor to shut down the subway system," Lucy said, "what are we going to do?"

Jaxon thought about it. "We'll make sure the warning gets to the proper authorities. They can step up security all along the Metro without raising too many flags, especially at Grand Central. Otherwise, I think we need to find a way to get inside. Any ideas?"

The group remained quiet for several minutes. Finally, Jojola spoke. "Espey, if I remember right, you said there are no photographs of this guy Azahari Mujahid, but he's ethnically Malaysian."

"Right, so what do you have in mind?"

"A Trojan horse," Jojola laughed.

"I take it you're not talking about condoms," Tran replied.

Jojola laughed, walked around behind his Vietnamese friend, and rubbed his shoulders. "I'd like you to meet Tatay Two," he said.

"All rise! Put down your papers..."

Like a church congregation stirred out of their post-sermon doldrums, those in the courtroom rose as one when the court clerk—a rotund Irishman named Edmund Farley—announced the entrance of Judge Dermondy.

"Oye oye oye," Farley continued, "all those who have business before Part 36 of the Supreme Court, State of New York, New York County, draw near and ye shall be heard. The honorable Supreme Court Justice Timothy Dermondy presiding. The case on trial, The People of the State of New York versus Jessica Campbell."

Like a fight announcer, Farley introduced the opponents in their respective comers. "Representing the People, the honorable District Attorney Roger Karp and assistant district attorney Kenny Katz; representing the defendant, Ms. Linda Lewis."

With a final glance around the courtroom, Farley turned to Dermondy. "Your honor, all of the jurors are present and accounted for ... counsel and the defendant are present.... The case on trial is ready to continue." Dermondy nodded and his court clerk concluded, "Please be seated!"

"Thank you, Mr. Farley," Dermondy said. "Good morning, counsel, Ms. Campbell, and especially you jurors. I trust we are ready to proceed. Mr. Karp?"

Rising to his feet, Karp smiled. "Yes, Your Honor, thank you. The people call Detective Marj Cobing to the stand."

As he waited for the detective to enter the courtroom, Karp reflected on the scene outside the Criminal Courts building that morning. Many of the same cast of characters had lined up on the sidewalks. Only now, instead of a circus, they'd settled into a sort of organized encampment. They even seemed to be operating under a loose set of rules meant to keep the peace among natural enemies.

Karp had watched from Dirty Warren's newsstand as one of the NOF organizers showed up with a bagel and coffee for Edward Treacher. She handed it to the street preacher with a little bow, but didn't say a word. However, he picked up his milk crate and moved it to the other side of the police cordon from the NOF protest line, where he ate and drank with relish. He was still within shouting range when he resumed his perch on top of his crate; but he maintained his distance, and the two sides even took turns drowning each other out.

Meanwhile, little bands of tourists and curiosity-seekers, as well as the vendors and pickpockets who preyed on them, scurried up and down the sidewalk, or crossed the street haphazardly, hurrying to wherever there seemed to be a bit of action. One middle-aged mom from Wisconsin was struck by a taxi when she sprinted across the street to purchase the second
"Special
... fu-fu-fucking bullshit...
Edition
" of the
New York Post
from the nasty little man at the newsstand.

Every once in a while, some young man would sprint through the crowd, snatch a purse, and take off running with cops in hot pursuit. Otherwise, most of the activity occurred whenever the television cameras whirred into action, which would cause the protesters to start shouting and waving their signs.

Twelve floors above the commotion outside, Karp looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. They'd already wasted a half hour in Dermondy's office that morning on Linda Lewis's objection to Cobing taking the stand.

"If the prosecution insists on calling her, and you allow it," Lewis told Dermondy, "I especially object to her discussing statements allegedly made by Jessica Campbell to her husband."

"On what grounds?" Dermondy asked.

"On the grounds that the statement will be taken out of context and unfairly prejudicial to the defendant."

"Your honor, that's nonsense," Karp argued. "Obviously, the law won't allow us to force Mr. Campbell to testify against his wife. However, there's nothing to prevent the detective from testifying as to what Mr. Campbell said of his own free will to police officers regarding relevant facts having everything to do with this case."

"Well, Miss Lewis, I'm going to overrule you on this," the judge said. "We'll just have to leave it to you to put the statements into context." Cobing took the stand, where Karp led her through the police investigation. "How was it that the NYPD located the defendant, Jessica Campbell?"

"We were called by her attorney and told that there was a possibility that the defendant had 'lost' her children, and that they might possibly be deceased."

"Were you able to speak to the defendant's husband, Charles Campbell?"

"Yes, I did get to speak to Mr. Campbell."

"Please tell us what, if anything, he said."

"He told me that when he came home that night, he couldn't locate his children, and that his wife was lying in bed."

"Did Mr. Campbell tell you anything the defendant said to him about the children?"

"Yes, he said she told him that she'd sent the children to be with God in order to save their souls from Satan."

"Thereafter, what did you do in furtherance of this investigation?"

"After speaking to Mr. Campbell, we believed that we had a homicide case, so we asked for a court order to obtain blood, tissue, and hair samples from Mrs. Campbell, as well as photographs of marks on her body."

"What sorts of marks?"

"Scratches on her arms and a bite mark on her forearm, as well as abrasions and contusions on her arms, knees, and back."

"By abrasions and contusions, you mean scrapes and bruises."

"Yes, sir. Those would be the layman's terms."

Using photographs introduced into evidence to illustrate the detective's testimony, Karp had the detective point out the marks on Jessica Campbell. "Detective Cobing, did you learn when the defendant was injured?"

"That day," she replied. "The physician who treated her at Bellevue said the injuries were less than twenty-four hours old. Also, Mr. Campbell told me that he didn't believe she'd had those marks on her body earlier that morning. But he wasn't certain with respect to the injuries on her back."

"And why was that?" Karp asked.

"Because Mr. Campbell said that he and his wife were not sleeping or dressing in each other's presence."

The answer caused a stir in the courtroom. One of the supermarket tabloids had run a story alleging that Charlie Campbell had been seen kissing another woman about the same time his wife was killing their kids.

Now, Charlie Campbell kept his head pointed straight forward. His wife stopped her drawing for a moment, then resumed again without looking up.

"However, she had been wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a skirt the previous evening when he got home," Cobing continued, "and was dressed similarly the morning he left her. He could not recall seeing any of the marks on her legs or arms."

"Detective, do you recall talking to a Mr. Homer Paris in Staatsburg?"

"Yes. He's the station master at the Staatsburg train station."

"And Staatsburg is a small town about one hundred miles north of Manhattan on the Hudson River, is that true?"

"Yes."

"What were you doing at the train station in Staatsburg?"

"I was attempting to locate anyone who might have seen Jessica Campbell there in March ... around the time of the murders."

"How were you attempting to do this?"

"I had several photographs of women with me, including one of Jessica Campbell taken from the New York City University yearbook. I was asking people at the station if they, first, had been at the station in March, and if so, did they recognize any of the women in the photographs."

"And did you find such a person?"

"Yes, I found Mr. Paris."

"And who did Mr. Paris identify, if anyone?"

"He picked the photograph of Jessica Campbell. But he said she was wearing a disguise when he saw her in March."

"A disguise?"

"Yes, a wig—he described it as a bad wig—and big sunglasses."

"Yet, he recognized her."

"Yes, he said he recognized her big ears and her chin."

"What about her chin?"

"Well, the shape."

"What shape?"

"He said it looked like 'a little butt' because of the dimple in her chin." The spectators burst into laughter. Judge Dermondy banged his gavel. "People, please," he drawled. "I'll ask you to remember we're here in a Supreme Court setting, which requires all of us to act like adults and respect the dignity of these proceedings." Smiles disappeared. "Now, let's all just pay attention and save our levity for when we have adjourned. Mr. Karp, let's proceed."

"Thank you, Your Honor," said Karp, who had always admired the way Dermondy controlled a courtroom whether as a prosecutor or a jurist. "Detective Cobing, can you recall any instance in which the defendant, Jessica Campbell, told anyone else where or how she murdered her three children?"

"No, not to my knowledge."

"Did she tell anyone where she hid their bodies?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Are you aware of her ever telling anyone that she couldn't remember where she left their bodies?"

"No. To my knowledge, she simply refused to answer that question." Karp kept his examination of the detective short. But Lewis's cross-examination was even briefer.

"Detective," she said, without bothering to move from behind the defense table, "do you know of any instance in which Jessica Campbell said that she had 'murdered' her children?"

"According to Mr. Campbell, she said she sent them to be with God."

"But she did not use the word 'murder' or even 'killed,' did she?"

"No."

"Because it's not what she believed, was it?" Lewis asked.

"I wouldn't know."

"No, you wouldn't. But detective, do you know of a single instance in which Jessica Campbell told anyone that she 'hid' the bodies of her children?"

"No."

"Thank you, no further questions."

Karp jumped up for redirect like a bantam rooster ready to fight. "Detective, when someone kills someone else—and it's not in self-defense, an accident, or a soldier at war—what is the word for it?"

"Murder."

"And when someone puts bodies in a car and then submerges that car into a river, is it fair to say that person tried to hide the bodies?"

"Absolutely."

The rest of the morning had been taken up by the first police officers on the scene at the Campbell house, who testified that there'd been no sign of the children and no evidence that a crime had been committed.

"Did you notice anything in particular about the kitchen?" Karp asked.

"Not really," one of the officers testified. "It was a mess. There was a breakfast on the counter that looked like it hadn't been touched and dirty dishes here and there. But nothing unusual."

After the lunch break, Lewis objected again when Karp called the lead NYPD crime-scene investigator, Officer Bob Watts, to the stand—on, as she put it, "the same grounds, that the expected testimony will be taken out of context and will be unfairly prejudicial." Again the judge overruled the objection, and Watts entered the courtroom.

Referred to by his colleagues as "the Walrus," Watts fit the name, with thick reddish-brown hair cut short; a long mustache of the same color, which hung down on either side of his mouth like tusks; and a body built for surviving the frigid waters of the Arctic. He was also a consummate professional—affable and polite under the most heated cross-examination; jurors liked and believed him, which also made him a favorite of the DAO.

Under Karp's questioning, Watts explained that this case was unusual because when the police began their investigation, they believed that a crime had occurred—the murder of the Campbell children—but no one knew how or where it happened. "So we started with the defendant's residence and went over it with a fine-toothed comb," he said. "We didn't find much. Nothing unusual or indicating a crime—no blood or other physical evidence—not until we got to the main floor bathroom."

"And what did you find there?"

"Well, it was more of what we didn't find that was unusual," the investigator replied with just a touch of mystery.

"Could you explain what you mean by that?" Karp said, pitching the softball question.

"There were no fingerprints."

"No fingerprints? Do you mean only a few fingerprints?"

"No, I mean 'N-O' fingerprints. None. Zip. Nada."

"And why is that unusual?"

"In a house with three kids?" Watts scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I don't know about your kids, but when mine were growing up, they put their grimy little mitts on just about everything in our house. I would have expected the same of the Campbell kids. And as a matter of fact, they did leave fingerprints on just about every surface of that house—except for the main floor bathroom."

"Couldn't that be explained by a good housekeeper cleaning the bathroom?"

"Maybe Super Maid, but I doubt it. Fingerprints aren't necessarily visible to the naked eye, at least not the ones that aren't left by some goo-or dirt-covered hands. In my professional experience of twenty-five years as a crime-scene investigator, the only time a scene is that clean is when it has been wiped down specifically to remove fingerprints. It's the sort of thing I'd expect at the scene of a mob hit, and even then the suspects rarely get them all."

"So, Mr. Watts," Karp continued. "You are saying that it would be extremely unusual to NOT find any fingerprints in the main floor bathroom of a home occupied by two adults and three young children?"

"Especially where the children were bathed," Watts replied. "There were Sesame Street bath toys and a little boat on the edge of the tub."

"And why is it especially unusual in a bathroom?"

"Lots of smooth, hard surfaces—like metal, tile, and porcelain—all of which lend themselves to leaving latent fingerprints."

"And there were none?" Karp repeated for effect.

"Not a one. The place had been wiped clean as a whistle."

After Karp finished with the direct examination, Dermondy decided that it was a good time to take the afternoon break. When the trial resumed, Watts returned to the stand to be cross-examined by Linda Lewis. Again she kept it short.

"Mr. Watts, do you know why that bathroom was so spotless?"