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Wearing a prison gown, Haja Hamid sat semi-upright in a hospital bed. She was lashed to it with restraints. An IV ran into her left arm. Her nose was bandaged and the rest of her face looked as though it had plowed into a brick wall. You could barely see her eyes for the swelling.
A nurse was taking her vitals. Haja had refused all pain medications.
“I want a lawyer,” she told the nurse, sounding like someone with the worst cold in history.
The nurse ignored her.
“I want a lawyer,” Haja said again. “I know my rights.”
The nurse continued to ignore her. When the door opened and Fromme and Hoskins entered, the nurse immediately nodded and left.
“I want a lawyer,” Haja said.
“In due time,” Fromme replied, painfully moving into a chair.
“I know my rights.”
“You don’t know your rights,” the magistrate said firmly. “You have committed murder and acts of terrorism against France and her people, so the normal rules and rights don’t apply. You’ll see an attorney when I say you can.”
“Which means the more you cooperate, the sooner you see your lawyer,” Hoskins said, taking a seat by the bed.
“This is wrong,” Haja said.
“So is killing innocent people because they represent the best of my culture,” Fromme said.
Haja said nothing for several moments before spitting out her words. “France is doomed no matter what you do to me. The Prophet’s warhorse is in the skies and the dark Muslim horde is coming for you. You are already in a state of siege that will not end until France and all of Europe are taken.”
“That’s your goal?” Hoskins asked. “An Islamic republic in France?”
The sculptor hesitated, seemed to come to some decision, and then nodded. “Inshallah. We are willing to martyr ourselves to see that day come to pass. Every one of us. And our numbers grow every day.”
“She’s brazen,” Louis remarked on the other side of the mirror. “Hasn’t denied a thing.”
Hoskins said, “Did you know Henri Richard?”
“The opera director?” Haja said rather quickly. “Not personally, no.”
“Never came into contact with him?”
“No.”
“Who killed him?” Juge Fromme asked.
“I don’t know,” Haja said. “Things in AB-16 are kept cellular. We often don’t know what other cells are doing for the cause.”
“Who do you take orders from?”
“Allah,” she replied.
“On earth,” Hoskins said.
“As it is in heaven, I take my orders from God.”
“Did Allah design the graffiti tag?” Fromme asked.
“An instrument of God did,” she said.
“But you built the statue,” Hoskins said.
