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“Great. Look, I am meeting with a client right now so I have to run, but the door is open. The file is in the top drawer in the cabinet on the right. Thanks Jameela,” he told her and patted her on the shoulder.
“No problem,” she told him. She stood there and watched him until he disappeared into the elevator, and then she walked slowly and deliberately to the office.
She was usually more professional in her dealings, not taking cases she was personally vested in, or had strong opinions about. She oftentimes avoided the wealthy who acted as if they were above the law, and they only needed a lawyer to hide behind. But she was sick of it now. This time the ball was gently rolled into her court, and boy was she going to hit an ace on her serve.
Sheikh Ramadan and his family would pay for the sins they committed on her bloodline, and they would be none the wiser. She smiled and held her head up as she walked into Ahmad’s office. Tomorrow she would meet him, officially for the first time, and she would make him pay.
CHAPTER 3
Jameela was going over the file for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. She had spent the night researching the Ramadan line; she felt she knew them more intimately than they knew themselves. They were of landed gentry, since the early days when they struck oil in the desert. Slowly, the money they were able to command allowed them to expand to diamond production and later real estate. They owned most of the Eastern sections of the country, but still that had not been enough; they just had to have that one piece of property—to rob an entire line of their inheritance.
The present family pretty much ruled the east; they had everyone in their pockets. Had it been anyone else accused of murder, there wouldn’t even have been a case to handle. They would have been locked up and appointed a legal aid counsel, if at all. Sheikh Al-Hafeez Ramadan, like his entire family, was the exception.
The ringing of the telephone next to her pulled her with a snap from her reverie, and she grabbed it up. “Yes Sheridan” she said to the girl on the other end. Then there was a pause. “Please, send him in.”
She could hear the whispers from the others as Al-Hafeez strolled past the other offices and cubicles on his way to her. He stopped at her door, in the same instant her heart did. He was strikingly handsome and all the pictures she had seen of him had not done him justice. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and stepped towards him.
“Sheikh Al-Hafeez,” she said with extended hand.
“Please, just Al-Hafeez will do,” he replied and took her hand. He lowered his head and kissed the back of it, and she couldn’t help noticing the stares she was receiving from the others watching them from the blinds.
She hastily pulled her hand back and went to close the door. “Please, have a seat.”
He walked to the seat she indicated, tossed his long white gown back, revealing golden pants and a V-neck shirt underneath it. He sat there silently, but with an air of condescension as he gazed around the room. Jameela folded her arms and shook her head and then returned to her chair.
“I take it you have reviewed my case,” he said rather pompously. “It should be clear I am not guilty of anything.” He had piercing black eyes that perfectly complemented his raven black hair. His skin was tanned, and smooth, not a freckle or pimple in sight, and he was tall. Even sitting, his torso was long and seemed to fill the space before her. He had his arms folded and seemed to be trying to fit comfortably into the chair as he shifted about.
“I’m sorry if the chair isn’t all that comfortable; it is all we have,” she began by saying. “And it isn’t clear to me at all that you aren’t guilty of anything. I’ve read your file, and I know what it says. Still, in order to properly represent you, I will need to hear it again from you.”
He shifted in the seat some more and stared into her hazel eyes. She looked away when she grew self-conscious about it, and reopened the file. “Like it says, I was accused of murdering someone, but I did not commit the act,” he said sternly while jamming his index finger on the table to emphasize his point.
“Where were you at the time of the murder?” she asked him, looking him in the eyes again. She found it hard not to. It’s like he was pulling her into a black hole by some sort of magnetic force, and she had to brace herself so she wouldn’t get lost in it.
“I was in my office, I suppose,” he said.
“You suppose? Can anyone corroborate that?” she asked him.
“Why am I getting the inquisition?” he asked, seemingly with a growing irritation.
“Because I have to know these things so I can properly represent you. The prosecution will throw these questions at you, and based on what’s in here, we will be meeting with them soon. I’m told the victim’s family has a lawyer, and he is very proficient, I can assure you.”
“And you are not? It is your duty to ensure I don’t go behind bars for something I didn’t do!” he said forcefully.
Jameela sat there looking at him, thinking that her want to make him pay was completely justified. He was smug, and she found herself growing more anxious the longer he sat there. “I am very good at what I do, but I can only do that if I know everything there is to know. I don’t want to show up for an inquisition and have a curve ball thrown at me. I should remind you Sheikh Ramadan, that it is your ass on the line. Not mine! So let me ask again, is there just cause why anyone would think you are capable of killing this man you said you did not?”
Al-Hafeez hesitated, and she saw his lips twitching, and then he pinched his chin. “Alright, there might have been something.” Of course there was a motive, she thought. Why else would he need a lawyer? Jameela clasped her hands on the desk as she waited for him to continue. “I had a gambling debt with him, which is in the file. I have another bookie I normally wage bets with, and in times when I need money I do not wish my family to know about I would call him. I do admit I mentioned I could kill the man after he came to me, but that was only to my good friend Al-Kareem. He called my father after he left my office, during which time I called this other bookie. We were supposed to meet at a spot we often used, but when I got there, he wasn’t. That’s when I got the call, from Manseh’s brother—Manseh is the man I owed—that he was dead, and that I had sent my friend to kill him. Needless to say, my friend was also dead, but he had already called the police, so that by the time I got home, they were right behind me.”
“Hmm,” Jameela responded as she thought about what he had said. “So did he have the money for him? Is that what he was supposed to do? Clear the debt, or transfer it rather?” she queried.
“Yes, that was the idea,” Al-Hafeez replied. “I’m not sure if he did, and if he did, then the others wouldn’t have told me. They just want to send me away because it seems easy I guess.”
“That’s going to be hard to do without a murder weapon—for a long time anyway. We have already established that you do have a motive for the killing, but without proof of the murder, it probably won’t end up going to trial. Where was the body found?” she asked, and then flipped through the fie again; she was sure she had seen it somewhere.
“Near the docks,” he told her.
She rubbed her chin and stood up. She walked to the window and looked across at the massive towers in her line of sight. “And your office is not that far from it then, right?” she asked.
“It is about a ten-minute drive,” he told her. “Why?”
