Page 40 of Grave Danger

“You also testified that Mr. Bazzi’s divorce from Ava was final on the first of December. So how long would he have to wait before marrying Ava’s sister, Zahra?”

“Three months. The first of March.”

“But you performed the wedding for Zahra and Farid on the fifteenth of January, did you not?”

The imam froze, the wheels clearly spinning in his head. But Jack had put him in a tight spot: he couldn’t deny the marriage date with both Zahra and Farid in the courtroom. “Yes. It was the fifteenth of January.”

Jack paused, then made his point. “It appears that one of two things is true, Imam Reza. One possibility is that you performed a wedding ceremony in violation of Islamic law. That’s not something you would do lightly, is it?”

“No, of course not.”

“The other possibility is that your actions were completely appropriate under Islamic law.”

“My goal is that all my actions are appropriate under Islamic law.”

“Naturally,” said Jack. “Even thoughiddah—the waiting period—ran until the first day of March, you acted in accordance with Islamic law in performing the wedding ceremony on the fifteenth of January, correct?”

“I hope so. If not, I would ask for forgiveness.”

“No forgiveness is needed,” said Jack. “Your actions were in accordance with Islamic law, because you knew Farid was not subject to theiddahwaiting period. Is that correct?”

“I don’t understand your question.”

“When you performed the wedding ceremony in January, you knew Farid was not a divorced man.”

“I was the witness at his divorce.”

“You performed his wedding ceremony in January because you knew Farid was awidower. A widower is not subject to the waiting period ofiddah, correct? Imam Reza, when you performed that wedding ceremony in January, youknewAva Bazzi was dead,didn’t you?”

“Objection!” Beech shouted.

“Grounds?” asked the judge.

Beech struggled for an answer, and she seemed to be reaching into the same bag of tricks that Jack had explored minutes earlier, only to come up with the same last-ditch defense. “It’s... prejudicial, Your Honor.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said the judge. “I can’t imagine that Mr. Swyteck is trying tohelpyour case. Overruled.”

Jack checked his notes, but there was no more work to do. The Iranian government could spin the political story however it liked. Farid Bazzi and his lawyer could spin the evidence however they liked. But Jack’s questioning had put the mullah in a box. And in that figurative box lay the truth, as Jack saw it: Ava Bazzi was dead.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” said Jack, and he returned to his seat.

Chapter 15

Wednesday night was bingo night at the Palace skilled nursing facility. Jack’sabuelasaid he brought her good luck, so he tried to go as often as he could. This time he brought Righley with him. Laying eyes on her great-granddaughter always put a smile on Abuela’sface.

“Ay, mi vida,” said Abuela as Jack and Righley entered her room.My life. It was her way of expressing how important family was to her.

Abuelahad been born in Bejucal, a small town near Havana, a city best known to Americans as the birthplace of Hollywood star Andy Garcia. Her only daughter—Jack’s mother—fled Castro’s Cuba with only her mother’s blessing and the shared hope that her mother would be among the next wave of asylum seekers to land in Miami. It took decades. Jack’s mother was long dead, having fallen to eclampsia after giving birth to Jack, and Jack was a grown man when Abuelafinally made it. By then, the damage was done. Jack could barely speak a word of Spanish, had never eaten an empanada in his life, and wouldn’t have known the smell of a good cigar from a smoldering rope. Upon her first visit to her daughter’s grave, Abuelacommitted herself to giving her gringo grandson a crash course in all things Cuban. He topped out at about a C-minus.

“She talks funny,” Righley whispered into Jack’s ear. She was no stranger to her great-grandmother’s Spanish, but lately she’d become somewhat of a linguistic critic. Her third-grade Spanish teacher was Castilian. Cuban Spanish was to Castilians as a Brooklyn accent was to British royalty.

“Be sweet,” said Jack.

Abuelacalled for the nurse and insisted on a change of clothes before bingo. She looked just fine, and she would miss the start of bingo, but there was no changing her mind. With each passing month Jack found her alittle more stubborn and difficult to reason with. Her memory was fading too. She was having trouble with the timeline of her important life events. When she got married. When her daughter was born. When her husband died. Like many Cuban immigrants in their eighties and nineties, she recalled things, if at all, as either “before Castro” or “after Castro.”

“We’ll wait in the lobby,” Jack told the nurse.

Jack and Righley walked hand-in-hand down the hallway. He was impressed that she’d remembered that it wasn’t polite to look inside the rooms, even if the door was wide open.