John Allen Muhammad strides into the Montgomery County courtroom looking every bit the lawyer. Gone is the orange jumpsuit he wore in Virginia when he was sentenced to death. Gone, too, is the hair that towered over him as he prepared for trial in Maryland.
He now wears suits and ties. He carries with him a stack of legal papers, shuffling them purposefully at the defense table. He speaks the language of law, begging the "court's indulgence" and asking that a "continuous objection" be noted for the record.
Although lawyers and other observers say a conviction is a near certainty, Muhammad's trial is providing fresh and sometimes surprising glimpses into the man accused in the 2002 sniper rampage that instilled fear across the region. Because he is acting as his own attorney, the trial, now in its third week in Rockville, has showcased Muhammad's personality and demeanor to a degree that his Virginia trial did not.
"You'd think he'd be rambling and off the wall," said Matthew E. Bennett, a Rockville lawyer who, after observing Muhammad in the courtroom, rated his performance "above average for a layperson."
The outlines of a strategy for sowing reasonable doubt have begun to emerge: Emphasize that witnesses did not see him shoot anyone, suggest that victims' injuries could have been caused by a gun other than his, and raise the possibility that repeated sightings of white box trucks could point to culprits still at large.
Muhammad's approach to fighting murder charges in the six slayings in Montgomery resembles the approach his attorneys took in Virginia, where he lost. And it might not overcome the strong ballistics and other scientific evidence that prosecutors promised in their opening statement.
Polite, articulate
In the jury's presence, Muhammad has said nothing of the elaborate conspiracy theory attributed to him by a psychiatrist: that he was framed because he knew of then-Attorney General John D. Ashcroft's secret role in the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. He is not recognizable as the man that the psychiatrist, hired by his former attorney, diagnosed as "clearly psychotic, delusional, paranoid and incompetent to assist his attorneys, much less represent himself."
Instead, standing behind the defense table, Muhammad the trial advocate addresses witnesses as "sir" or "ma'am." At times, he laughs appropriately. Other times, he relishes catching witnesses in minor contradictions. He speaks softly, mumbles and sometimes stumbles over his words.
"Ma'am," he said last week to a prosecution witness, "are you, uh, trained in terminal ballistics?"
"I've received some training in ballistics . . ."
"Ma'am, yes or no," he interrupted, in true lawyerly fashion. "Are you trained in terminal ballistics?"
Although he has a high school education and no formal legal training, Muhammad was ready with a response on another occasion last week when prosecutors said he was trying to introduce a report improperly. "Your honor, I'll establish a foundation," he volunteered.
After dropping in one day last week, Philip Collins, a lawyer in Bethesda, said: "He's probably got more trial experience than a lot of second- and third-year attorneys."
Another spectator, claims adjuster Eric Ferebee, said that he has been cross-examined by less competent lawyers. "I think he got a great tutorial in the Virginia trial," Ferebee said. "He's ready. He's prepared. I hate to give the guy accolades, but you know. . ."
'Like a regular lawyer'
Even Roger Polk, a prosecution witness who testified that he saw Muhammad's car near a Bowie middle school where the youngest sniper victim was shot Oct. 7, said he had to concede that Muhammad "looked like a regular lawyer to me."
Muhammad, 45, has -- wisely, many lawyers say -- generally declined to cross-examine witnesses who were wounded or whose family members were killed.
He has not visibly reacted to gruesome pictures of sniper victims or to recordings of emotional 911 calls. He has made frequent unsettling references to a "lead snowstorm," a term of art that describes the pattern of damage caused when a high-velocity round fragments inside the body.
Montgomery Circuit Court Judge James L. Ryan allowed Muhammad -- who represented himself for two days in the Virginia trial -- to fire his public defenders more than a month ago. Three private attorneys are acting as standby counsel, permitted to advise Muhammad and help him prepare but not speak for him in court or to the media.
In one typical exchange highlighting his defense, Muhammad last week questioned Mary Ripple, the Maryland deputy chief medical examiner, about drawing inferences from photographs of the victims' injuries.
"Is there anything you can point to that can tell us who specifically shot these people?"
"No."
"Is there anything that you can point to in those pictures that can tell us who has something to do with shooting these people?"
"No."
And he pressed her to admit that the victims' injuries could have been caused by any number of weapons, not just the .223-caliber Bushmaster rifle found in his aging Chevrolet Caprice when he and alleged accomplice Lee Boyd Malvo were arrested at a rest stop in Frederick on Oct. 24, 2002.
The Malvo question
Lawyers not in the case said Muhammad's apparent defense strategy could unravel if Malvo, who is sentenced to life in Virginia, pleads guilty in Maryland and agrees to cooperate with prosecutors. Malvo, they noted, is the only person in a position to know as much as Muhammad does about the pair's activities during those 22 days in October. If Muhammad questions him carelessly, Malvo could say things that the jury might never otherwise hear. "He's going to be potentially opening some very wide doors," lawyer Robert C. Bonsib said.
Yet Muhammad at times has shown himself to be an able interrogator, at least once confronting a witness with a previous statement and forcing him to admit error. That witness was Steven Bailey, a Prince William County police officer who testified that he had seen Muhammad in his vehicle at the scene of a shooting at a Manassas gas station.
Bailey said he believed the driver of the Caprice was between 40 and 45 years old.
"Forty to 45, is that what you're saying?" Muhammad asked, before presenting Bailey with the report.
"Can you tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury what was the age of the person you said you had saw?"
"Forty-five to 50," Bailey said.
"I'm sorry, I didn't . . . "
"What I wrote down was 45 to 50," Bailey repeated.
"So you didn't write down 40 to 45."
At a trial that has included many reminders of the deadly sniper toll, Muhammad has occasionally used wit -- as many lawyers do -- to drive home a point. One such instance occurred at a hearing in March, when his public defenders argued that he had a "brain dysfunction" and was incompetent to act as his own attorney.
"Your honor, can I sit over there with them?" he blurted out, looking at the prosecution table.
Last week, Muhammad drew scattered laughter while cross-examining a D.C. police officer, Henry Gallagher, who described one of the numerous encounters in which Muhammad is alleged to have barely eluded capture. Gallagher said he pulled Muhammad over on Oct. 3, not far from where Pascal Charlot was shot later that evening, but issued him only a verbal warning for speeding and going through two stop signs.
"Sir, let me ask you something," Muhammad said. "What does it take to get a traffic citation in the nation's capital?"
Staff writer Ernesto Londoño also contributed to this report.