The Chilling Alchemy Of a Sniper's Spell

This was the final face-off between the two killers, between father figure and pliant protégé, between teacher and student, con artist and mark, cross-examining defender and star state's witness. They went at each other as if they were alone again in the Chevy Caprice. The rest of us could only gawk.

John Muhammad and Lee Boyd Malvo may never again be together in the same room, and it seemed not to matter to Muhammad in the least that lawyers rattled on about the rules and reporters typed on laptops and relatives of the victims murmured angry retorts and the judge tried and failed to maintain control of the room.

What happened in Courtroom 1 in Rockville yesterday had little to do with achieving justice. It was all about control. A trial is supposed to be how society restores order. But this was Muhammad's stage. The rest of us were just taxpaying customers.

There were virtually no new facts presented, no insights into why they did it. But we got the show we'd paid for: We saw, for the first time, just how Muhammad drew Malvo under his control -- how he, to use Malvo's term, "indoctrinated" the teen and turned him into a fellow killing machine. If this hadn't been about the murders of innocent people, we might have mistaken Muhammad's cross-examination for the work of an especially effective schoolyard bully.

This was like watching one of those educational films about child abuse. Muhammad was the classic abusive father, switching from harsh, pedantic disciplinarian to calm, sweet, loving friend. Though it was sickening to watch, you could see Malvo involuntarily softening each time Muhammad changed gears.

From the moment Muhammad greeted Malvo with a pleasant "Good morning" and got no response, the two alternately snapped at each other and fell into years-old patterns of manipulation.

"Can you show where the vehicle allegedly was parked?" Muhammad asked at one point.

"Not allegedly," Malvo replied. "The vehicle was parked right there."

The younger man could be feisty, angry, bitter. When he fancied himself speaking truth to Muhammad's delusions of innocence, Malvo sat up straight, cocked his head, puckered his lips, narrowed his eyes. "You did the planning, Mr. Muhammad," he said.

But Muhammad didn't come this far without knowing how to knock this young man down and make him come to papa.

Muhammad stared benignly at Malvo, walking him through questions about how kindly the older man had treated his charge. Why, Muhammad had even entrusted the care of his own children to this young, lost soul. With each question, both men's voices grew softer. The anger seemed to lift from Malvo. He slouched, and his head slumped. The defiant lip disappeared, and Malvo began to answer in a child's voice:

How did Muhammad treat him? "Like I was part of the family."