Indicted

by Tom Saric

  But behind the grand facades, in the recesses of the buildings, in the dark corners of the park, terrible secrets were locked away. The city ticked with people filing up and down the streets, through outdoor markets, to offices, to small cafés. Who was it, Braun asked himself, who wound the watch?

  And Braun, as he drove deeper into the city, thought only about his own naïveté.

  How could he believe in the process any longer when his own investigation was blind to Pavić’s innocence?

  His mobile phone vibrated. Nicole.

  “I was prepared to leave another message,” she said, irritated.

  “I’d lost my charger.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Zagreb,” Braun said.

  “And?”

  “I have to do a bit more digging, but I think I have a lead.”

  “You can forget that for now. I need you back here immediately.”

  “Why? I’m still looking for Pavić.”

  “Because Luka Pavić turned himself in to the consulate in Sarajevo today. We’re transferring him here this afternoon.”

  Part 3

  Guilt and Innocence

  37

  The Hague

  “He’s innocent,” Braun said, sitting down in the U-shaped blue chair in Nicole Allegri’s seventh-floor office.

  She sat upright in the black leather-backed chair, fingers interlocked and resting on her walnut desk. Sunlight came through the large window behind her, casting a shadow over half of her face. But he could still see her features were tight.

  “He has confessed.”

  “I have reason to believe that his confession was coerced.”

  Nicole raised an eyebrow. “We have the entire confession taped. I don’t think—”

  “Not by our people. I believe that Luka Pavić was coerced by a criminal syndicate in Bosnia to confess to his charges.”

  Nicole leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “You have evidence of this?”

  Braun took a breath. He looked over her right shoulder towards the wall, past the diplomas and certificates that hung in dark, carved-wood frames to a white six-by-eight poster board that stood on an easel. Headshots of two dozen men and three women were taped in rows across the board. At the top were the pictures of indicted generals: two Croatians, three Serbs, and a Bosnian. Each subsequent row represented one rank lower. Next to most of them were red check marks, indicating those who had been successfully captured and convicted. The pictures in the top three rows all had check marks, save for one: Luka Pavić. He was the highest-ranking Croatian official who was not yet convicted. The gaping hole in Nicole’s crusade.

  “I need a little bit of time,” Braun said. “I can put this together.”

  “Robert,” Nicole said, checking her watch, “I have a meeting starting any minute to work out how we can move the Pavić case through quickly.”

  “How quickly?”

  “Given the evidence and the confession, we can probably do this without a trial, so as soon as we have a judge available. Within the next five, ten days.”

  “What?” Braun heard his voice rise. “No, he is innocent. I know he is.”

  “How do you know?”

  Braun stared at Nicole for a long moment. To tell her how he came to know about Pavić’s innocence, or the connection to Tuzla, was to end his career. He racked his brain, looking for a way to give her the rationale behind his conclusions without implicating himself. If she learned that he had helped Luka get into Bosnia, that he could have arrested him far earlier, she could charge him with aiding Luka.

  “You know that my methods are unconventional,” he said. She nodded slowly, cautiously. He took a deep breath. “I spoke with him.”

  “Excuse me?” Nicole’s eyes narrowed.

  “I found Pavić several days before he turned himself in and spoke with him. There was clear evidence that he was being set up by a criminal syndicate. We pursued this lead by going to Tuzla—”

  “We?” Nicole said sharply. “We? As in you and the wanted war criminal? You went to Tuzla with him? You could have arrested him?”

  “Nicole, let me explain.”

  “No, let me explain. This is—” She stopped when she heard a loud knock at the door. She held her finger out, telling Braun they weren’t finished yet. “Come in,” she said.

  The door swung open. Walter Flaherty walked in wearing a chocolate brown suit, briefcase swinging in his hand. He stopped at the sight of Braun, recognizing that he had interrupted a meeting.

  “Robert, nice to see you,” Flaherty said, as cheerful as ever.

  Braun nodded. Nicole said, “Walter, we’ll just be another minute or two. Can I get you to wait just outside?”

  “Not a problem at all.” He nodded at Braun and then sauntered out.

  Braun stared after Flaherty as he shut the door. Something here wasn’t sitting well with Braun. Something about the familiar way Flaherty had said his name.

  “This, Robert, is a major problem,” Nicole continued. “I should have you arrested for aiding and abetting.” She let the threat hang in the air for a moment. “But I’m not going to, on a condition. On several conditions. First, you let this go. Luka Pavić will be convicted, and you will leave this alone. He has obviously duped you. This wouldn’t be the first time, would it? Second, I appreciate your discretion regarding our relationship. At this point, I’ve come to the conclusion that we must end it. Last, you must resign. I cannot have you working for this office any longer. You are a liability.”

  Only part of Braun was listening to Nicole. His mind was preoccupied with Walter Flaherty, who had appeared shortly before Pavić was found. Now, he was meeting with Nicole. Alone. How was he trying to influence the court?

  “I can agree to two of your conditions, Nicole. Our relationship is over. My lips are sealed. And I will resign. But I will prove that Luka Pavić is innocent, because that is justice. What you are doing here is not. Tick marks on a poster board are not justice. It’s just a game to you, and I’m done playing.”

  Nicole raised her hands. “Robert, I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want. But it will never be as part of this office again.”

  Braun stood up and buttoned his jacket. “But please, explain one thing to me, Nicole. How does an American special envoy pull strings in the Netherlands?”

  “You mean Walter Flaherty?”

  “Yes.”

  “The US has stayed away from matters of the International Criminal Court.”

  “To protect themselves.”

  “But Senator Vance has reached out, wanting to use US influence to help our proceedings.”

  Braun nodded. “Have you ever wondered why?”

  Nicole looked at him blankly.

  “I didn’t think so,” Braun said, and walked out.

  38

  Braun sped through Belgisch Park in his BMW, weaving between cars, braking and accelerating, passing, and ignoring the honks around him. He caught an open straightaway and pressed the accelerator. The elegant turn of the century-old brick homes that lined the street were nothing more than blurs of burgundy, white, and green. The radio off, windows closed, he only heard the whirr of the engine. He looked at the clock: twelve minutes since he had left Nicole’s office.

  His mind spun, searching for explanations. Why, Luka, why? Why confess to crimes you didn’t commit?

  He needed to speak with Luka. The Penitentiary Institute Haaglanden was only three kilometers from Nicole’s office. Since Nicole was requesting his resignation, she would revoke his security clearance. Fortunately, she had a meeting with Flaherty, so he had at least half an hour before she would be able to make the calls. Hopefully.

  The prison gate appeared ahead. Braun slowed and stared at the arched wooden doors that stood between two medieval brick towers. Through there, Braun thought, are the bad guys. Charles Taylor, convicted of systematic killing, rape, and sexual slavery related to the war in Sierra Leone was inside; Rado
van Karadžić, “the Butcher of Bosnia,” was living out his days in one of the twelve-by-eight cells. Now, living among them, was Luka Pavić.

  He parked in the lot beside the jail and strode towards the entrance, pulling his identification out of his pocket. The guards likely wouldn’t even look at it; they were used to him coming and going, but he needed things to go smoothly.

  He opened the door and walked into the atrium, which looked like the waiting room of a doctor’s office, with the addition of bulletproof glass separating the check-in attendant from the visitors. Grimy, salmon-colored chairs lined two walls. Small lockers ran along another, where visitors could keep personal belongings. Directly ahead sat a guard behind a glass window. His tag said BOOGARD. Braun recognized him.

  “Arjen, hello,” Braun said, pushing his identification tag through the swinging slot under the window. He looked at the clock. Twenty minutes since he’d left Nicole’s office. Her meeting with Flaherty had to still be going on.

  “Haven’t seen you here for a few weeks.”

  “I was out on a case.” Braun smiled and tapped his fingers on the table. “Looks like it’s all done, though.”

  Arjen was recording Braun’s identification on a clipboard when the desk phone rang. He put his pen down and looked at the caller ID. Could it be Nicole already? Arjen’s hand hovered over the phone as it rang again. Braun held his breath, and his eyes locked onto Arjen’s.

  “I’m here to see Pavić,” Braun said, ignoring the phone.

  Arjen glanced back at the phone before waving his hand over it. “I’ll let it go to voicemail,” he said, pushing the clipboard through for Braun to sign. “Interview three.”

  Arjen picked up the radio and notified the guards to bring Luka out of his cell. He pressed a button under the desk, and the steel door to the right buzzed and clanged. Braun walked through it to the security room.

  He put his shoes, jacket, belt, and mobile on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector without a beep.

  Once he retrieved his belongings, he pushed through another steel door into a long concrete corridor. At the end, he turned right down another hallway and walked along the rooms before entering number three.

  He sat down at the seat attached to a steel table, which were both bolted to the concrete floor. Two cameras hung from the ceiling at opposite corners, minimizing blind spots. No one-way mirrors, only the large window to the hallway that allowed for third-party observation.

  The door buzzed and clanged open. Two guards led Luka into the room. Wearing a beige jumpsuit, he shuffled like a penguin, hunched over, hands shackled to his waist and legs cuffed together. Chains jangled against the floor.

  Braun sank in his chair. He’d let Luka go into that house alone; he’d brazenly believed that his own credentials with The Hague would provide security; he’d searched for Luka for over an hour while he was being hauled away.

  He’d caused this.

  Luka kept his gaze downcast, focusing somewhere near his hands. He lowered himself into the chair across from Braun.

  “Leave us,” Braun said to the guards.

  “Excuse me?” one of them said.

  “I need to speak with the suspect alone.”

  “But, sir—”

  “Gentlemen.” His voice rose to a shout. “You have him shackled together in knots. You can watch us through the window, but I don’t need you eavesdropping on our conversation. As you can imagine, this is sensitive material.”

  One of the guards opened his mouth, as if to argue further, but then thought better of it and walked out of the room. In the hallway, the two guards talked to each other, half turned away from the window.

  The room fell quiet. Braun could hear the fluorescent light buzzing overhead and the murmur of the guards outside.

  He stared at the top of Luka’s bowed head. For so long, the goal had been to get Luka Pavić into handcuffs. Now, the sight gave Braun a sick feeling in his stomach.

  “What did they do to you?”

  Luka shook his head and mumbled, “Nothing.”

  “You didn’t kill those men.”

  “I did.”

  Braun pressed his palms into the sharp edges of the table. Luka’s denial built strength in his body.

  “Those young women. Eleven of them.”

  “I did.”

  Braun closed his eyes. “That little girl, Natalia.”

  Luka let out a whimper at the sound of her name. He sniffled, and his head rose. He made eye contact with Braun.

  “I did.”

  The detached look in Luka’s eyes crumbled, and tears slipped down his cheeks. He tried to wipe his eyes, but the shackles ensured that they were just out of reach.

  “No one is listening to us, Luka. These are only security cameras, not audio.” Braun leaned across the table. “What did they threaten you with?”

  “Robert, trust me, it is better this way.”

  “I can help you.”

  Luka smiled knowingly, as though he had made peace with his fate. “You can’t.”

  “If you tell me what they did, I can talk to the prosecutor, get them to back down.” Braun could hear himself lying now. He’d burned his bridges with Nicole, but part of him still believed he could help. “I can get your family back.”

  Luka now looked directly at him.

  “No. You can’t.”

  Braun suddenly understood. “They threatened your family,” he whispered, and then, louder, “They threatened your family.”

  Luka said nothing.

  A sense of clarity overcame him. If Debeli killed Luka, questions could always be raised, for years to come. If they forced Luka to confess, the case would go away. So they made him choose: his family or his freedom.

  “I will find a way,” Braun blurted out.

  “There is no way. It’s over.”

  “I will find a way, Luka. This isn’t justice.”

  Luka managed a smirk, as though the concept was amusing.

  Braun’s fingers curled into fists.

  “I will find a way to help you. I will get you back with your family.”

  Luka ignored that and started to rise. The chains jingled as he turned and shuffled towards the door without glancing at Braun. At the door, he hesitated and turned his head.

  “You’re good at finding people.”

  Braun shrugged, unsure of what Luka was saying.

  “Natalia Nemet. Azra told me she’s alive, that she ran away when she was still a child.”

  In his eyes, Braun saw beyond the sadness, beyond the resignation. He saw hope.

  “Azra said she called herself Pipa.”

  “Pipa?”

  “If you can find her, I just want you to tell her that I’m sorry.”

  Luka knocked on the window with his elbow, signaling for the guards. They each took Luka by an arm and escorted him away.

  39

  Braun devoted two weeks to tracking down Natalia Nemet.

  He systematically followed the same method he had developed over the ten years he’d spent searching for fugitives; however, all of the people Braun had traced in the past were adults. One of his guiding principles said it was impossible for a person to erase all traces of their existence. People needed money, doctors, a place to live. They needed credit cards, identification, and references. Even fake identities were purchased somewhere. Someone always knew the truth.

  But children, he came to realize, were different. Aside from birth certificates, children had no identification. They could cross borders with adults, and identification was often overlooked.

  He spent those two weeks in his eighth-floor apartment, mostly at his desk overlooking Het Plein Square, with all of its outdoor restaurants and cafés. He felt cocooned at his desk within the ring of paper stacks, his two computers, and a telephone. He kept himself awake and focused through a regimen of strong teas and twice-daily plyometric routines in his home gym. He left the apartment each morning to buy fresh bread and a few slices of Eda
m cheese for breakfast.

  First, he printed off all missing children reports in Croatia and Bosnia from 1992 to 1996. He kept the photos of the 194 little girls in a manila folder, but none were Natalia.

  His computer had been running more slowly than usual, so he tried two antivirus programs to check if he had managed to download a virus, or, worse, to see if his computer had been tampered with. The check revealed nothing of note. His apartment had a security system, and the building had a twenty-four-hour doorman. It was unlikely someone could have entered without being detected.

  He continued his search by calling the hospitals in Croatia, Slovenia, and Serbia for records of a Natalia or Filipa Nemet. Unsurprisingly, nothing came up, which meant precious little, given the poorly kept hospital records in the Balkan countries, particularly around the wartime. He’d then widened the search and contacted most hospitals in Austria, more than half of which refused to disclose any information to him one way or another due to privacy concerns. He eventually turned his attention to juvenile detention centers and orphanages, but the name Natalia Nemet never came up.

  A nagging thought had been rising in his mind ever since Luka had asked him to find Natalia Nemet: what if she had never made it out?

  That was the strongest possibility. Azra had told Luka that she ran away, but she could have lied. And even if she had told the truth, how could a child escape a war zone unscathed?

  Braun sat back in his chair and took a cold sip of oolong tea from his glass mug. He squished the tea bag against the side of the mug with a teaspoon and watched the dark brown cloud expand, thinking of Natalia Nemet and how much Luka’s heart ached for her. Luka must have thought of her day and night, fantasizing some of the time about how maybe, just maybe, she had grown to a lady and was safe and healthy, while at other times torturing himself about the horrors of how she could have died and been buried in an unmarked grave. Or, worse, how she had fallen victim to the sex trade—drugged up and lifeless, but alive.