“For a while, I guess.”
Soon, Kevin and his new friend were led back toward the visitors’ booth in Courtroom 2. As they approached the last corridor, Kevin spied the obnoxious prosecutor, Mr. Stone, standing near another guard in the hall about ten feet away.
“That’s him,” Stone said to the guard when Kevin and Nihudian approached.
The guard stepped in front of Nihudian, and handed him a piece of paper. “You have been subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution,” the guard said to Nihudian. “You must come with me.”
Nihudian recoiled, and looked at the paper he was now holding. Before Kevin could say anything, the guard led him, alone, into the visitors’ booth. The guard banged the metal door shut, and locked Kevin inside.
What was that all about? Kevin wondered. There was no one to ask, though, as he was alone in the monkey cage. He thought about banging on the door, but decided to try to find out what happened at the recess. Kevin donned his headset and listened half-heartedly to Mr. Krasnic, the defense lawyer, take another witness through his testimony.
An hour later, the door to the visitors’ gallery swung open. The female guard who had escorted Kevin to the courtroom appeared. “Come with me, sir.”
Kevin looked at her, thinking there was some mistake. “Me?”
“Just follow me, sir.”
Kevin followed the guard as she marched silently down the corridor. She led Kevin into a windowless room. Kevin saw the room was bare except for a table and three chairs. Sitting in one of the chairs was Nihudian.
“What’s going on?” Kevin asked the guard.
“This man is a witness,” she said curtly. “He says he wants you to be his lawyer.”
Kevin looked at Nihudian. Nihudian was pale, a worried expression on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Kevin, “You’re the only lawyer I know.”
“Mr. Stone will be with you at the next recess,” the guard announced, shutting the door behind Kevin and locking it.
Kevin sat in a plastic chair across the table from Nihudian. “What’s this all about? Are you under arrest or something?”
“They want me to testify about some conversations I overheard. I was in the Muslim army in 1995 when the Serbs began attacking Srebrenica. I was part of a team that intercepted radio communications of the Bosnian Serb Army. Each member of the team worked in shifts, and wrote down the conversations in notebooks. Apparently, the prosecution has gotten access to the notebooks, and they want me to testify.”
“How did they find you?”
“The guard said that they sent a list of witnesses they needed to the Embassy, and the embassy told them they could find me in Courtroom 2.”
“Well, it seems straightforward enough. The prosecution just needs you to authenticate your handwriting in the notebooks so they could use them in court. Do you have any problem with testifying?”
“I have a wife and two little girls in Bosnia. I don’t want anything to happen to them. And if I am a witness, I might lose my job at the Bosnian embassy. They hired me as a neutral person to observe the cases and report what’s going on.”
Kevin nodded. “Those are legitimate concerns. Perhaps you can tell this to the prosecutor. Maybe they can find some way not to use you or keep your identity secret.”
“That is why I wanted a lawyer. Can you help me?”
Kevin thought for a minute. He certainly didn’t want to get on the opposite side of the prosecutor’s office. On the other hand, Nihudian was a witness for the prosecution. They would be on the same side. “I guess I can help you. It seems simple enough.”
Nihudian smiled and his face relaxed. “Thank you so much, Kevin.”
Soon, the door flew open. The prosecutor entered, his black robes flowing behind him. “I’m Bradford Stone,” he said, extending his hand to Nihudian. Then he looked at Kevin.
“I’m Kevin Anderson. Nihudian has asked me to represent him. I’m a federal prosecutor from the United States. I’ve actually been hired by your office to work as a prosecutor, but the funds are frozen so I haven’t started working yet.”
“I see.” Stone’s voice did not reflect any camaraderie. “This man is a simple fact witness. He doesn’t need counsel.”
“Well, he has some concerns about the safety of his family and his employment. I thought I might be able to help him resolve these things.”
“There’s no need,” Stone said emphatically in his clipped British accent. “We can take care of all that.” He turned to Nihudian. “If you’ll just come this way now.”
Nihudian looked at Kevin.
Kevin wasn’t sure what to do.
Nihudian stood up, and so did Kevin.
“You need to wait here,” Stone said to Kevin. “I’ll call a guard to escort you out.”
Kevin was surprised. “I’m the man’s lawyer.”
“No, you’re not.”
Kevin was silent. He didn’t want to offend the prosecutor, but he had promised to help Nihudian. He didn’t know what to say.
Stone turned around and continued toward the door.
Kevin walked on behind him. “What do you mean I’m not his lawyer?”
Stone turned back to face Kevin. “Are you on the list of assigned counsel?” he asked arrogantly.
“No.”
“Then you’re not authorized to be his lawyer, are you? The man is a witness. He doesn’t need a lawyer.”
Kevin looked at Nihudian. Should he just back off? He didn’t want to hurt Nihudian’s standing, nor his own. Nihudian looked scared.
“I want this man to help me,” Nihudian said in a weak voice.
“He’s not authorized to help you. He’s not on the list of assigned counsel.”
Stone reached the door and opened it for Nihudian.
“Nihudian,” Kevin asked, “Do you have a Euro?”
Nihudian and Stone stopped. Nihudian reached into his pocket and produced a Euro coin. Kevin took it from him, and said to Stone, “The man has just retained private counsel. He won’t be needing assigned counsel from the list.”
Stone’s face was crimson; he was clearly agitated. “Both of you – wait right here.” He slammed the door behind him.
Kevin looked at Nihudian.
“The prosecutors here are a bunch of bullies,” Kevin said, shaking his head.
“You are so powerful, Kevin. Just like Johnnie Cochran.”
Kevin groaned. Apparently the O.J. Simpson trial had made its way to Bosnia.
“I am so grateful to have you on my side,” Nihudian said.
“Well, you just got my services for one Euro. Let’s hope you didn’t overpay.”
A few minutes later, Bradford Stone returned.
“Right this way,” he said brusquely, opening the door for Nihudian and Kevin.
They followed him upstairs to an interview room.
“This is Allen Jacobson. He’s one of our investigators.” Stone spoke to Nihudian, ignoring Kevin.
Nihudian and Kevin shook Jacobson’s hand and sat down.
Jacobson produced a notebook and passed it across the table. “Do you recognize your handwriting in this?” he asked Nihudian in accented English.
“Before we get to that,” Kevin interjected, “my client has some concerns about his safety and employment that we would like to clear up.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Mr. Stone,”
Kevin turned and saw that Bradford Stone had left the room.
The investigator opened a page of the notebook.
“Is that your writing?” Jacobson asked Nihudian.
Kevin couldn’t believe these people. “I’m sorry,” he interrupted, “but I’ll need to speak with Mr. Stone before my client answers any questions.” Borrowing a famous line from Brendan Sullivan, the lawyer for Colonel Oliver North in the Iran-Contra hearings, Kevin added, “I am not a potted plant.”
Jacobson shook his head slowly.
Kevin was perplexed. Either he was doing something wrong or these prosecutors had no respect for people’s rights.
Jacobson frowned, got up from his chair, and left the room without saying a word.