Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

Bradford Stone looked surprised. “Well, Your Honor,” he sputtered, “I don’t recall a case on this point. But we have always proceeded this way. I don’t know that it has been challenged before.”

“All the more reason to proceed cautiously, Your Honor,” Kevin chimed in.

The judge glared at Kevin. “Court will be in recess. I will see counsel in my chambers.” The judge rose from his chair, throwing his glasses on the bench.

“Your Honor,” Kevin called out.

The judge stopped. He glowered at Kevin.

“I regret to say that I cannot go into chambers with the Court. My client does not trust me as it is. I request that all proceedings in this case take place in his presence in open court.”

Judge Davidson turned and stormed off the bench.

Kevin sat down as the guards led Draga from the room.

Vladimir Krasnic chuckled. “You’re going to need your own lawyer if you keep this up,” he said as he walked away.

Kevin looked out in the gallery. People were filing out, some shaking their heads.

Judge Davidson returned to the bench thirty minutes later. “Mr. Anderson, you will be given ten days to file a memorandum in support of your position. The prosecution shall respond ten days thereafter. The Court will then rule on the matter. This arraignment is continued until 4 September at 1400 hours.”

Stone was on his feet. “Your Honor, surely the Court is not seriously considering counsel’s position.”

“I am bending over backwards to give counsel more time to research and consider his position. He is new and unfamiliar with our procedures. I don’t want him to do something he will later regret.”

The judge looked at Kevin sternly.

Kevin was on his feet. “I appreciate the Court’s consideration, Your Honor, but I request that an identity hearing be held forthwith.”

“Request denied.”

“Then I request that my client be released from custody, Your Honor. He is entitled to such a hearing without delay. September is over a month away.”

“Sit down, Mr. Anderson, or you’ll be joining him in custody,” the judge barked. “Court is adjourned.”

Everyone stood up as Judge Davidson strode from the bench.

When Kevin turned around, Krasnic was already at Draga’s side, whispering to him. When the guards led Draga away, Krasnic turned to Kevin.

“Don’t waste your time on the research, counselor. I’ll be preparing a written request for counsel that Mr. Zaric will sign tonight.”

Kevin was tired. “That’s fine. I think I’m finished for today.”

“With that performance you have finished your work here – forever.”

After court, Kevin hid out in the defense counsel room, hoping to avoid the news media that had gathered. As he waited, he wondered how things had gone so badly. At home, Diane was beside herself and Ellen was on edge about staying for school. Here at the Tribunal, he had managed to offend the judge, alienate the prosecutors, and annoy a fellow defense counsel. Plus, his client hated him. All this from doing what he thought he was supposed to do: serve as a responsible advocate for his client until being replaced.

As a prosecutor, he had felt invincible; almost as if he could do no wrong.

As a defense lawyer, he had so far done nothing right.

Just after 5 p.m., he ventured down to the lobby. He had almost made it to the front door when a tall man with dark hair and a hawk-like face approached him.

“I am Toma Lanko of the Bosnia News Service,” he said in an Eastern European accent. “Mr. Anderson, we have all seen pictures of Draga in his Black Dragon uniform and at his wedding. The man in court is clearly the same man. What is the point of your actions in court today?”

It was a fair question.

“Like any defendant, my client has the right to make the prosecution prove every point. Every issue must be challenged right from the beginning without any presumption of guilt. The only way that international courts will ever be accepted as a means for doing justice is for the accused to be given a vigorous defense and a fair trial.”

Kevin firmly believed what he had said, and he would have defended those principals even as a prosecutor. They were Criminal Law 101 at law school.

“But Draga seems to want no defense at all,” said the newsman.

“Well, as his lawyer, I’m obligated to give him the best representation that I know how. If he doesn’t like it, he is certainly free to replace me with someone else.”

Kevin had not wanted to be trapped; they had kept moving, and were now outside the courthouse. It was cold and gray outside, and Kevin pulled up the collar on his coat.

“Why would you want to defend a cold-blooded killer like Draga?”

“The prosecution has to prove that. The law says he’s presumed innocent.”

Kevin began to wonder about the reporter’s objectivity.

“My role in the system is to defend the individual against the power of the state,” Kevin went on. “When the police bring a murder suspect who they have just wounded into the emergency room at the hospital, the surgeon doesn’t pass judgment on the man. He just rolls up his sleeves and works as hard as he can to save the man’s life. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Kevin excused himself.

At least the Tribunal would be closed for the next month, he thought as he mounted his bicycle. After two days as Draga’s lawyer, Kevin felt like he needed a vacation already.

When he reached home, he found Ellen in the kitchen having a snack.

“Hi, Daddy. Do you still have a job?”

Kevin smiled. “For the time being, although I’m not sure that’s good or bad.”

“Are we staying?” Ellen asked, “My school starts in two weeks.”

He sighed. “For now.”

Diane came down from upstairs. She tried to offer a smile. Kevin couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t ask him how his day in court went, as she almost always did.

“Ellen and I were talking about maybe going into Amsterdam this weekend for some sightseeing,” Diane said.

“Sounds good,” he said. Maybe that would cheer him up.

“Can we go to Anne Frank’s house?” Ellen asked excitedly. Her fifth-grade class back home had studied the Holocaust, and Ellen had done a book report on The Diary of Anne Frank . Kevin had told her at the time that they would be able to visit Anne Frank’s house in Holland. The kid didn’t forget a thing.

“That would be very good for all of us to see,” Diane said pointedly.

Yeah , Kevin thought, that ought to cheer me right up .

The next day, the Andersons took the train to Amsterdam. When they got off at their destination, they found themselves among a mob of people heading to and from the trains at the huge Central Station. The Andersons struggled to reach the street, where they found throngs of people walking, bicycling, and getting on and off trams.

“This place is too crowded,” Ellen complained. “I thought Holland would be a peaceful place with people walking around tulip gardens in wooden shoes.”

Kevin led his family down the first side street that he saw. He, too, wanted to escape the mass of humanity. He spotted a sign in English that said “Coffee Shop.”

“Let’s go in here and sit down for a minute,” he suggested.

When they entered, Kevin saw that the coffee shop looked more like a tavern. There was an old wooden bar in the center and a few tables near the front. He led Diane and Ellen to one of the tables.

“It’s nice to get away from all those people,” Kevin said. “It’s more crowded than New York City.” He pulled out a map to locate the direction of Anne Frank’s house.

Diane and Ellen were scanning their surroundings. Diane picked up a menu from the table. Ellen wrinkled her nose. “What’s that weird smell?”