Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

“I know how you feel, Diane, and I understand. But honey, we came a long way for me to have the experience of trying cases at the Tribunal. I’m finally doing it, even if it’s on the other side of the courtroom. I’m in my element. I can handle it.”

The next day, Kevin received three boxes jammed with papers. The first box contained a cover letter from Bradford Stone. “Enclosed are pages 1-5843 of the disclosure materials,” he wrote. “You are reminded of the protective measures adopted by the Court. You may only distribute copies to your client and persons working for you. You are also required to maintain a log of all copies that are distributed. At the end of the case, all copies and originals must be returned to the Office of the Prosecutor.”

Kevin lugged the boxes over to his desk. He pulled out a stack of papers from the front of the top box where the cover letter had been. There was no index, and the papers, although in numerical order, were a collection of diverse pages from different witnesses in no apparent order. The first page was the beginning of an interview with one witness, the second page was a page from the middle of another witness’ interview, and so on.

The old prosecution shuffle . Before numbering the disclosure, someone had shuffled all of the papers together like a deck of cards. The material was all mixed up. The prosecution had an obligation to provide disclosure, but was not required to organize it for the defense. Kevin had run across this sort of pettiness before. It would take him time to organize the materials, but time was one thing Kevin had.

He started separating the materials by the town or village where the events that were being talked about occurred. When he had gone through the first box, he had thirty-seven different piles. It had taken him almost four hours. After sorting the next two boxes, he would then have to go through each pile and try to gather the pages from each witness’ statement and put them together.

By the time Kevin began riding his bicycle over to the jail, it was about 4 p.m. Kevin was hungry, but he was anxious to meet with Draga now that Draga had chosen him as his counsel. Kevin hoped that Draga would at last begin speaking to him.

When Kevin passed a pizza place, he got an idea. He remembered reading a news account of an interview with Draga from a few years ago. Draga had remarked that the only thing he liked about America was its pizza. Kevin stopped at the pizza place and ordered five pizzas to go. Thirty minutes later, he strapped them to his bike carrier and resumed his trip to the jail.

When he arrived at the jail, Kevin gave the pizzas to the guard. “I brought some dinner for the crew, and one for me and my client, if you will allow it.”

“You bet. Thanks!”

Kevin was led into the interview room. A few minutes later, Draga was led into the room. The guard placed the box of pizza on the table. “I heard you like pizza,” Kevin said to Draga. “I thought we could have dinner together.”

Draga looked at Kevin and said nothing. He opened the pizza box and helped himself to a slice. Then he sat down.

Kevin did the same. “Look, I understand that you don’t want to participate in your defense. Why don’t we just talk about something else? Not as a Serb to an American, but as one human being to another.”

Draga said nothing.

Kevin started to launch into a monologue about the Tribunal’s procedures.

Draga interrupted him. “The pizza is good,” he said.

Kevin smiled. “I like it too. What kind of toppings do you like?”

“Pepperoni.”

“Me, too. Next time it will be pepperoni.”

Kevin was starved, and had already downed two pieces.

“Don’t eat so fast,” Draga told him, “It’s not good for you and it’s not polite.”

Draga looked like he was savoring every bite.

And so it began. Kevin and Draga talked about food, movies, and cars. Kevin said nothing about the case. After they had polished off the pizza, Draga said, “Thank you. This is the best meal I have had in months.”

“What do you do all day?”

“Play cards. Watch television. Work out on the exercise equipment. Write letters to my family.”

“Do you get along with the other prisoners?”

“Yeah. I knew some of them from before. They’re all afraid of me. I like it that way.” Draga smiled. Then he turned it around. “What do you do at night after work?”

“Help my daughter with her homework. Then we play or read together before her bedtime. By that time, I’m usually ready for bed myself. It’s not too exciting.”

“You are with your family. That’s the main thing.”

“Yeah. You must really miss your family.”

“I do. I was gone a lot, but when you’re locked up like this, you really wish you’d done things differently. I would give anything to help my children with their homework.”

Kevin remembered having almost the same conversation with Nihudian. Two people on opposite sides of a war, and both wanting the same thing.

“Help me with your case. Help me understand the facts. Maybe one day you can return to your family.”

Draga laughed derisively. “They’ll never let you win my case. Not in a million years. Just get me a speedy trial. I don’t want to sit here for a year.”

“Why did you choose me?” Kevin asked as the subject moved closer to the case.

“I liked the way you wouldn’t take any crap off that old judge. Krasnic made me sick the way he sucked up to him. And I knew Krasnic would just delay my case so he could bill more hours and make more money. I don’t want any delays.”

“What good is a speedy trial if you get a life sentence?”

Draga didn’t reply.

“Allow me to ask you something that many defense attorneys would never dream of asking their client.”

Draga raised his eyebrows in interest.

“Did you do what they have charged you with?”

Draga took a deep breath. “I am a soldier,” he said. “Not a butcher.”

“Well, that’s as good a place to start as any. I received three boxes of witness statements and reports from the prosecution today. When I get them organized, I’ll make a set for you and bring it here. There are over five thousand pages.”

“Don’t bother. There’s plenty of fiction to read here in the library.”

Kevin smiled. “Are you going to help me with your defense?”

“No.”

Kevin didn’t want to push it. “One more thing. I met your brother-in-law, Mr. Golic, last night. He’s offered to do some investigation for us. He’s also going to come and visit you.”

“He was here this morning. Thank you for arranging that.”

“He’s a big guy like you. How are you two related?”

Draga hesitated for a moment. “He’s the husband of one of my sisters,” he finally replied. Then he changed the subject. “What’s on the menu for next week?”

“Any requests?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Why don’t we do some nice American steaks and mashed potatoes? I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. I don’t know of any take-out steak houses in The Hague. But I’ll look into it.”

“Now, what’s new with the Oakland Raiders?” Draga asked.

Kevin laughed. It figured that Draga’s favorite team was the bad boys of American football. They talked sports for a while, then it was time to go.

“Don’t forget the A-1 sauce,” Draga said as Kevin departed.

Kevin spent the next week and a half organizing, and then reading, the prosecution’s disclosure. The reports were awful. According to over a hundred witnesses, members of the Black Dragons had murdered, tortured, beaten and raped Muslim men, women, and children in Bosnia. One witness reported seeing Draga personally murder a Muslim civilian. Draga had also made numerous public statements in which he threatened to kill Muslims who did not leave Bosnia. The prosecution’s case appeared overwhelming.