Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

Diane started sobbing again. Kevin put his arm around her shoulder. The information had focused him and given him a sense of purpose. He waited for more.

“We have officers all over the area looking for that van. We’re doing everything we can to find your daughter.”

Kevin immediately thought of the CIA and his last conversation with Pete Barnes. Barnes had warned him that something would happen next. Would the CIA really kidnap a little girl? Kevin’s hopes rose a little. They might kidnap her as a message to him, but surely they wouldn’t kill her. They could have their reports and tapes right now in a heartbeat. He didn’t care.

“I’d like to put a tracing and recording device on your phone,” Detective Weber continued. “If this is a kidnapping for ransom, the kidnappers will be calling here. Is that all right with you?”

Kevin nodded. “Please do everything you can,” he pleaded. “We’ll do anything to get our daughter back.”

The detective walked over to the phone and attached a suction cup device to the handset. One cord was connected to a tape recorder, another to a headset. “If the phone rings, we’ll be here to operate the equipment. Just listen carefully and watch our signals.”

The talk of contact from the kidnappers made Kevin feel somewhat hopeful. He needed to tell the police everything he knew. “I might have some information that could help,” he said.

In the time they had been talking, other uniformed police officers had arrived and entered the house. One of them, carrying a cellular telephone, came over and handed it to Detective Weber.

“Yes, I’m interviewing them,” she said into the phone. “No, not yet.”

She handed the phone back to the other officer.

“They found the van in Leiden. It was empty. They apparently had a switch car nearby.”

“What does that mean?” Diane asked.

“It means we’re probably dealing with professionals, not some child molester,” the detective said. “Someone planned to kidnap your daughter and make sure they got away.”

It made Kevin feel strangely better to think his daughter was in the hands of professional kidnappers. It also confirmed his suspicions about the CIA.

“I think the American CIA might be involved,” he said.

Detective Weber gave Kevin a surprised look. Kevin realized he would sound like some conspiracy nut, but plowed ahead anyway. “I’m a lawyer for a man on trial at the War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague. I got my hands on some CIA reports that are very sensitive. Someone from the CIA has been trying to get them back. The last thing he said to me was something like he would not be responsible for what happened next.”

Detective Weber pulled out her notebook and sat down opposite Kevin. “Now, tell me this again, slowly please.”

Kevin started at the beginning, and this time telling the detective about the pictures of Ellen that Pete Barnes had shown him.

When Kevin was done, he felt relieved to have finally disclosed the secrets he’d been carrying around. At this point, with Ellen’s life at stake, he wasn’t going to play any games with anybody.

If Detective Weber was skeptical that the CIA would kidnap an eleven-year-old girl on the streets of Wassenaar, she didn’t show it. The woman seemed very professional.

“Were you aware of this?” she asked Diane.

“Some of it.” Looking sternly at Kevin, Diane added: “But I sure didn’t know about the CIA threatening Ellen.”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he said lamely.

“You didn’t warn me, either. Now look what’s happened.”

Kevin nodded numbly. He knew Diane was right. He was to blame for this.

Detective Weber brought Kevin back to the conversation. “About this Pete Barnes – do you have a way of contacting him?”

“No,” Kevin answered. “I’ve only seen him two times. Both times he just showed up on my jogging route at 6 a.m.”

Diane started sobbing softly. “Why haven’t they called yet?”

“I don’t know,” the detective answered. “Each kidnapping is different. There’s no way to predict when or if they will call.”

Kevin got up and went to the bathroom. When he came out, he saw Ellen’s scooter leaning against the wall near the front door. As he pictured her happily riding the scooter in front of the house, tears streamed down his face.

“Tell her about those Yugoslavians who kept coming to the house,” Diane said to Kevin when he returned to the living room.

Kevin quickly composed himself. “It’s probably nothing. I went to the Serbian Embassy for help on my client’s case. A man named Zoran Vacinovic was supposedly helping me. He’s come around here a few times to talk about the case.”

“Who is this guy Vacinovic?” the detective asked.

“According to the prosecutor, he works for the Serbian secret police.”

“This story gets stranger and stranger,” the detective said.

Just then, the telephone rang.

Kevin jumped up off the couch.

Detective Weber raised her hand for Kevin to wait, then scurried over to the table where the phone sat. For a large woman, she was fast and agile. She pressed the “play” button and donned the headset.

“Pick up the phone,” she told Kevin. “Keep them talking as long as you can.”

Kevin was nervous, but anxious to pick up the phone before the caller hung up.

“Hello?”

“Kevin, this is Jennifer’s mother. What’s going on?”

The detective took off her headset and pressed the “stop” button on the recorder.

Kevin announced to the room: “It’s Jennifer’s mom.” Returning to the phone receiver he said, “Can we call you back later?”

Kevin looked at the clock on the living room wall. It was 5:30. Ellen had been kidnapped an hour ago. It seemed like a week to Kevin. He would give anything to be able to hug his little girl again.

Through the living room window, Kevin saw that his neighbors had begun to gather on the sidewalk outside, near the police cars parked in front of Kevin’s house.

“Do they know?” he asked.

“They don’t know Ellen’s been kidnapped,” the detective said. “For now, the fewer who know the better. We don’t want to spook the kidnappers.”

Kevin liked his Dutch neighbors and knew they were concerned with all the police activity. Ellen had been a familiar sight in the neighborhood, racing around on her scooter or her bike. In Holland, much more than in America, neighbors looked out for one another.

Detective Weber went to confer with the other officers, while Diane used a cell phone to call Jennifer’s mom.

The minutes passed painfully slow for Kevin as he sat in the living room. He stared at the telephone, willing it to ring. He didn’t know what to say to Diane. It was all his fault – she knew it, and so did he.

Detective Weber came into the living room. “Mr. Anderson, we’d like your consent to search your house. It’s standard procedure in these types of cases. There might be a scrap of paper or something that might help us find your daughter.”

“Go right ahead,” Kevin replied. He felt very comfortable with this detective. She showed him a consent form in Dutch and translated it to them in English. Kevin and then Diane signed and dated it.

Detective Weber put the form in her folder. Kevin heard other officers heading up the stairs. It occurred to him that twice in the last six months law enforcement officers had searched their home. Kevin didn’t care; he’d do anything to get Ellen back.

The detective pulled out another form. “We’d like to take a taped statement from you,” she said to Kevin. “This consent form advises you of your right to remain silent, to have an attorney, and informs you that anything you say can be used against you.”