Lie in the Dark

CHAPTER 4

For all its power, the Interior Ministry had no heat in its downstairs lobby. Vlado joined seven others who were waiting, bundled in heavy coats and seated on battered vinyl chairs and couches. The brown linoleum floor was a wasteland of cigarette butts and small tumble-weeds of dust. Clouds of cigarette smoke barely masked the stench of urine from a backed up toilet down the hall. The stroking thrum of a generator could be heard from inside a small booth built of plywood and clear sheets of plastic, where a uniformed officer sat, acting as receptionist, taking names and phoning upstairs for authorizations that never seemed to come.

As Vlado waited he considered what he knew of Kasic. He was a man with a reputation for restraint, both in his anger and his goodwill, and this was said to be a product of his history. He had been a young man of impulse and scattered energies, whose sharp remarks and recklessness had stranded him for years in the great bulge of middle bureaucracy. Once he’d passed the age at which up-and-comers generally began to make their mark, plenty of people had written him off.

Then in the early eighties, as the rigid state machinery loosened and adjusted in the wake of Tito’s death, Kasic belatedly began to rise, catching up to more fortunate peers and then surpassing them. He moved quickly through the Party ranks under vague titles that seemed to place him as an important man in state security. Those on the outside could never be sure if his ascension was guided by his own power or someone else’s, and that seemed to be the way Kasic preferred it.

By the time the Interior Ministry began putting together its new police force he was a natural choice for the heirarchy, and he fell into line behind Vitas as a loyal lieutenant, soon known for his ruthless efficiency.

Like Vitas he had made his name in the October raids, supervising the heavy work in the maneuver that flushed, then trapped Zarko on the second and decisive day. When an errant mortar shell from his unit landed a block north of the mark, killing three old residents of a crumbling flat, he’d flinched, but not for long. “ ‘A small price in the long run,’ that’s what they’ll say around here,” he’d concluded on the spot to his subordinates, who’d naturally agreed.

Vlado looked around the lobby at the others, all men. They seemed bored, as if they’d been waiting for hours. Two had dozed off in spite of the cold.

But after only a few minutes the man in the booth rapped on the plywood and waved Vlado upstairs, shouting in a muffled voice, “Mr. Kasic is waiting. Second floor.”

Vlado trotted up the steps to warm himself, passing security warnings and propaganda posters taped to the walls. BOSNIAN ARMY ON THE BOSNIAN BORDER proclaimed one poster, done up in a nouveau social-realist style. The black silhouette of a grim, angular soldier rose out of jagged black-and-white hills against a purple backdrop, as if he had become part of the very mountains he was defending.

Kasic stood at the top of the steps at an open door in the pose of a tolerant schoolmaster waiting to usher the last pupil into the classroom. His silvery black hair was close cropped at the sides, and as Vlado stepped closer he saw that Kasic’s face was a landscape of sharp angles and deep shadows, as lean as an athlete’s, reminiscent of the soldier on the poster. Yet it was also still pumped full of vigor and color here in mid-January in this city where everything had grown ashy and pale, as if he’d been working out on a clean gym floor of varnished oak, all bright lights and fuggy heat.

He shook hands, grasping hard with a huge hand. Vlado had noticed him before at joint security meetings and official gatherings, a man whose intensity leaned out at you across desks, dinner tables, and interrogation rooms, giving the impression both of earnestness and of appetite.

The tendency among others was either to pass him off as a toadying yes-man showing off his enthusiasm for superiors or as a man truly wrapped up in his mission. Vlado had never known him well enough to decide.

Kasic led Vlado across an open area of cluttered desks, where men in the dark blue uniforms of the ministry police busily went about whatever it was they did up here. Vlado counted five space heaters, each working at full power. The room was comfortable, even cozy

They reached a large office with CHIEF OF SPECIAL POLICE on the door. So, he had already moved in, Vlado thought, scanning the walls and desk for signs of Vitas as he settled into a chair. He was mildly angry to find none. He’d hoped to be the first to search Vitas’s office, but it was obvious he’d been beaten to the punch.

Kasic slid behind Vitas’s old desk, glancing about him for a moment as if still getting his bearings, then leaned forward, clasping his hands before him on a stack of notes. His voice emerged in the deep fullness of a command, although his words were welcoming.

“Now then, Vlado. It is good to see you’re on the case. I have done some checking and found you a thorough man and a solid investigator, although I must admit your lack of experience gives me pause. Less than two years as a detective before the war began, and four years total, correct?”

Vlado nodded.

“And I gather you haven’t been too busy since the beginning of the war. At least not with this sort of case.”

“Correct.”

“I also gather that your boss, Mr. Garovic, while helpful, was not very eager to turn you loose you on this. He is, I take it, a somewhat careful man.”

Vlado allowed himself a brief smile. “That’s putting it mildly,” he said.

“Well, I can understand his hesitance. A sensitive matter, this one. And by all rights this should be our case. If it weren’t for some special considerations, we’d be handling it, and handling it professionally and well, I have no doubt.”

“Special considerations?”

“The U.N. On some days we can’t even take a piss around here anymore without three of them asking if they can come along. We feel we have to prove ourselves every day, then file a report on it in triplicate. If I had my way I’d just as soon tell them to mind their own business- it’s not as if they’re running the tightest ship themselves. I can’t tell you how many times we could have cracked down on the French or the Egyptians, brokering whores and cigarettes, or peddling U.N. passes to smuggle people out of the country at three thousand marks a pop. And we all know they’ve been licking the boots of the other side throughout the war.

“But for all that, we, or, that is, people far above me, feel that we can turn the corner with them with the right kind of results in this department. And if we turn the corner with them, then maybe we can turn the corner on getting the right kind of help for fighting this war. Bigger guns, antitank weapons-you’ve heard the laundry list before, and it’s not going to be filled anytime soon as long as the arms embargo’s still in effect. But in some quarters, at least, there is momentum.”

Kasic paused to light a cigarette, pulling a Marlboro from a pack on his desk. Was this going to be a lecture on the war or would they ever discuss Vitas?

“Which is where this little investigation comes in,” Kasic said, as if reading Vlado’s mind. “Every time they catch the slightest whiff of something dirty blowing from our way, anything to do with corruption, racketeering, profiteering on our side of the fence, it becomes another piece of ammunition for keeping the embargo in place. It’s an easy enough sell: ‘If the Bosnians can’t even clean up after themselves, why should we help them make an even bigger mess.’ We thought we’d proved our point with the raids in October, but the U.N. isn’t buying it. Too many loose ends left behind, they say. And they didn’t like the way Vitas brought in a few ‘undesirables’ toward the end to help us along. Made all our positive results tainted, they said. We only set up a few has-beens to be the new lords. Still, too much funny money floating around and too many funny ways of earning it, they said. And there’s some truth to it. You look at the markets for gasoline, cigarettes, meat, coffee, whatever you want to pick, and it’s still in the hands of people just beyond our reach. And I suppose it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway None of this conversation is to go beyond these walls. Clear enough?”

“Clear enough.”

Kasic flicked his cigarette at an ashtray.

“But anyone with eyes can see that the problems are still with us. Even if it’s not as obvious as before. Too many people are still profiting from the status quo.”

Kasic then leaned forward across the desk, lowering his head, his eyes narrowing in concentration, like a big, sleek dog poking into the burrow of a far smaller animal.

“And frankly, Vlado, although it pains me greatly to say it, Vitas may have been among those who was profiting. At least that’s how it looks from what little we’ve already learned. When we first heard Vitas had been murdered we thought what everyone must have. He made a lot of very powerful enemies in October, and one of them must have retaliated. But now it looks like it may be more complicated, and a lot messier. And as soon as we saw where this was going we called you in. No sense in having the U.N. believe the foxes are trying to guard the henhouse on this one.”

Vlado started to interrupt with a question, because now he had plenty. But Kasic was rolling.

“Besides, I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, pointing the cigarette at Vlado’s chest. “Enough to know that you’re a good man for this sort of thing. Blunt. Not afraid to step on toes even when it might not be good for you. Probably the very things that scare the daylights out of Garovic, but it’s what we need on this one, although I don’t suppose you’ve had a case quite like this one yet, have you?”

“No sir. Not exactly.”

“And it’s not as if you’ve been getting much of a chance for them since we’ve gone into business. Yes, I know, we’ve also stolen most of the resources, too. And if Imamovic were still alive he’d have never have allowed this to happen without one hell of a fight. But, frankly, Vlado, and this is not to denigrate your talents or any of your people, our people here are used to dealing with this particular underworld. They’ve come to know all its little streets and alleys, especially since October, even if we don’t have them all quite under control yet. And we do undeniably have the best resources for doing this kind of work.

“Which brings me to my next point. Please, Vlado, use our expertise when you can. Staying independent doesn’t mean staying in the dark. Keep me in the dark, yes, fine, as much as you like. But our technical staff is yours for the asking. And I know we have a better lab than your man Grebo’s. The same is true of our files. Open to you. Within reason of course, because if your thinking is that you don’t really know or trust us yet, the feeling is necessarily mutual at this point.”

Vlado nodded, then decided it was an opportune moment to interrupt. “As long as we’re discussing possible assistance, I’d like to be able to bring Damir Begovic in on the case with me. He’s with my department, I trust him, and we work well together.”

Kasic frowned, as if he’d just eaten something disagreeable. Then he sighed, releasing a long, pained breath from his nostrils.

“Probably not the partner I’d choose for you if the choice was up to me. But …”

As he paused, Vlado wondered if the meeting was being taped, if perhaps Kasic would replay the whole thing later for some international observer, just to prove he’d been on his best behavior. Whatever the reason, Vlado momentarily got the answer he’d been hoping for.

“Very well, then. Use Begovic as you need him. But sparingly. Keep the major work for yourself. The fewer who have access to your findings, the better. And if you’re feeling overwhelmed in tracking people down, or even in getting the information you need, there is, as I said, help that we might be able to offer. I don’t know what your interrogation skills are like, but should you happen to hit any brick walls with anyone, we have some of the oldest hands in the city in dealing with that sort of thing.” Vlado knew what that meant, most likely. Big fellows sitting around in brightly lit rooms, sipping coffee while they broke kneecaps and hooked up the electrodes.

“No matter what kind of country we want to have in the future,” Kasic said, “the old ways sometimes still work best. Don’t misunderstand me, Vlado. You’re the boss. As I was saying, we want to come clean on this, the quicker the better. That’s why when I began to hear certain things this morning about Vitas himself, it became all the more important that we immediately give up our jurisdiction.”

“What sort of things?”

Kasic lowered his head, shaking it slowly, the portrait of a grieving son.

“I’d always heard he was a straight shooter,” Vlado prompted.

“So had I. None straighter, in fact. But maybe with a war on he felt the rules were different, or that they no longer applied.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re interrogating now.” Kasic broke into a broad smile. “In fact as long as you’re here you’d probably like to ask me a few things about my own whereabouts last night. I’ve certainly got motive enough. My promotion was pretty much automatic once Vitas was gone.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” Vlado said, taking care with his tone. “I’ll have to know where you were at the time of the murder and, assuming you have an alibi, where you were when you first heard of it, who told you. Your reaction. Not only from you but from others. And so on.”

Kasic nodded, stubbed out his cigarette. “Very good. You’ll have all of the time you need for those things as soon as this conversation is over. But, in getting back to Vitas …”

“His lack of virtue.”

“Yes. The black market, I’m afraid. Nothing fancy. Meat, cigarettes, and liquor, mostly.”

“Marlboros, for example?” Vlado asked, reaching across to Kasic’s pack and helping himself to one.

Kasic smiled. He offered Vlado a light and took a cigarette for himself. “Yes, Marlboros. Drinas, too. And he apparently got in deep enough to get himself killed. It’s no real puzzle why, I suppose. Either he was squeezing someone or someone was squeezing him. It came to a head and somebody had to be gotten rid of. It turned out to be Vitas. As for who pulled the trigger, well, we could probably spend the rest of the war tracking that one down if it’s like most of these cases. You know how it works.”

“Actually, I’m not sure I do. Our little department seems to have lost touch.”

For the first time Kasic seemed mildly embarrassed. “Yes. This great dent we’ve put in your business. And just when you should have been learning the ropes. Well, the way it usually works these days is that when somebody wants to buy a triggerman he gets some soldier who’s down from the front for a day or two, someone looking for a few extra Deutschemarks for himself or his family. He’s given a gun, a name, and maybe even a location and a time. He does the job, stashes his wad in a mattress somewhere away from a window, or anywhere else it won’t be burned or blown to bits, and vanishes back into the mud. That description narrows it down to a few thousand. But if that’s indeed what happened, it’s not the trigger we’re really interested in. It’s the one who gave the order, the person who presumably is high enough in the smuggling network to order the killing of the chief of the Interior Ministry’s police.”

“You seem to already know a lot about this case.”

“Which is either praise for my men’s quick work this morning or a diplomatic way of saying that we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves here. True. And I’m not suggesting at all that you rule out other possibilities. I’m only telling you where our earliest leads are pointing.”

“Then you have some leads for me.”

“Yes, although only in the broadest sense.”

Kasic pulled open a desk drawer, one that presumably had been filled with Vitas’ own work until this morning. He removed four thin file folders and placed them on the desk. “I’m told these people might be of some help,” he said, tapping the files. “They’ve already steered us in a certain direction, as I said.”

“And these people are …?”

“One is a butcher. The other’s a production foreman at the cigarette plant. The other two are involved in the supply of black-market whiskey. All four have been doing some undercover work for us. They’d heard things about Vitas before now, but naturally they hardly felt free to pass it along while he was in charge.”

“Word must have traveled fast.”

“In these sorts of networks it usually does. These four gentlemen came forward with their stories before I even reached my desk this morning. Motivated by the thought of bonuses, no doubt. It’s yet another way of profiteering, and these people are hardly without their own guilt. In fact, my biggest concern about not having our own people on this is that I’m afraid at times you’ll feel like a fish out of water. Our sources aren’t exactly the conventional sort, even for undercover people. We can’t pay them much to begin with, so most of their wages come from skimming their own profits from the system we’re trying to shut down. Which of course puts us in the odd position of having to tolerate it. Let’s face it, we’re all novices at this game. Before the war half of them were either driving taxis or living in some mountain village, wondering how many eggs they might be able to steal from the neighbor’s henhouse. Ask this ‘butcher’ here where to cut a rack of lamb and he’ll probably point to the rump. Even the racketeers who had some experience beforehand are operating at a level now they never would have dreamed of, with their own private armies, even now, even after October. But these informers at least know the streets, even if they aren’t always what you’d call street smart. A bit rough around the edges you’ll likely find.”

“Sounds like they’re not much good for anything.”

“I wonder that myself sometimes. But Vitas always figured they were worth it.”

“Maybe because he was using them to tie him into the market.”

“Possibly, and if that’s so then any of their information could be suspect. But for the moment it’s the only place we have to start. Unless of course you turn up something. Or unless there was something at the scene. But from what I saw of your report earlier, there was little or nothing.”

So he had read the report. “Yes, precious little.” Vlado thought for a moment of the folded paper in his pocket, with the name and address in Dobrinja, then let the thought pass without comment.

“Yet I must say,” Kasic said, “even though these people of ours are far from angels, their stories ring true.”

“What makes you say that?”

“What reason would they have for lying? Sure, they might pick up a few D-marks for their troubles, but passing the word on something like this would only seem to make them vulnerable to whoever gave the order.”

“Unless they’re in league with whoever gave the order.”

“Maybe. But we’ve done a pretty good job of vetting these people. And don’t think that we haven’t ever checked up on them. There are others who do nothing but inform on our informers, just to make sure we’re getting a straight story. So I doubt they’d risk their relationship with us by peddling us rubbish. We can put them out of business very quickly. Besides, these four men work in four different places, with three different products, and they live in different parts of town. As far as we know, they’ve never even spoken to each other. Yet their stories are strikingly similar, at least in the way they pertain to Vitas. And another thing, at their roots, all of these illegal operations are quite simple, whether you’re talking about chain of command or chain of supply. Their aims are simple, too: lots of money with as little trouble as possible. Even when it’s tempting to look for complicated solutions and convoluted schemes, the longer you see these people at work the more you realize what a straightforward master greed usually is.

“So I think you can take these men at their word, at least on the big picture. Which might be all you’ll get from them anyway. Don’t expect much detail. For one thing, it’s never been their strength. They’re informers, not trained investigators. For another, they can’t help but have some fear of whoever’s still calling the shots. Killing someone of the rank of an Esmir Vitas tends to have a very bad effect on people’s memories. But they’re a start, which now is all I have to offer.”

“Even assuming they’re telling the truth,” Vlado said, “is there anyone that high up left in the rackets, anyone still powerful enough to order this murder? In meat, cigarettes and whiskey, I mean. It’s hardly the top of the line. Not like gasoline. Or human beings, for that matter.”

Vlado could imagine Grebo cringing through his last remark. Doubtless he’d just betrayed some egregious hole of ignorance on the workings of the black market.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” Kasic answered. “Maybe Vitas thought in his own odd way that he was being ethical by not dealing in the greatest areas of desperation, fuel and freedom. Meat’s a luxury, and perishable at that. It’s not like you can hoard it as currency. But, cigarettes, let’s face it, they’re the closest thing some people have to hard currency It’s how we pay our soldiers, or police. Ever since October we’ve sensed a certain desperation settling into all these markets as supplies have tightened. And if you’re already feeling the squeeze and then suddenly the chief of the Interior Ministry’s police elbows into your field, well, you can see how someone might see that as a matter of life or death, no matter how powerful Vitas was. But your point is well taken. Our side of the river wouldn’t seem to have too many people left with enough clout to order this sort of thing.”

“Then you think the order could have come from across the river. From the Serbs.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Meaning that even if we can identify who gave the order, we may not be able to do anything about it.”

“Like I said. A possibility.” He stubbed out another Marlboro. “And not a happy one. But it would at least be enough to satisfy the U.N., especially coming from someone outside our department. It might even serve our purpose better. Put more of the blame on the opposite bank of the Miljacka and maybe they’ll see our arguments a little more clearly But this brings me to the most disturbing element of what we know of Vitas. It concerns his possible contacts with the other side.

“Vitas grew up in Grbavica, you know,” Kasic said. “In fact, you knew him as a boy, didn’t you? Although I believe you were better friends with his younger brother.”

Vlado was impressed, wondering how Kasic could have dug up that item on such short notice. Surely Garovic hadn’t known. Yet, this was such a small town in so many ways, growing smaller by the day Fast work nonetheless.

“We went to the same school,” Vlado said. “But he was eight years ahead of me. And yes, I knew his younger brother well. He was a classmate. Killed just about a year ago.”

“Yes, a mortar shell through the roof. I remember. His whole family. Which left Vitas quite alone, I suppose. His mother was a Serb, you know. His father was a Muslim, although he would have nothing to do with those labels. He was a Yugoslav first and only, he used to say. One can only wonder what he’d be saying now.”

“You knew his father?”

“Somewhat. I met him a few years ago, just before his death. Not long after that his mother died as well.”

“So you think Vitas still had contacts in his old neighborhood.” Vlado asked. “And if he did, is that so unusual?”

“Not as such. It happens even now. People manage to get news back and forth, along with the gasoline and coffee. Sometimes even the phone connections pop back up for a while. It drives the army crazy when it happens, but there you are. I myself still know people over there. My paternal grandfather was a Serb, though my father and I were both raised as Muslims.”

Meaning, in reality, that he was probably raised neither as Serb nor Muslim nor anything else in particular until it came time to choose sides once the war began. Like nearly everyone else in the city, Kasic had probably thought of himself mostly as a Sarajevan, as set apart from those narrow-thinking rurals of whatever background. So, Kasic had thrown in his lot with the bunch that had pledged to preserve Sarajevo as it was, which happened to be the Muslim government of the new nation of Bosnia. So far he was backing the loser in the war, although neither that nor the Serb flavoring in his background seemed to be hurting his career advancement.

“My house was in Ilizda, you know,” Kasic said.

“I didn’t, actually.” It was a suburb now held by the Serbs.

“Yes, and a nice house, too. Big and comfortable. Probably some army commander garrisoned there now, propping his boots on my coffee table while his dog curls up on my bed.”

For a moment Kasic’s face had a faraway look, as if he’d looked across the office floor and spotted the booted general lounging at one of the desks.

“But with Vitas,” Kasic resumed, “I fear he may have had some channels open that were, at best, improper.”

“And at worst?”

“The conduits for illegal activity. Smuggling. Which, if it’s true, amounts to little more than providing aid and comfort to the enemy, not to mention considerable profit. The very people he used to rail against so convincingly had perhaps even become his paymasters. This is not for me to say conclusively, of course. That’s for you to discover in your investigation. I only want you to be aware of what is being said.”

“And where does this impression come from?”

“The same place as our other information,” he said, handing over the thin files. “From these four gentleman. You’ll find the butcher at Markale Market any day of the week. The cigarette man is on shift at the cigarette factory for another …”-he paused to check his watch, a massive model favored by the old Yugoslav People’s Army-“for another two and a half hours. So you can catch him there today if you like. The same is true of the two whiskey connections. Their addresses are noted in the file, and all four are expecting a visit.”

He paused, as if about to conclude, then said, “And now, whenever you’re ready, you can question me.”

Vlado was caught off guard. He shifted gears rapidly, wondering if he was being tested. He wasn’t ready to question Kasic just yet, and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself trying. He needed to shift control of the conversation.

“Later would be better, actually. But I’d probably start by asking for a look inside that desk,” Vlado said, glancing at the space beneath Kasic’s elbows.

Now Kasic was the one who seemed suddenly at a loss.

“Yes, the desk,” he said. “I would have waited to move in, but things happen so quickly around here that I thought it best to get right on top of things. His business files, or at least the ones that had nothing to do with this case or with any of these activities, I’ve kept.”

Vlado started to object, but Kasic raised a hand, tilting his head, and said, “I know, you’d like to be the judge of that. But you’ll simply have to take my word. I know it’s not easy, but there are some things in our files too sensitive for anyone but our people to see at present. They have nothing to do with Vitas. They concern other investigations, and I don’t want them compromised.”

“Wouldn’t it at least be important for context. Perhaps I’d know better where the pieces fit if I can have a better look at the whole range.”

Besides, Vlado was curious, having felt shut out of things for far too long. He could feel himself easing into the rhythm of an investigation, could sense a thrumming in the back of his mind where the workings had been idle for months.

“I believe you’ll find all the context you need with those people,” Kasic said, pointing to the thin files in Vlado’s hands. “As for Vitas’s other things, I’ve kept them separate from my own. They’re right here.” He pointed to a large cardboard box in the corner of the office, taped shut. Which meant he or someone else had already gone through everything.

“I’ll also need access to his apartment. His car, too, if he still had one.”

“Of course.” Kasic reached into the desk again. “Here are his house keys. His car, I’m afraid, was destroyed a month ago. A direct hit on a building across the street while it was parked out front. And, Vlado, I know Garovic is nervous about all this. About the sensitivity of the case. That’s just the way he is. Let me deal with that. You go where you need to go. Ask what you need to ask, and don’t worry about stepping on any toes. Mine included.”

Kasic rose from behind his desk, his hand outstretched for a parting shake. As Vlado turned to go, Kasic placed a hand firmly on his shoulder.

“Vlado?”

“Yes.”

“A last word of caution.” Kasic paused. “There will be people watching you closely on this, and I’m not speaking merely of me and the U.N. Some of them I’m probably not even aware of myself, but suffice it to say that they have the means to influence any and all aspects of your life. They will want results, Vlado, and they will want them quickly. They will not wish to be told of some chain of evidence that drifts off into the hills to points unknown. They will want specifics, name by name.”

Somewhere across town a shell fell to the ground, driving home the point, and Vlado experienced a mixture of fear and exhilaration. Damir was right. No one had a map to lead them through this darkness, and anyone offering to light their way would, by nature, be unreliable.

“So, what are you trying to tell me, exactly?” Vlado asked, as they reached the stairwell.

“To keep your eyes open. To watch your back. And to be aware that now you’ve taken this case, there can be no turning back. And, that despite all of the help I would like to and, indeed, can offer you, in the most important sense you will be very much on your own.”

“I’m aware,” Vlado answered, trying his best not to sound as timid as he felt. “And I’m ready.”

“We are all hoping so,” Kasic said. And, with a smile, he turned back toward his office.