The Foreign Service Journal, January 2007

42 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J A N U A R Y 2 0 0 7 he room was cold. The witnesses and the two lawyers sat stiffly around the long table, their faces sallow in the weak winter daylight. Blast tape cross-hatched on the windows made a diamond pattern on the wall. I sat at the head of the table, a small American flag beside me to give the occasion dignity. I called the first witness. “Please stand and take the oath.” He was the hotel security officer. I made him take off his cap and put down his cigarette before he raised his right hand. “Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” “I swear.” I nodded to the lawyer for the plaintiff. “Witness, you were on duty on the morning of April 20, 1991. Tell us what happened in connection with the dead American.” “ Missing American,” hissed the lawyer for the insurance company. “Consul, I object.” “This is not a trial, Advocate,” I said. “We are taking sworn testimony to be submitted to a civil court in America. Your objection will be noted in the official transcript.” I tried to sound stern, in control. During my career in the consular service I had played many roles: cop, social worker, registrar of births and deaths, immigration officer, undertak- er, priest. Now I was judge for a day. Testimony before an American consul is the cheap route to collecting witness evi- dence from abroad. The Foreign Affairs Manual calls it “judicial assistance.” I nodded to the witness to continue. “It was almost three years ago, just before the war. The night manager called me at my post and asked me to accom- pany him to Room 65. The chambermaid was waiting for us. “She said she tried several times that day to get in and make up the room but the guest — the American citizen Donald Brady — did not answer her knocking. When she tried to use the passkey, she could not turn the lock. “I looked into the keyhole and realized the door was locked from the inside. So I pushed the key out of the lock with a screwdriver, and used the passkey to enter the room.” “What did you see inside the room?” ‘There was nobody there, Advocate. The room was empty. His things were there, but he was not.” “Was there any other way the American could have gotten out?” “Only the balcony door, Advocate. But the balcony over- looks the river and it’s a six-story drop.” “Was there any sort of rope or ladder or other means by which he could have lowered himself from the balcony?” “We found nothing of that kind.” “Please tell us what you did find in the room.” “An electric shaver, a toothbrush, some toilet articles. There were clothes in the closet and a pair of shoes by the bed. On the dresser he had left his wallet and a photo of himself with a woman and two young people — his wife and children, I suppose. Next to the photo was a letter.” “Is this the letter, in the plastic envelope with the photo?” “Yes, Advocate. I don’t know English so I don’t know what it said.” “Consul, I submit this letter as Exhibit A,” said the lawyer for the plaintiffs. He passed me the plastic envelope. Brady, in the snap- shot, was a tall, lean man in a track suit with thinning hair and aviator glasses. His wife was an elegant-looking brunette. The two teenagers had trendy haircuts and looked as if they’d FS F I CT I ON J UDICIAL A SSISTANCE A CONSULAR CASE THAT STARTS WITH A PRESUMPTIVE DEATH IN A RUN - DOWN B ALKAN HOTEL ENDS UP MAKING EVERYBODY HAPPY , PURSUANT TO THE FAM. T B Y A NN B. S IDES Editor’s Note: “Judicial Assistance” by Ann B. Sides and “Phototropism” by Adrienne Scherger (see p. 50) were the runners-up in the 2006 Foreign Service Fiction Contest.