The Demosthenes Club

Adna Sidron stared quizzically at McAbee when he was led into her office. She stood as he came close to her desk and she extended her hand, “Adna Sidron. And you are Doctor Bertrand McAbee?” He nodded and said, “Please call me Bertrand. Thanks for seeing me.” He was already on alert about her usage of the title Doctor. He’d been checked out by her. They sat. She said, “Call me Adna. You have come a long way about a cold case. Yes?” “It surely was cold. But events have occurred that have given it warmth.” “So this friend of yours, William Dineen? What is your connection to him?” “I have an agency in the States. I have used a contractor who served in the U.S. military with Dineen. Dineen was asked by this contractor to come to Sarajevo to see if you’d be open to talking about the murder of Toma Korpanga. I didn’t need the trip if you wouldn’t talk about it.” “This Dineen? Are you aware of his background?” “He was in the U.S. military. He’s retired, living in Ireland. Close friend of my contractor.” She looked at McAbee with a bemused expression. “There’s a lot of information out there on him. An odd ambassador for a former classics professor. He is said to be dangerous by Interpol. Is your agency in that farming state in the U.S. into heavy-handedness?” Adna Sidron was telling McAbee that he, Dineen, and ACJ had been vetted. Also that she probably still had use of her contacts in Interpol. He wondered just how much she knew as she doled out small slices of information. “Adna, take one look at me. I’m not heavy handed.” He smiled. “I just do cases that come into my agency and try to bring resolution. I hope that William didn’t say something that distressed you.” “No. He was a perfect gentleman given what he represents,” she responded. McAbee was dealing with a woman who dwelled in a river of undercurrents. She wasn’t going to open up about anything related to Toma Kopanja’s murder until she could find some common ground and level of trust with McAbee. It was evident that there wasn’t trust of Dineen by her. “So, I’m aware of the information that was given to William but I’m not sure how much of it he shared with you,” trying to shift the meeting away from Dineen’s character. “You know Bertrand that you have entered into a zone where many murders took place. A terrible era. In my own apartment, I had to keep my shades down and curtains closed for several years. Those Serbian killers could mean death. They had many marksmen who were quite able to perform random acts of killing and then there was the shelling.” “I’ve read a bit. A nightmare. And it can’t be a good event to have me resurrecting that era.” “Oh,” she smiled sadly, “This is not resurrection – the events and tragedies have never been buried. Isn’t that a precondition for resurrection, burial? Burial never happened for me and never will. The brutality and what my eyes have seen will never die away until I die away.” “I see,” he said feebly. “So allow me to enumerate the areas that Dineen brought up and to make sure I understand. Cynthia Power is murdered but it is made to look like suicide. You found letters, reminders of Toma’s murder in 1995. Cynthia and Toma were lovers. His murder broke her heart as she sought reasons for the unusual killing. As to the strongbox, you call it a safety deposit box, I am very curious about your possession of the Serbian translation of my report about the killing. The name Marković is used. Am I incorrect in anything so far?” “You have it right.” “You have brought the original Marković piece that was actually sent to Cynthia Power? Not just the copy given to me by Dineen?” “Yes,” he took it out of his valise and handed it across to her. She removed her glasses and bent over the paper. She pored over it for at least two minutes. By his estimation she could have read it 20 times. “Thank you for sharing it with me. Is it permitted for me to make a copy?” “Of course.” She got up and went to a small table that had a printer/copier on it. She made two copies, came back and handed the original back to McAbee. “Marković had no business with the report that I issued. He was given a copy by a traitor, probably in my old detective bureau. To conceal that betrayal he translated it into Serbian or had one of his agents do it. Cynthia Power would be none the wiser.” “Had she asked you for a copy?” McAbee inquired. “No. His note to her is of interest. I do recall her wanting information from me while I was investigating the case and questioning her. I had told her that there was nothing that I could do. She didn’t believe me. Someone put her onto Marković who then got my report. You have no notes to that effect?” Adna gazed at McAbee pensively. He shook his head. “She must have paid him a fortune for his effort. He is a dishonest man. Highest bidder gets his service. What else do you have on this?” she inquired. “There’s near certainty that someone was frightened by Cynthia Power’s concerns. Also, she received it recently. If you have the time I will tell you the story, the long version not William’s short one. But I’d like to buy you a cup of coffee and tell you while there.” She looked at him skeptically for a bit and then said, “Yes. I will do that. You have come far on a quixotic mission. I respect that.” He had his ways, this McAbee. She did believe him when he said he wasn’t heavy-handed. Maybe he not personally but if he knew and used people like William Dineen his distinctions about himself, his agency, and his contacts were inadequate and seriously in need of refinement.