LITMIR.BIZ

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He needed it by two o’clock.”

      “Okay, but I want you to keep digging. Find out exactly where and when Blakeley did his peacekeeping tours, especially if he was ever in Yugoslavia. And I also want some background on Lieutenant Colonel Richard Hamm.”

      Gibbs’s face fell. He propped his lanky frame against the door as if he could no longer support himself. “Well, I—I was wondering if... I’d like a few minutes to check on Sue, sir.”

      Green cursed his insensitivity. “Of course. I have a lunch appointment anyway.” For which I am already half an hour late, he thought, glancing at his watch. He shooed Gibbs on his way to the hospital, then grabbed his jacket and headed out of the station up Elgin Street. He had chosen a small deli off the cops’ beaten track, for he didn’t want any curious ears tuning in. He wanted the discussion of a fellow officer to be as frank and confidential as possible.

      To his surprise, Michel Vaillancourt had brought another man with him, whom he introduced as George Nelson. Both men were already halfway through heaping platters of deli sandwiches and fries.

      “George was Weiss’s staff sergeant when he was in uniform,” Vaillancourt explained. “So I figured he’d know more about him than I do.”

      Nelson was a pear of a man, with a pointy bald head, three chins and a paunch that eclipsed his belt. He extended a hearty handshake, then thudded back into his booth with a resounding crash. Green looked from one man to the other thoughtfully. His vague cover story about wanting more details about Weiss’s investigative experience was pretty lame, and he was surprised by both men’s obvious eagerness to talk about him. With his very first comment, Nelson provided the answer.

      “You’re thinking Jeff Weiss might’ve had something to do with the hit on Peters?”

      Green toyed with his menu. “Not thinking, just exploring. Why, do you?”

      Nelson had stuffed his mouth full of fries, and he munched noisily as he shook his head. “Under normal circumstances, I’d say not a chance.”

      Green’s stomach contracted at the sight of the melted cheese oozing from the Reuben sandwich. He signalled to the man behind the counter and yelled for a double smoked meat on rye. “What do you mean, under normal circumstances?”

      “Regular street work. Drugs, bar fights, turf beefs—the day to day stuff. He’s rock solid, got good instincts, never gave me a moment’s doubt. Well—” Nelson paused to suck his fingers noisily. “He has a bit of a temper. Sometimes he’d give his sergeant a little lip, but he usually backtracked the next instant. Only a couple of incidents were written up.”

      “How much is a bit of a temper?”

      “Enough to get him off the promotion track,” Vaillancourt said ominously.

      Nelson shrugged impatiently. “Just a flash in the pan. Like if somebody pushed his buttons. But what you’re talking about; that would have been premeditated. I mean, to call her out of the bar and set her up like that—”

      Green was surprised, then realized he shouldn’t be. Details of the assault would have raced through the police grapevine like lightning.

      “That’s not like Jeff,” Nelson continued. “He’s a straight arrow and a more committed officer you’re never going to see. And he wants to get ahead. Nothing wrong with that.”

      “But there is something, or you wouldn’t both be sitting here. You’re saying these are not normal circumstances?”

      Nelson looked uncomfortable. He glanced around the deli as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping. The midafternoon crowd was sparse, comprised mainly of courthouse workers enjoying a cappuccino. No one looked remotely like a cop. Or a reporter.

      Vaillancourt wiped his mouth carefully before stepping into the breach. “He did a three-month stint with the UN as a police officer in Yugoslavia.”

      Green stared at him, his heart in his throat. “When?”

      “Fall of 1993.” “Where?”

      “Mostly Sarajevo. He was doing regular law enforcement and training, beefing up the Bosnian force. It was finger-inthe-dyke stuff, trying to prevent looting, control riots, catch local thugs who didn’t think the law applied to them.”

      Green’s thoughts raced afield. In an effort to understand which peacekeepers had been where, he’d studied the map of the former Yugoslavia as it had been reconfigured in 1993. Daniel Oliver and Ian MacDonald had been with the Second Canadian Battalion, which had been deployed solely in Croatia. Nearly two hundred miles of rugged, hostile mountain territory separated them from Sarajevo. It seemed unlikely Jeff Weiss would have even met them. Unless...

      “You said mostly?”

      Nelson shrugged. “He was assigned to assist in war crimes investigations a couple of times, helping the UN investigators collect physical evidence and interview witnesses. I know that stuff still gets to him.”

      Green’s smoked meat sandwich arrived, and he was glad for the diversion. While he doused his French fries with vinegar, he pondered the possibilities. The coincidence was incredible. What were the chances of an Ottawa Police officer being assigned to investigate war crimes at exactly the same time and place that MacDonald and Oliver were posted? There had been thousands of peacekeepers in the Balkans, and probably thousands of local conflicts where war crimes could occur.

      It was just a shred of a theory, and a farfetched one at that, until he had facts to back it up. He tried to appear casual as he posed his next question. “Where were these war crimes he was investigating, do you know?”

      Nelson and Vaillancourt exchanged questioning looks. Vaillancourt lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug, but Nelson slapped his palm against his forehead in an effort to shake the memory loose.

      “Croatia.” He nodded several times. “Yup, I’m positive, because I remember when all the accusations of ethnic cleansing and mass murder were being levied against the Serbs, Weiss kept saying ‘The fucking UN doesn’t know the half of it. The Croats were just as bad.’”

      Croatia, Green thought. Suddenly his smoked meat lost its taste, and he pushed the plate away. The coincidences were converging, but with them came more questions. What had Weiss uncovered in his investigation, and how was the military involved? His mind raced over the links he had formed so far. Something had happened in Croatia that had haunted the lives of the soldiers for years afterwards. MacDonald had killed himself, Oliver had slipped into bitterness and drink, and someone else had committed not just one but two murders to cover it all up.

      These were simple country boys, Inspector Norrich had ranted that night in Halifax, unprepared for the brutality and hatred they encountered and equally unprepared for the visceral rage they might have felt in response.

      What if they themselves had committed a war crime?

      In 1993 the Canadian military had been reeling under the revelation of a murder committed by their elite forces in Somalia, and they were struggling to repair the damage to their peacekeeping image. What would be the worst thing that could happen at that moment? News of further atrocities committed by their soldiers in Yugoslavia would be high on that list. The pressure to suppress the knowledge and to prevent any investigation would have been huge. Certainly murders had been committed for far less.

      Green’s heart beat faster as the theory took shape. Yet even as his excitement grew, sober second thought began to take hold. What kind of war crime? Surely not a systematic, large scale massacre, which would have been impossible to hide. It had to be something more private. A small misstep that could easily have been buried in the chaos of battle. Was that where Weiss fit in? Had the military put pressure on him to cover it up? Who in the chain of command would have the clout to do that? Certainly not someone at the lowly section level.

      Green reached for his coffee and twirled his spoon slowly in it, trying not to betray his excitement as he gathered his thoughts. In the silence, the spoon tinkled and both men watched him intently. He tried to

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