No loss. They’re both scumbags.”
“They are. But we’re good for the bill,” I told him.
“If not, what am I gonna do? Call the cops?”
He winked, added, “Don’t worry about it,” then attended to Jacobi, who said, “What’s good here?”
We all laughed, ordered steak and wine and side dishes, and before the food came, Jacobi called the mayor. He gave him a breakdown of the events, then set the phone down in the middle of the table so we could hear the mayor in a rare happy moment.
“I’ll hold a press conference tomorrow,” said the mayor. “The city is grateful to every one of you.”
Rich called Cindy and told her to get out to the airport and track down the next outbound flight to Sarajevo. A moment later Joe got an email from the lab.
Joe showed me his phone. Clapper had written that Vladic’s Escalade had paint clinging to the broken headlight socket that matched the Tesla Anna had been driving the day she was abducted.
I said to Joe, “If Vladic is indicted for kidnapping, he’ll be deported, right? I swear, if he confesses to killing Denny Lopez, I’ll throw him a farewell party with champagne and a live DJ.”
Joe pulled me close and we grinned at each other. He said, “Not getting ahead of ourselves, are we, Blondie?”
“I can wish, can’t I?”
Meanwhile, in real time, a dozen toasts were made with Tony’s wine: to Claire, to the cops who’d located the Jag and the Escalade, and to the fire and rescue workers who’d saved Anna and Susan. Glasses were raised to Joe and Diano, Conklin and me, for leading the charge and bringing it all home.
No one was left out.
Steinmetz clinked his glass with a spoon and announced that working with the SFPD had been an honor and a pleasure. Jacobi returned the favor.
Conklin’s phone rang, and after he kissed it, he told us the good news.
“Cindy watched Petrović board the plane under guard. She says she kept her eyes on it until it broke the sound barrier.”
Cindy was indomitable.
And after Rich made the announcement, the shouting commenced.
Petrović was gone.
From all that we knew about his recent past and his wartime history, it was a dead cert that Petrović’s sentence would be reinstated and that he’d spend the rest of his life in a cement box of a cell inside a maximum-security prison.
We whooped and yelled and hugged people sitting next to us, even those we hadn’t known before tonight. I texted Yuki and Claire, and they both arrived at Tony’s in time for coffee and chocolate pie.
It was a wonderful, unforgettable finale to our hard and dangerous work.
We’d done it. Case closed.
We couldn’t have known it then, but five years later, when we seldom thought about him at all, Slobodan Petrović would appeal his sentence at the International Criminal Court in The Hague.
He’d worked a deal once before.
It would be unbearable, unjust, if he did it again.
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER 115
Joe and I stood with Anna outside the International Criminal Court in The Hague, the building’s granite walls shielding us from the slashing rain.
Three years before, Anna had moved to Spokane to get away from the searing memories of her time in San Francisco. Although we’d been in touch, we hadn’t seen her since.
Anna looked older now and more vulnerable. She was wearing a hooded raincoat, but the hood couldn’t hide the tears in her eyes. When we hugged, I felt her shivering.
I was afraid for her. Soon she would be testifying to the tribunal, telling them about Petrović’s crimes against her and her family in Djoba. She couldn’t tell them about San Francisco, but I knew full well how much she’d suffered when Petrović brutalized her yet again.
I couldn’t imagine how she’d gathered the courage to confront Petrović now.
Joe gripped her shoulders and said, “We’re with you, Anna.”
“I know. I’m glad.”
The doors to the courthouse slid open, and the crowd of reporters and survivors and onlookers rushed through the entrance into the main hall like a pack of wet dogs.
Ushers directed us, sending witnesses to the main courtroom, and spectators and the press to the gallery, an elevated viewing room separated from the courtroom by a wall of bulletproof glass. When we entered the observation room, I saw rows of theater-style seats rising toward the rear of the room, giving a high-bleachers view down on the court proceedings.
Joe and I sat in the fifth tier, where we had a full view of the courtroom. It was the size of a college