Before our next court appearance, Jorge Velascos changed his statement back, saying he had only retracted it because of threats made against his life by other prisoners. This strengthened the Velascos’ case a great deal. I knew they had family connections high up in the drug trade, which also meant they would have connections among the drug police. I already knew that they would get one of them to act as their witness and I hadn’t forgotten the warning that Chino had given me in La Grulla, either. Maybe they would use Jose Luis’s brother, the FELCN agent. I didn’t expect the testimony to be strong, however, especially if it only amounted to a family member backing up their story. Hopefully, my lawyer would be able to prove they were all lying.
On the day that the Velascos were to give full details of their defence, there was a new shock awaiting me. Their lawyer informed the court that the next defence witness was a colonel. My lawyer, Manuelo, looked down at his desk and picked up his pen. He seemed worried. Discrediting a high-ranking police or army witness would be tough. The Velascos’ lawyer then mentioned that this colonel worked with the FELCN drug investigation unit. Manuelo closed his eyes for a few seconds. This would make it even tougher. We knew the fiscal would be of no help; he worked closely with the FELCN and he would probably know this colonel personally. I could tell that Manuelo was panicking, but as soon as I heard this, I tapped him on the shoulder.
‘He’s the brother,’ I whispered to him.
‘Who? This witness? Are you sure?’ he asked disbelievingly. I nodded.
‘I’m positive.’ Manuelo seemed relieved to have some ammunition that wouldn’t involve directly accusing the colonel of lying.
When the witness came in, I stopped breathing for a few seconds. It was Colonel Lanza! I stared at him in disbelief. I hadn’t seen him since my arrest at the airport, but I recognised him immediately. It had been four-and-a-half years, but he hadn’t changed. I kept staring at him, thinking it couldn’t possibly be true. He looked calmly around the court. He even looked directly at me, but as soon as he spoke, there was no doubt.
‘Yes. I swear,’ he said, when the clerk of the court asked him if he swore on the bible to tell the truth. Next, he was asked to state his name.
‘Colonel Mario Toro Lanza.’ Manuelo panicked slightly and turned to me. He was worried because the colonel’s surname wasn’t Velasco. But it was too much of a coincidence not to be true.
‘Brother-in-law,’ I whispered.
When it was his turn to cross-examine, Manuelo asked Colonel Lanza detailed questions about the supposed undercover operation. But Lanza had already thought of almost every possible question and how to answer it.
‘Who was in charge of the operation?’ Manuelo asked.
‘I was.’
‘Who else knew about the operation?’
‘I am unable to say. That’s classified information.’
For some of the more specific questions, Lanza ran out of prepared answers. Every time he got into trouble, though, he always had the same escape route: ‘It was a secret operation.’
My lawyer then asked why there was no record of this operation. He asked why none of the guards at San Pedro knew about it and why no one in the prison administration was informed, even when the operation had been completed. He asked why no phone call was made to external investigators once the operation had been ‘successful’ and why it took over a year to bring the charges. Lanza had a clever answer for those questions as well: ‘It would have compromised the safety of the undercover operatives.’
At that point, Lanza also mentioned the great risk that the Velascos had taken in attempting to bring me to justice. He informed the court that it had come to his attention that I had deliberately exposed his operatives to grave danger by illegally obtaining copies of their statements and distributing them within the prison with the intention of endangering their lives. This was backed up by the fact that Jorge Velasco had been obliged to change his statement in order to save his own life. Lanza did a very good job of making the Velascos sound like brave police agents, and me sound like a calculating drug baron. He spoke confidently and looked my lawyer in the eye when he answered his questions. He was winning the battle until Manuelo pulled out his big question.
Pointing at Jorge and Jose Luis, Manuelo asked, ‘And Colonel Lanza, would you please tell the court what is your relation to these two defendants?’
Lanza fidgeted for a few moments before mumbling an answer that no one heard.
‘Could you repeat your answer, colonel?’ Manuelo said, emphasising the word ‘colonel’.
‘I …’ Lanza looked around nervously and tried to stall for time. ‘I … I don’t understand what you’re asking.’
‘It’s not difficult. I’ll repeat the question,’ said Manuelo sarcastically, driving home his point. He had him now. ‘What is your relation to the defendants Jose Luis and Jorge Velasco?’
‘Why are you asking me this? I am a colonel in the Bolivian drug investigation unit.’
‘Answer the question please, witness!’ bellowed Manuelo. Colonel Lanza looked like he was finally about to answer, but the fiscal jumped in and saved him.
‘Objection. The witness is not obliged to respond.’
‘Why not?’ snapped Manuelo, turning angrily to address the fiscal. His face finally showed the anger that had been building up against the prosecutor during the trial. The colonel was a witness for the defence, which meant the fiscal was supposed to be cross-examining him, not protecting him.
‘By law, the witness is not obliged to answer that question,’ the fiscal repeated, and quoted a statute. Manuelo argued strongly, but the fiscal shouted him down and showed him the statute. Even then, Manuelo continued to argue.
‘The fiscal is correct,’ interrupted one of the judges. ‘The witness may decline to respond, if he so chooses.’ Manuelo argued with the judge, but the other judges called for order and asked that the case continue. Manuelo glared at the prosecutor and slapped the table to show his frustration. But there was nothing more he could do.
As soon as Manuelo gave in, I felt a wave of anger surge over me. I was ready to yell out, ‘But he’s the brother-in-law!’ I didn’t care if there was a law preventing it. I wouldn’t have cared if I got in trouble; once everyone knew that Colonel Lanza was a relative of the Velascos, they would know the truth. But Manuelo sensed what I was about to do and grabbed my knee.
‘No! Thomas, don’t do it!’ he hissed. ‘There’s no point.’
I calmed myself down. He was probably right. Although they had different surnames, the judges must have known the colonel was related to the Velascos. Why else would he have wanted to avoid answering the question? I decided not to make things worse for myself, as I had in my first case. The judge at my first trial had never returned my Queen of England ring.
I later looked up the statute. It was a law designed to protect the identity of family members of witnesses who testified in drug cases. Whoever drafted it hadn’t considered that the family members might be the ones on trial.