“You’re the only credible witness to survive the Devil’s Hill camp. Are you aware of that, Mrs. Lane?”
The Renault strained up a mountain road, and Kelly added, “As far as we know all the other victims are dead, apart from Mrs. Dragovich.”
“And her mental state may not hold up in court.”
“Exactly. That’s why your testimony could be vital to any future prosecution.”
Kelly looked across. “I hate to say this, but your life could even be in danger. If any of the war criminals still at large who committed these terrible acts ever find out, they may want to kill you. You may have to become a protected witness. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I’m a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?”
“Try not to say it as if I’ve got leprosy, Mr. Kelly.”
“I . . . I wasn’t. I just wasn’t aware . . .”
“I’m kidding. Mocking my profession can be a habit of mine. I get what you’re saying. Mind if I open the window?”
“Not at all. Give the handle a good jerk.”
Carla jerked the handle and let in fresh air.
They left Dubrovnik far behind and drove up through rocky gorges and heavily wooded mountains, the air drenched with the smell of pine sap. She remembered that fragrance, as if it was ingrained in her.
They crossed the border from Croatia into Bosnia, and took several rest stops during the long drive. Kelly passed villages still gouged by bullet holes and artillery shells, and the remains of burned-out farms and houses.
“For all its exquisite scenery, this place has such a dark past, Mrs. Lane.”
“Do we drive near the Omarska camp?”
“Near enough. We pass it on the way to the site.”
“It’s where my father was imprisoned. I’d like to see it if you don’t mind.”
“You can’t get in.”
“Why not?”
“The camp was part of an iron ore mine that’s now owned by the Indian mining company, AcelorMittal, in partnership with the local government.”
“So?”
“There are memorials in most surrounding towns and villages but to this day none’s been erected to the victims who perished there. And they don’t exactly encourage visitors.”
“Why not?”
“The region is still predominantly Serb, and the local council would prefer to put that ugly part of their history behind them. As well as that, most of the old buildings where the prisoners were kept are torn down. But I can drive by, if that’s what you want.”
• • •
Carla felt her stomach tighten. The more miles the Renault ate up, the more apprehensive she grew.
When hours later they came around a bend she saw a large industrial mining complex—several large buildings, including an ore smelter.
Surrounded by a barbed-wire fence, security guards manned the gates.
“That’s Omarska. The mines are still being worked—despite the fact that it’s estimated thousands of bodies are still missing. We only found several hundred.”
“Tell me.”
“Many had been starved or shot to death, or dead from ill health. They say it was as bad as Auschwitz.”
“What happened to all the others?”
“I’ve no doubt most of them are buried in the huge mounds of spoil heaps scattered around the mines.”
Carla saw hills of old mining debris sprinkled around the landscape. She thought about her father and how he must have suffered. Was he buried here, somewhere in the mounds of debris?
She felt a violent shiver. The prospect was too terrible to contemplate.
“Will you take me to see the Devil’s Hill?”
“Are you really sure you want to do that?”
“It’s the last thing I want to do, believe me.”
“Then why do what you’re dreading?”
“Because I feel compelled to.”
“Okay, but first we’ll see the site where the bodies were found. After that, if you still feel up to it I’ll take you there.”