I am searching for the address of the specialized prosecutor from a ministry that I’ll refer to as “Ministry X” for the purposes of this entry. The location is not obvious from the street so the lawyer and I enter the most logical choice of archways into a courtyard to continue our search. My planned supply of searching time is eroding and I am in danger of being late. They love it when you are late because it gives them license to make you wait for a hugely disproportionate amount of time. They relish this part of the corruption dance.
Finally, among a collection of weather-beaten, plastic signs next to a non-descript door we find a small “Office of the Prosecutor of Ministry X” sign. With a minute to go we enter the jumble of half-renovated office space and begin the game of trying to find the office we need. We approach a secretary with our plight and after the requisite “you are nobody to me” delay she finally turns away from the television to look at us. Her demeanor can only be described as the personification of the phrase “You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone that gives a crap”. With a scowl she motions toward a hallway that we quickly shuffle down while reading the signs on the doors. Deputy This and Deputy That all the way down the hall. The last door has the last name we are looking for on it. I am about to knock on the door when the lawyer stops me.
“Remember, the prosecutor has the right to ask for your attorney not to be present. In that case you should refuse to answer on the grounds that you might incriminate yourself. Say something about being a foreigner and not fully understanding the language. Then mention Article 63 of the constitution.”
“Article 63? Ok.”