By Frank Parlato
After having written several stories about his trial and conviction, to my surprise, Bernhard Fritsch disappeared just before a remand hearing ahead of sentencing on June 2.
I always thought he had a chance at non-remand, hoping Judge Dale Fischer, who had allowed him to remain free for two months after conviction, would let him stay out until sentencing so he could work on an appeal. I believed he had a strong chance of winning that appeal—and possibly a commutation, something I once helped secure for Carlos Watson.
I was as surprised as anyone when one of his lawyers told me he hadn’t shown up.
I’ll admit, when I told a private lawyer for Donald Trump that my work might be over in making Fritsch’s case for commutation, there was a flicker of glee.
“He’s gone,” I said. “And forgot nothing but to say goodbye to his prosecutors.”
Under the circumstances—though I would never advise a man to flee the jurisdiction—I can’t say I blamed Fritsch. Still, I wondered if maybe he’d taken his own life. A refined man like Fritsch is not built for the hell of an American detention center.
As the hours and days passed, it seemed less likely it was suicide; a body would have turned up. But I didn’t know for sure what had become of him.
A few monts later, my phone rang from an unknown number. It was Fritsch. He would not disclose where he was. He didn’t say much, only that he was alive and would contact me again when he was safe. And he did. Last week, he called to tell me he was in Germany.
I told him that if I wrote the story, I would have to disclose that he was in Germany for two reasons. First, it was the point of the story. Second, if the U.S. government didn’t know and was devoting resources to finding him, they should know, so as not to waste their time.
Because you see, in Germany, Fritsch is safe. Germans do not extradite their own. The FBI can’t touch him—not for the crime he was convicted of, wire fraud. So while I protect my sources, I cannot aid or abet a fugitive, and I don’t want to see the government waste resources looking for him when they can know his whereabouts without compromising Fritsch.
It turned out to be moot anyway, since while I was gathering facts for the story, the FBI learned Fritsch was in Germany and put it in their filings. They also admitted they cannot bring him back for sentencing—because he is, after all, a German citizen—but they still want to proceed and sentence him anyway. It appears that it will happen on Monday.
Judge Fischer will likely sentence him. The government wants fifteen years, but he is unlikely to serve a day unless he returns.
So yes, I told him he should go back, face his penalty, and fight for an appeal or a commutation or pardon—but I knew he wouldn’t.
He is in Munich in Bavaria, amid the palaces of the Wittelsbach kings and the Alps in the distance. The light changes when the clouds pass. Castles on slopes. Neuschwanstein against the green hills. The lakes are still, and villagers paint their houses with saints and shepherds, and cows wander through meadows, and church bells mark the hours.
If a man were looking for absolution, even if he were not an American fugitive, he might go there.
I told him to go back. So he can go to the Metropolitan Detention Center and await a permanent prison assignment. Leave Bavaria and go to a gray building with narrow windows. Inside, the light never changes, morning and night, under fluorescent light. Where noise is constant — the clang of doors, the shuffle of shoes. The Los Angeles Detention Center is a place where men wait — that’s the truest thing you can say about it.
I told him to go back, a man who had lived eight years waiting for trial in Los Angeles—a man like him, a man who built things, behind steel doors and flickering lights. He’s in Bavaria now. The government can’t reach him, and I suppose that’s justice in its own small way.
Germany doesn’t hand over its own for wire fraud. A paper crime. No violence. No extradition. It’s not even a crime in Germany. If he stays there, he’s untouchable. If he returns, he’s a ghost already. The FBI can file motions, judges can set hearings, prosecutors can ask for years — it won’t matter. The law ends at the German border.
Go back.
It was the only advice I could give a man who has seen what happens to men who trust the word “justice.”
Would I go back if I were him?
Not a chance.
