Once We Were Brothers (13 page)

“I cannot tell a lie.”

“That’s not fair,” Catherine said. “I’ve been very attentive. I haven’t rushed him at all. But, in fairness, we’re not getting any closer to Rosenzweig and if we don’t steer our discussions to the relevant issues before the partners start bellowing about the time I’m spending on non-billable hours, I’ll be in hot water.”

“It’s true, she is a good listener,” Ben said. “And she’s kept her fidgeting to a minimum. But she’s wrong about one thing. We’re closing in on Otto. Soon you’ll know the whole story.”

Liam took a seat at the table, Ben refilled his tea and Catherine picked up her notes.

“Ben was just at the point where the Gestapo had occupied Zamość and Dr. Frank had visited his home.”

“Hans Frank?” Liam said.

“Yes. You know of him?” Catherine said.

“Wasn’t he executed for war crimes at Nuremburg?”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “That’s correct. His elegant manners belied his unspeakable cruelty. He was a monster. For a time during the early stages of the war, he was the Governor General of all of Poland. How do you know about Dr. Frank?”

Liam flashed a sheepish smile. “I’ve been reading.”

Catherine looked surprised. “Really?”

“I figured since I got you involved in all this, I’d better know something. Just in case I’m needed.”

“I’m proud of you,” Catherine said. “You might be useful after all. Ben was just telling me that Dr. Frank appointed Ben’s father to the Judenrat, a committee to administer the town.”

“Not exactly, not the whole town,” Ben said. “The Judenrat was formed to implement the Gestapo’s orders to the Jewish community, not the Christian part of Zamość. So, on the evening of the next day, we gathered in the living room to listen to my father when he returned from his first Judenrat meeting.

“‘We’ve been ordered to take a census of every Jew in Zamość, by age, sex and occupation,’ he said. ‘They’re going to use that census to choose six hundred workers a day for forced labor. Essentially, we are to be slaves to the Germans. If we leave anyone off the census and they discover the omission….’ He stopped and cradled his forehead in his hands.

“Mother came over and sat next to him, her arm around his shoulders. My uncle, my aunt, Beka and Otto all sat speechless.

“Father continued, ‘We are also ordered to collect money from Jewish families. They call it a tax to pay for their administration of our town. They have also decreed that they will soon decide which of our houses are needed for German officers and which of our businesses they will own.’

“Aunt Hilda jumped to her feet. ‘Just as it was in Vienna. They take everything you own, and then they torture you and shoot you and break your legs.’ Mother walked over to comfort Aunt Hilda and then Beka started crying and Mother didn’t know who to help first.

“The census that my father spoke about took several days; there were more than five thousand Jews in Zamość. During that time my father and the other members of the Judenrat were harassed and urged to complete their assignment quickly or face the consequences.

“Each week saw more Gestapo arrive from Berlin. They established quite a bureaucracy in Zamość. Dr. Frank would come and go; his travels took him all over Poland.

“It seemed like every week the Gestapo would institute a new restriction. Our liberties eroded bit by bit. One afternoon my father returned home with a bag of armbands. ‘Jews are ordered to wear white armbands with yellow stars. You may not go out without it,’ he said. ‘They have threatened severe punishment for violation of their rules.’

“A few days later he told us that Jews were banned from using any vehicles and none of us were allowed to exit the town, except in work details.”

“What happened to your car?” Catherine said.

“It was usually parked in front of our house. One day German soldiers came and demanded the keys. And that was especially devastating to my father. He loved his car and kept it polished. It ran like a dream.” Ben smiled. “It was a German car. It broke his heart to hand over the keys. But the loss of Father’s car was another slap of reality. As long as we had a car, we had mobility, a way out, a chance to escape. Now we were trapped.”

Ben stopped. He stood, put his palms on the table, leaned forward and looked directly into Catherine’s eyes. “And now, Catherine, we will focus on Mr. Otto Piatek.” He pointed his finger at her yellow pad. “Get ready to write.”

“It is the night after they took our car. We are clearing the dinner table when there is a loud knock on the door. My father opens it to find Ilse and Stanislaw standing there, she in a long tan raincoat and he in the khaki uniform of a minor SS functionary. They don’t wait to be invited in; they just brush past my father and demand to see Otto.

“I fetch him from our bedroom. He takes one look at his mother and father and makes a spitting noise.

“‘You are not permitted to stay in the house of Jews,’ declares Ilse. ‘You are a German citizen, here are your papers.’ She holds out a folded identity card, but Otto refuses to take it.

“‘Otto, take your papers,’ she says. Otto shakes his head.

“‘Do what your mother says, you ungrateful little snit,’ says Stanislaw.

“‘Or what?’ Otto says belligerently.

“Seeing that Otto won’t budge, Ilse softens her demeanor. ‘I have help for the Solomons, but you must listen to me.’

“‘Can you get us all out of Poland?’ Otto says.

“‘That I cannot do, not at this time. But I have arranged an appointment for you here in Zamość. You’ll be an assistant clerk and work in the offices of the German administration, part of the group that reports directly to Vice-Reichsfuhrer Heydrich’s office in Berlin. You are to help administer the Jewish work details for the Zamość region.’

“‘Oh really? Send my people to do slave labor? How gracious of you. No, thanks,’ Otto says and he turns to leave.

“Ilse pleads, but Otto shows no interest.

“‘Wait a minute, Otto,’ Father says. ‘Maybe we should talk this over.’

“Otto is surprised but he’s not about to question my father, especially in front of others, so Otto nods and says to Ilse, ‘I’m going to talk this over with Uncle Abraham. In private. I’ll let you know later what I decide.’

“‘
Liebchen
, there’s a war going on,’ Ilse says. ‘Look around the room. These people are declared to be enemies of the Reich. Without your help, they may all be casualties of the war.’

“‘Come back tomorrow night and I’ll give you my answer after I talk to Uncle Abraham.’

“‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Stanislaw says, pushing aside Beka and making his way toward Otto. ‘No Jew is going to make decisions about my son. You listen to your mother, you Jew-loving punk.’

“Otto, who is much younger, taller and stronger than Stanislaw, steps forward and blocks Stanislaw’s approach. ‘Don’t you ever push anyone in my house,’ he says. ‘Ever. Or I’ll break you into little pieces.’

“Ilse turns to her husband and says through clenched teeth, ‘Shut up, you fool.’ Then, turning back to Otto and squeezing his hands, she pleads, ‘Please think about your opportunity here, Otto. You’ll be an officer of the Reich in an administrative position. And you’ll be able to help your friends. Just think about it. I’ll come back tomorrow night.’

“She gives him a kiss on the forehead and walks to the door. Stanislaw follows and as he reaches the doorway, he turns, gives a Nazi salute, snaps his heels, and barks ‘Heil Hitler.’ He laughs and slams the door behind him.”

Catherine shook her head. “The Otto you’re describing in your story, he’s…”

“Once we were brothers,” said Ben sadly.

Catherine looked at her watch. “I’d like to keep going, Ben, but it’s five o’clock and I have a department meeting in half an hour, which, by the way, I dread.”

“Shall I come back later?”

“How about dinner?” Liam said. “Bernini’s? I’m buying.”

“Sounds good to me, but maybe Catherine has had enough of me for one day.”

Catherine breathed a sigh of surrender. “I’ll meet you at Bernini’s at 7:30.”

Chicago, Illinois October 2004

“You have information, Carl?”

The private investigator stood meekly before Elliot’s desk, shifting from one foot to the other. Brian sat to his left. “Well, sort of, Mr. Rosenzweig. Otto Piatek was born in Germany. In Leipzig. I guess that’s how he ended up becoming a Nazi officer. I can’t find out much about his early life, there’s no records on him in Germany. He’s not mentioned in the records of the Hitler Youth organization. I’ve checked the major German cemeteries, especially those where German soldiers are buried. Again, nothing. I also checked the immigration records after the war. No Piatek. That’s not surprising, they change their names. But I got an idea.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows. He glanced at Brian who was taking notes.

“I got a contact, Mr. Rosenzweig. He’s like a friend of a friend. You know what I mean?”

Elliot shook his head. “What’s the point, Carl?”

“Yes, sir. Well, he belongs to the Liberty Crusade. It’s a Teutonic group. You know, some people would call them Neo-Nazis. The have a lodge and hold meetings out on Mannheim Road. They network with a lot of those kinda groups.”

Elliot stood. “You mean, Piatek is a member of this group? You have that information?”

“No. Not yet.” Wuld winked. “Some of these guys are, how shall I say, former German citizens. Maybe sons of National Socialists or German soldiers. They have ways of keeping in touch and finding out what happened to their people. My friend’s friend, he’s always in financial difficulty. I’m thinking he could be a source. You know, for the right price?”

Elliot smiled. “Good work, Carl. Let Brian know how much you need. And get back to us as soon as possible. What about Solomon?”

“I’ve obtained some additional information and I’m putting it all together for you. I should have a report by tomorrow.”

Wuld left the office and Elliot glanced over at his secretary. “Who’s he kidding, Brian? Friend of a friend? Indeed.”

“Sounds like he’s looking for an extra payday, sir,” Brian said. “But I’ve always been a bit wary of his political inclinations. Shall I discharge him and engage another firm?”

“Hell, no. Let’s see what he digs up. Besides, I want to see his report on Solomon.”

“May I ask, sir, why are you still concerned about this Piatek fellow? The unpleasant episode at the opera has come and gone. It’s all but forgotten by the public. I doubt that anyone ever thought you were a Nazi anyway.”

“I’m not so sure. Brian, I was publicly accused of being someone else, and not just someone, but according to Solomon, a murdering Nazi. It doesn’t get much worse than that. And I don’t know why he would single me out. Maybe Piatek found his way to Chicago and maybe Solomon spotted him somewhere. Maybe he looks like me and Solomon got confused. I know it’s a long shot, but if that’s the story, I want to find Piatek. You know, Brian, if this guy does exist, if he was a Nazi murderer and he’s still around, then he ought to be caught. We’d be doing society a favor. And it would put to rest any suspicions that anyone could have about me.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll see that Wuld gets the money he needs for his friend of a friend.”

As Brian stood to leave, Elliot added, “Brian, when we get information on this guy, dead or alive, I want to make sure that all the papers and the TV stations understand that I spearheaded this search. That will clear my name. When you give Carl his money, have a talk with him. Make sure he knows that all the information is to come directly to you or me and nowhere else.”

Chapter Eighteen

Chicago, Illinois 2004

Liam and Ben sat on wrought iron stools at Bernini’s bar, leaning their elbows on the stained, cigarette-burned oak, sipping beer and waiting for Catherine. Located on a tree-lined side street in Chicago’s Little Italy, the tiny trattoria had been in operation since the Twenties and was rumored to have been a haunt of the old prohibition gangs. The daily menu was written on a chalk board over the bar and featured specials like Fusilli Carbonara, Manicotti al Forno and Steak Vesuvio.

“She seemed tense to me today,” Ben said.

“Well, to be frank, you’ve taken a pretty good chunk of her time recently and she has to meet with her department heads tonight. I’m sure her time records will be addressed. They’re going to want justification for the time she’s spending with you.”

“She has to understand how it was.”

Liam lifted his frosted mug. “Does she really? In such detail? In order for her to evaluate your case or to be an effective advocate, does she need to know any more than the strength of your evidence? Does she really need to have all the historical background?”

“It’s about passion, Liam. For a lawyer to take on a case like mine against a monster like Piatek, she has to have no reservations. She has to attack like a bulldog, with a fire that burns from within, not because it’s another piece of legal inventory or a case assigned to her by a department chairman.”

“Maybe you’re not giving her enough credit. She’s very dedicated.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt. But to take on Rosenzweig and all his wealth, and prevail in a lawsuit which accuses him of participation in Nazi atrocities, will take more courage, more heart, more dogged determination than this young woman has ever had to muster. That’s why she must know the whole story, piece by piece, day by day. She has to have a true feeling for what happened. And that’s also the reason that she can’t farm it out to some clinic or some inexperienced lawyer.”