Once We Were Brothers (3 page)

* * *

“What do you think?” Liam said on the drive back to the Loop.

“If he pleads guilty, he’ll spend the rest of his life in jail. If he prevails on a plea of insanity, he’ll spend it in a hospital. Either way, he’ll be institutionalized until he dies. He’s a very sad person, but Chicago’s safer with him off the streets.”

“I don’t know, Cat, he didn’t harm anyone. He had an inoperative weapon. He’s lived here for fifty years and he’s never hurt a fly. Chicago won’t be measurably safer because Ben Solomon’s behind a locked door.”

“He may not have hurt anyone – yet – but he sure fits the definition of an obsessed stalker. Anyway, what can I do? You heard him; he doesn’t want our help. He’s going to plead guilty.”

Chapter Seven

“Cat, it’s Liam. Did you see the paper this morning?”

“No. What should I have seen?” The telephone handset was clamped between her cheek and her hunched shoulder while she thumbed through sheaves of papers on her desk.

“Ben Solomon. They released him today. They dropped the charges.”

“Why would the State do that? It’s a slam-dunk conviction.”

“Rosenzweig. He asked the State to dismiss the case. He said Solomon had suffered enough in his lifetime, that he’d been interned in the concentration camps and should never be interned again. He said he didn’t want to testify against Solomon. He’s a man of considerable influence, you know.”

“I don’t believe it. Is Rosenzweig a saint? Solomon assaulted him in front of a thousand people.”

“Nevertheless, he’s a free man. Rosenzweig said it was a case of mistaken identity and he felt safe from any future confrontations.”

“Liam, I don’t think Solomon believes he made a mistake.”

There was a pause on the phone. “Cat, I got a favor to ask.”

“Uh oh. I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Can you meet with Adele and me this afternoon?”

“Come on, Liam, you saw my office. I’m under enormous pressure here. I don’t want to get involved in this. Why is she focusing on me?”

“Because she thinks you’re the best lawyer in Chicago.”

“You probably told her that.”

“Many times.”

“Solomon’s been released, so why does she want to meet with me?”

“I’d rather let her tell you.”

“Damn it, Liam, I’m under water and I don’t have time for pro-bono work. They watch my hours like a hawk. If I don’t bill two hundred hours this month, Jenkins’ll be sitting on my couch lecturing me about law firm finances.”

Silence.

“I’ll take you to dinner, Cat. Anywhere you’d like. You’d be doing me a big favor.”

“It’s not fair to put it on that level.” She sighed and stared blankly at the telephone. “All right, three o’clock. Forget the dinner.”

“Cat?”

“Yes.”

“I think Adele is bringing Ben Solomon.”

“Then I changed my mind. I want dinner at Ambria.”

“Done. Dinner at Ambria. We’ll see you at three o’clock.”

* * *

Jenkins and Fairchild occupied the top three floors of the Marquette Building, sixteen-stories of brick and terra cotta sitting kitty-corner from the United States Courthouse. Built in 1895, the landmark building still had the original bronze panels above the entrance, depicting the life of Jacques Marquette, the French Jesuit missionary who explored Chicago in 1674. Colorful mosaic panels of Marquette’s encounters with the Calumet, built by the Tiffany firm, adorned the circular lobby.

Liam, Adele and Ben Solomon stepped out of the elevators into Jenkins and Fairchild’s reception area. In his poplin golf jacket, khaki pants and knit shirt, Solomon was nondescript, like a retiree waiting for an open seat at the North Avenue Beach chess tables.

Catherine’s secretary ushered the group to a conference room where they settled into soft leather seats around an oblong table.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Solomon,” Catherine said. “I understand the charges against you have been dropped.”

He nodded and folded his hands before him on the polished slate table.

Silence.

“How can we help you?” She smiled.

Solomon fumbled for a starting point. He shifted his weight and tapped the tips of his fingers together.

After an awkward moment, Adele broke in. “May I?” she asked Solomon.

He shrugged and gestured for her to begin.

“I’ve known Ben for many years. He’s a respected member of our congregation, very learned, very well read. I’ve never known him to be irrational. He has idiosyncrasies, but,” she tilted her head, “who doesn’t?”

Solomon interrupted. “I want to sue Rosenzweig.”

Catherine studied the gaunt man with the wispy white hair. “According to the newspapers your case was
Nolle Prosequied
. It was dismissed by the State without prejudice,” she said. “If you sue Mr. Rosenzweig, for whatever theory you think you have, it’s possible the State will reinstate the charges and prosecute you for aggravated assault and attempted murder.”

“Rosenzweig’ll never testify. He’ll never take the stand. That’s why he let me go.”

“If you sue him, he may not remain so gracious. He’ll testify to defend himself.”

“Gracious? Ha. He’ll never expose himself to testimony. Believe you me, he’ll never show up in a court.”

“Mr. Solomon,” said Catherine slowly, “a thousand people saw you put a gun to his face. Any one of them could testify against you.”

“It wasn’t loaded.”

“It doesn’t matter; you could still go to jail. And, if you don’t mind my asking, what was the point of threatening Mr. Rosenzweig with an unloaded gun?”

Her tone of voice unnerved Solomon. “Well, maybe I
do
mind.”

Catherine stood and extended her hand to bid him goodbye. “I’m sorry, Mr. Solomon, but I don’t think I can help you.”

Solomon lowered his head. Tears welled in his reddened eyes. He mumbled softly, words ostensibly meant for no one but himself.

“Please, Ms. Lockhart,” Adele said. “I know his story. Sit down, please.” She tapped the table lightly. “If you would listen for just a little while. Please.”

Catherine sighed and returned to her seat. “Mrs. Silver, I’m willing to listen, but I don’t think that Mr. Solomon is ready to talk. To be perfectly frank with you, I’m not aware of any legal basis to bring a lawsuit against Elliot Rosenzweig. Even if Mr. Solomon believes him to be a Nazi, even if he
was
a Nazi, and Mr. Solomon was imprisoned and tortured, I don’t think there’s an existing cause of action that’s still available in 2004. I think it’s called a suit for reparations, but to tell you the truth, I’ve never done any research on claims by Holocaust survivors. In any event, because of the passage of time, fifty-odd years, wouldn’t the claims be time-barred?”

“Not the claims I want to file,” Solomon said. “If I sued Germany or any of the corporations that willingly did business with the Nazis, you’re right, they’d be dismissed. And they’d be dismissed if I sued for imprisonment or torture. Treaties and settlements have put those cases to rest. The doors are all closed. As you may surmise, I’ve done a bit of research.”

“Then, I’m confused. If the doors are all closed, how do you plan to sue Rosenzweig?” Catherine said.

“I got it all figured out,” Solomon said. “And Rosenzweig will have to answer for his sins.”

Catherine pursed her lips and shook her head. “I can’t be a party to groundless lawsuit imposed solely for the purpose of harassment or torment. After all these years. And why Elliot Rosenzweig, of all people?”

“Catherine,” Adele said, gently placing her hand on Catherine’s arm, “let me tell you about Ben and why we’re here.”

She placed her purse on the table and folded her hands in her lap. “Ben came to America in 1949. After the war. When he….”

“No, Adele,” interrupted Ben again. “If a lawyer is going to hear
my
story, it should come from me.” He paused and stared into the ether of the conference room.

The group waited patiently while Ben Solomon gathered his thoughts.

“Like I said, Elliot Rosenzweig is a fraud. His real name is Otto Piatek, and many years ago he was my best friend in the world. We grew up together in Poland. A triumvirate we were; Otto, me……and Hannah. Inseparable. I never knew he survived the war until I saw him on TV a couple of months ago. For some odd reason, probably Hannah’s idea, I tuned into a public television special on patrons of the arts and there he was, sitting in his fancy office, calling himself Elliot Rosenzweig.”

“Could you be mistaken, Ben?” Catherine said. “It’s been fifty-nine years since World War II ended. Maybe he resembles Otto Piatek, or what you suppose Piatek would look like at age eighty-three.”

“Mistaken? No. I recognize his features. I know his voice. The camera zoomed in on his face and I jumped to my feet. I ran to the TV and watched the balance of the show inches away from the screen. Oh, it’s him all right. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed. It’s Piatek.”

Adele lifted her eyebrows and nodded, as if to say, “You see. I told you so.”

“There are look-alikes,” Catherine said. “Some people think I look like Beth Stone, the newscaster. I’ve been stopped on the street for an autograph.”

“I can see that,” said Adele. “Except you’re much prettier than Beth Stone. More classic looking.” She punctuated her opinion with a quick nod of her head.

“I don’t know about any Beth Stone, but that was Piatek on the TV,” Ben said flatly. “So I went to the library. I looked up some newspaper articles about Elliot Rosenzweig. It’s him. There’s no doubt in my mind. I read how he immigrated to Chicago after the war. A penniless camp survivor. So how does he find the money to set up some million dollar insurance company?”

“Doesn’t he say he met people and invested wisely?”

“You’re right, he met people. He met them in Poland and took everything they had.”

He spread his hands. “Anyway, so now this Nazi bastard is a multi-millionaire, with a grandiose estate in Winnetka, and he’s prancing around in the costume of respectability.”

“All these years in Chicago, why didn’t you make the connection?” asked Liam.

“Well, of course I’d heard of him. Everyone knows about Billionaire Rosenzweig, but I never had any reason to give him a second thought. I certainly never met him. We don’t exactly run in the same circles. I worked for the Park District, a starter at a municipal golf course; he’s the country club sort. Our paths never crossed.

“Anyway, after I recognized him on the TV show, I read in the newspaper that he would be at the Lyric Opera on opening night. He’s on the Board of Directors, you know, and one of the largest contributors, maybe
the
largest. So I made a plan. I bought a German Lugar, standard issue to the Waffen SS, a weapon he knows very well, and I went to the opera to publicly confront him. Deep down, Otto’s a coward. I thought if he feared for his life, he’d confess to everyone and admit that he’s Otto Piatek. And I think he would have if that Neanderthal hadn’t knocked me down.”

“Why don’t you go to the United States Attorney’s office?” Catherine said. “The Justice Department has the responsibility to investigate claims of Nazi war criminals. There’s no statute of limitations. If he’s really a Nazi, he’ll be deported for trial.”

“Otto’s too clever. And wealthy. He’s purchased a throne in Chicago society. What chance is there that the federal authorities would believe a lowly pensioner against the word of Elliot Rosenzweig? They’d never consider the case.”

“But you have a plan to sue him?”

“Correct. I couldn’t get him to confess, but I figured out a way to get him into court. Not for reparations or personal injuries, because those cases are barred, but I have the right to sue him for stealing my family’s property. My parents gave him all our valuables to hide for us during the Nazi occupation. Otto agreed to bury them under the floor of my grandfather’s barn until the war was over or until we were settled in America or wherever we ended up. All our money, our jewelry, my mother’s silver.”

He pointed his finger. “So, we make a demand for him to return the property and when he refuses, we sue him for replevin or conversion. I want the court to order him to return our property or to pay me the value of what he stole. We’re within our time limits. The statute of limitations does not commence to run until demand and refusal.”

Catherine paused and raised her eyebrows. “Replevin or conversion?”

Solomon quickly added, “There’s legal precedent, you know. Plenty of it. Mostly concerning stolen artworks. Courts recognize the right to sue for return of specific property stolen by the Nazis. There’s a case against an Austrian art museum. There’s one against Sotheby’s. There’s a terrific case against a New York Gallery to recover a Chagall. As long as the lawsuits are brought against individuals and not foreign sovereigns, they’ll survive. ”

Catherine rocked back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “I guess you have been doing some research.”