The Letter Writer (22 page)

BERYL HERDED THEM TOWARD THE STERN.

“If we're to stick to our cover, first we'll have to earn our keep. Give me some help with these boxes.”

“Sure,” Cain said, eager to please. Danziger was slower to respond. To Cain he looked more ashen and worn than at any time since they'd met. At first he ascribed it to seasickness, but now he believed Beryl was right. Memories were to blame, and not just the specter of Lady Liberty. Cain wondered what must have happened here, but didn't feel it was his business to ask.

They hefted two boxes apiece and headed for the gangplank, where the other passengers were already going ashore.

“The crew will bring the rest,” she said. “Set them down over there, where you see the other ones.”

“It is the same spot where they unloaded our steamer trunks and carpet bags,” Danziger said, his gaze a blank. He saw Cain watching him and looked away. From the dock they could see only part of the grounds at the front of the building, but there was still no sign of Lorenz.

“Follow me,” Beryl said.

They moved toward a doorway on the left side of the main building, then up some marble steps through a double door. Inside, bored-looking men and women sat at desks with in-baskets, blotters, and rubber stamps—the very picture of officious obstruction. But they seemed to know Beryl, and waved her through. One of them even smiled.

“These two are with me,” she said, smiling back.

They passed through a second set of doors and found themselves barricaded from the rest of the room by two long tables of stained pine that formed a giant L. Chairs on both sides faced each other across a low partition that ran down the length of the tables.

“This is the visiting area,” Beryl said.

On the near side, several chairs were already occupied by waiting visitors. Cain noticed soldiers lurking here and there. He didn't like the idea of being overheard.

“If you want to play it safe, we could ask a guard to find Lorenz. But I'm allowed upstairs, and maybe they'll let you come with me. If so, you can try to pick him out from the crowd.”

“I am not entirely sure I will recognize him,” Danziger said. “I have not laid eyes upon him in many a year. But if he is already as notorious as you imply, we can always inquire of others.”

“Then let's go,” Beryl said.

She moved quickly. At the top of the stairs the doors opened onto a huge room with a soaring rooftop and a buzz of voices. By then, Danziger's breathing was labored, and he looked stunned.

“You need a rest?” Cain asked.

“How appropriate that you should ask. These steps were the first test of health for all new arrivals. My mother was feeling weak, but she made it without faltering. There was an inspector seated just there, off to the side, eyeing everyone for signs of illness. We learned this only later, of course. If he selected you, you were marched straight off to the doctors, perhaps never to return. I remember clearly what he said as we passed, because he spoke in very bad German: ‘Get upstairs, cattle. You will soon have a nice little pen!' ”

Beryl took him gently by the arm and led him forward. Cain wondered if her ancestors had also arrived here. He had no idea when his own family had come to America or where they'd landed, beyond a hazy knowledge that they'd settled in rural North Carolina in the late eighteenth century.

They moved deeper into the room, Cain expecting to be shouted down at any moment by one of the guards. Tables, chairs, and couches were clustered here and there. Perhaps thirty or forty people were scattered around the cavernous hall at this hour, since almost everyone else was outdoors. Six children, all of them younger than Olivia, shrieked with glee as they weaved through the tables at one end, playing tag. Older men sat smoking as they read newspapers and magazines. A few women were sewing, or talking in small groups. At the far end, two round tables were filled with men playing cards. Smoke rose from their cigarettes like the effluent of a small factory.

“I think that might be him,” Danziger said. “At the card tables, the one on the left. See the fellow who looks like he's holding court?”

Cain saw right away who he meant. Lutz Lorenz had an air of command, or perhaps confidence was the better word. Even from here you couldn't miss his knowing expression, the deft movements as he dealt the cards. He struck Cain as one of those enviable men who could walk into a party, or a tavern, and within minutes look right at home, with a hostess or bartender already at his beck and call, and the respectful attention of his peers.

“They are hanging on his every word,” Danziger said.

“He's also got the biggest pile of chips. Probably bluffing them right and left.”

“His father's son.” Danziger smiled.

“Would you like me to approach him for you?” Beryl asked. “He looks like the type who might easily become suspicious.”

“We should approach him together,” Danziger said. “But you speak first. If he is like his father, a feminine face will appeal to his greatest weakness.”

As they drew nearer, Cain heard low voices in German and saw the men sliding chips toward a pile in the center. Lorenz said something that made the others laugh. When he saw the approaching trio he frowned, put down his cards, and spoke in perfect English.

“The lady is welcome to observe us. As for the two gentlemen, I am afraid that it is too late to deal anyone else into the game, and I don't wish you to stand there looking at our cards. So, if you please…”

Cain and Beryl hesitated, but Danziger continued past them until he was standing behind Lorenz's right shoulder. It left Lorenz little choice about what to do next, unless he wished to have Danziger looming over him like a bird of prey.

Lorenz scraped back his chair and stood. His look of easy congeniality was gone. The blue of his eyes turned colder. He gave no sign of recognizing Danziger, although their foreheads were only inches apart. No one said a word. The click of one chip against another was as jarring as if someone had cleared his throat.

“Look at me closely, Lutz,” Danziger said calmly. Lorenz furrowed his brow. Something had registered, but his eyes said he wasn't quite ready to believe it.

“It is me, Lutz. Max Dalitz.”

Lorenz's mouth opened and shut without any words emerging. Then it opened again.

“How…?”

“With your father's help. But that is for another time. What is important now is that I owe him a debt of gratitude, so I have come to assist you in matters that only I will know how to handle. Am I making myself clear?”

“Let's go somewhere with a little more privacy.”

He turned toward the others, who had put down their cards and were staring. It was clear they weren't accustomed to seeing Lutz Lorenz in any situation in which he was uncomfortable.

“Gentlemen…” he said. Then he corrected himself: “Meine Herren…”

The rest of his words were a stream of German. Lorenz tossed his cards onto the table and left his chips. The men nodded but said little, seemingly in awe of the entire episode. Cain, Danziger, Beryl, and Lorenz crossed the room to a space where three folding chairs faced each other in a tight circle. The only neighbor was an older woman on a couch, working at an elaborate piece of embroidery in a shaft of filtered sunlight. She looked up, frowning when she saw Lorenz. She gathered up her sewing, tutted under her breath, and departed hastily. Danziger watched with interest.

Beryl touched Cain's arm.

“I will leave you to your business,” she whispered. “I'll keep an eye out for anyone who takes too much of an interest.”

“Thanks.”

“Good luck.”

The men took their seats. Danziger spoke first. “You seem to have acquired quite a reputation, Lutz, for someone who has been here for such a short time.”

“In this place you either make an immediate impression or you're swallowed whole by blanket disregard.” He surveyed the room, shaking his head. “It's that or turn into a monk. The wakeup bell at six twenty, breakfast fifty minutes later. Germans and Italians at one end, Japs at the other. Exercise at eight for those who want it. Lunch at noon, more exercise at three, supper at five fifteen, lights out at ten. And just when you're beginning to really sleep, the bell rings again.”

“And poker all day long?”

He shrugged.

“What do your new neighbors make of your politics?”

Lorenz snorted, shrugging again. “Stooges for Hitler, all of them. Fools and blowhards. But I never speak of that, or even the Fatherland. I deal with them on more pragmatic terms. We live by a capitalist culture here, and I've been able to bring certain assets to the table.”

“In order to comport yourself in this manner, I gather you must have been able to smuggle in quite a bit of cash?”

Lorenz smiled, but said nothing.

“Where is your family?”

Lorenz lowered his head, the first sign that his cocksure attitude was an act.

“I won't discuss them. They're back on the mainland, somewhere far from Yorkville. It was never them they wanted, anyway. Just me.”

“Who, exactly, wanted you, Lutz?”

He looked away and shook his head.

“All right, then. We know it was Gurfein's doing, even if Immigration brought you here.”

Lorenz narrowed his eyes.

“Who's this other fellow with you? What's his business here?”

Danziger and Cain exchanged glances. They'd discussed earlier whether to tell Lorenz that Cain was a cop, but they'd never reached a decision. Cain sensed that now might be the right time to come clean.

“I'm a cop,” he said. “A detective, nothing to do with Gurfein. If anything, I've got him in my sights. Plus a few other mugs, in the matter of a couple murders of some people you knew. Werner Hansch and Klaus Schaller.”

Lorenz lowered his head and placed his hands on his knees. He was close enough for Cain to smell, and the scent was familiar—that of a jailed man, as if confinement itself was something that got under your skin and emerged in your sweat. When Lorenz finally looked up, he was a shade paler.

“That could have been me, out there in the river. I'll at least give Gurfein that, that he didn't stoop to anything as low as burning me full of cigarette holes, or shooting me in the face. For that alone I suppose I owe him my silence.”

“Was it Gurfein's people who knocked them off?”

Lorenz shook his head.

“Is that a no?”

“I cannot,
will
not, say anything more.”

He folded his arms. Cain looked to Danziger, who touched Lorenz's knee and leaned closer, speaking in the manner of an old confidant.

“Come, Lutz. You are acquainted with how these things work. I am sure that Mr. Gurfein, whatever his role in these affairs, intends to do well by you if at all possible. No doubt he was the one who arranged for the relocation of your family.” Lorenz looked up, but didn't nod. “But we also know that he cannot possibly keep their whereabouts a secret forever. And if others wish you to do their bidding, that is how they will choose to apply leverage, no matter how long you remain here. Yes?”

“As if you could do anything about it.”

“We could, in fact. Why else do you think we came? Why else would I be attempting to repay your father for all that he once did for me? And when that day comes, when those people go looking for your wife, your mother, your children, you will want to avail yourself of every asset at your disposal. As for Mr. Gurfein, yes, of course you will still want his allegiance. But we both know how short the memories of those kinds of people can be. It is his job to keep you and your loved ones safe, but not his avocation, not his solemn vow. And who is to say how long he will remain in his job? It is the government, Lutz. Men come and men go. Will his replacement have the same allegiance, the same sense of loyalty? Your friends, however—your oldest friends, in particular—those are forever, Lutz. As you know.”

Lorenz uncrossed his arms. He picked at a piece of lint on his trousers and looked at Danziger.

“They first came to me four months ago. In December, a week or so after Pearl.”

“Who did, Lutz?” Danziger asked. “Who came to you?”

“Please!” His eyes flared. “I have to tell this in my own way.”

“Of course. As you wish.”

Cain offered a Lucky. Lorenz nodded and took it, but waved away the offer of a match and pulled a gleaming Zippo from his pocket. Seeing Cain's impressed reaction, he said, “I won it yesterday, from those idiots at the table. Their poker is even worse than their politics.”

He lit it, inhaled luxuriously, and flicked ashes onto the marble floor.

“They were Italian, to answer your question. And there was only one of them. He did not offer a name, but he fit the type. His suit, his hat, the bulge in his jacket, the way he talked. A goombah of the first order. And in case I was not already convinced, he made sure I knew by paying in cash, a big bag of it. In exchange, all I had to do was provide him with the names of four trustworthy German workers. And keep my mouth shut, of course.”

“That's all?” Cain said.

“No. That's never all, is it, Sascha?”

Danziger showed no reaction. Lorenz continued: “They did not want just any Germans. They asked that these men be sympathetic to the current regime in Berlin. They said they only needed me as a procurer. They assured me that for any further involvement they would find a more prominent sponsor from the community in Yorkville. Someone a bit more prosperous, and who shared their backward politics.”

“A Nazi, then,” Danziger said. “Or perhaps a Bundist.”

Lorenz nodded, took another drag.

“To assist with my recruitment, I was told to explain to these four men that they would be given union cards and provided with lucrative employment on a waterfront sector on the West Side.”