Once We Were Brothers (38 page)

Liam nodded and hugged her. “It’s all right. It’s okay.”

“If our relationship falls apart,” she said, “like all my other love affairs have my entire life, then I’ve lost the only friend I’ve got. I can’t afford for that to happen. I need you, Liam. Especially now. Please. Let me work this out my way.”

“Okay, Cat,” he said, drawing her head to his chest. “Okay.”

After a few moments of silence, she lifted her head and said, “Let me do a little work, a few more minutes, finish up, and then you can take me to dinner. Okay?”

“Sure,” Liam said.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Tinley Park, Illinois December 2004

Carl Wuld heard the doorbell ring at eight a.m. He stumbled down the stairs in his underwear and opened the door a crack. “Whatdya want?” he said to Liam standing on the front stoop.

“I want to talk about Carl Henninger.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Really? Have you heard of Samantha Green? I believe she was sixteen at the time. Am I jarring your memory? What about ‘People of the State of Arizona versus Carl Henninger, cause number 89 CR 4588?”

The door opened and Wuld stepped back to let Liam in. He led him to the small living room and took a soiled sweatshirt off the back of a chair. “You could sit here.” Wuld sat on the sofa. “What do you want,” he said.

“Does your wife know about Carl Henninger? Does Rosenzweig?”

“Nobody does. How do you know?”

“I’m a great detective. I also have a friend in Arizona.”

“That was fifteen years ago. I paid my debt.”

“I didn’t come across your State of Illinois registration, you know, as a sex offender. I didn’t see your name online, either. Let’s see, your jurisdiction of registration would be the City of Chicago. My, my. You must’ve have forgotten to file your notifications. Damn, how those things can slip your mind.”

“What the fuck do you want? You want money? I don’t have much.”

Liam smiled. “I want you to tell me about Piatek.”

“Can’t do it.”

Liam rose. “So long, Henninger.” He walked to the door.

“Wait. Wait. Maybe we can work something out. What do you want to know?”

“I want you to tell me about this bullshit stake-out story and why you were sitting outside in your car at Thanksgiving.”

“Okay, it’s a bullshit story. Okay? I gotta make a living just like you. Rosenzweig calls me to his fancy office and hires me to find out anything I can about Otto Piatek, a Polish Nazi. Find him if he’s still alive. If he’s dead, find his grave. Any information I can dig up, I’m to come directly to him. For that, he’s willing to pay me big bucks. I’m getting checks for twenty, thirty grand. It’s sweet. Only trouble is, there ain’t shit to find. This guy was some minor Nazi and he disappeared. Totally. I saw a giant payday walking out on me.

“So I decide to run a number and milk Rosenzweig for a little money. Shit, he’d never miss it. You’da done it too. I find this guy in Cleveland, through the phonebook, a guy named Piacek. What a fuckin’ coincidence. He lives in a little house in a blue collar neighborhood. It’s perfect. So I visit the guy. He’s a retired metalworker. On a pension. Doesn’t even speak good English. All his family’s in the old country – Lithuania or something. I couldn’t believe my luck. I say how would you like to go visit your family for a few months? I’ll give you the money. He’s not too keen on it. He don’t wanna go. It takes some convincing on my part, if you follow me. I don’t really leave him no choice. So he leaves and I tell Rosenzweig I found Piatek’s house, but he’s out of town. I show him the listing in the Cleveland phone book. Piacek, Piatek – it’s gotta be.”

Wuld spreads his hands like a showman. “Bada boom.”

Liam is not amused. “Go on.”

“I tell Rosenzweig I’m going to watch the house for awhile. Sooner or later, we’ll get him. I tell him he split for Europe. After a while, I figure I’ll plant a Nazi flag and some Nazi medals in the house. Come on. Who gives a rat’s ass if I run a number on a billionaire? Like you wouldn’t do it. You’re no different from me. We’re in the same business, you know, like brothers-in-arms. So, cut me a break here, will ya?”

“Rosenzweig didn’t know?”

Wuld shook his head. “He don’t know shit. You wonder how the prick got to be so rich, when he’s so fuckin’ simple.”

“Why were you out in the street on Thanksgiving?”

“Surveillance, man. Rosenzweig told me to find out everything I could on Solomon.”

“Did he tell you why?”

Wuld rubbed the stubble on his face. “Nah, but I’m sure it was because of the gun thing when Solomon called him a Nazi.”

“What did you find out?”

“Nothin’.”

“What did you find out when you busted into his apartment?”

Wuld grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Just some papers. There wasn’t shit. Just like Piatek. There’s just nothing on these two guys.”

Liam rose and walked to the door.

“Hey,” Wuld said. “You gonna cut me a break, you know, one dick to another?”

“Sure. One dick to another. Brothers-in-arms. You stupid bastard, you’re an embarrassment. I should blow the whistle and have your ticket pulled.” Liam pointed his finger in Wuld’s face. “But, here’s the deal. Brother. I won’t say a word. You run your games. But I want to know every time Rosenzweig talks to you about Piatek or Solomon. You keep me in the loop, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Screw up and I crow like a rooster.”

“Yeah, yeah. No problem. Thanks, bud.”

Liam opened the door and stepped out onto the stoop. Wuld called after him, “Howdja know? I mean about the Arizona thing?”

“The Camry. It’s ten years old with an Arizona dealer sticker on the trunk. I took a picture of the registration number, remember? You should’ve bought a new car.”

“Shit.”

Chicago, Illinois December 2004

“So the whole story about Piatek living in Cleveland in a bungalow was a lie?” said Catherine.

“Yep.” Liam twisted the cap off a bottle of beer.

Ben smiled and brushed off his invisible chest medals. “Told you so.”

“Was that one of your fishing lines in the water?” Catherine said.

Liam nodded. “I got one more, and I think I’m getting a bite. I’m supposed to meet Brad Goodlow this afternoon. He says he’s got something for me.”

“Who is he?” Catherine and Ben said in unison.

“Do I have to reveal my sources?”

Catherine narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

“Ok, ok, you win. He’s a researcher at NBC News and an old buddy of mine.”

“What’s he got?” asked Catherine.

“For that, you’ll have to wait and see.”

Ben mumbled something and Catherine turned her head. “What?”

“I said maybe Wuld wasn’t running a number on Rosenzweig,” said Ben. “Maybe it’s the other way around.”

“Explain.”

“Rosenzweig’s not simple, and he’s not stupid. I find it hard to believe that a thug like Wuld could pull the wool over Rosenzweig’s eyes.”

“Do you think Rosenzweig knows – that he’s going along with the story?”

Ben shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe it’s Otto who’s running the number on all of us.”

* * *

Liam returned to Catherine’s shortly after sunset. He had a broad smile on his face and a large envelope in his hand.

“Why are you smiling?” she said. “What do you have? Did you catch a fish?”

“You mean like, maybe a killer whale?” He opened the envelope, pulled out a 5x7 photograph and laid it on the table.

“That’s him!” shouted Ben. “That’s Otto! In full Nazi regalia. Where did you get that?”

“Goodlow. Naturally when he Googled Piatek, he came up with nothing, just like all of us. All the obvious sources were dead-ends. But one of his young interns was a wizard in searching old European periodicals. He found this picture in a Nazi propaganda piece called, ‘Germany Re-cultures the General Gouvernment.’ It’s a story about how German efficiency was bringing culture to the backward cities of Poland. Piatek is pictured in front of some building talking to a well-dressed woman.”

“It’s the town hall,” Ben said. “I would guess it’s 1942, maybe later, given the uniform. The woman is obviously not Jewish.”

Catherine stared long and hard at the picture. “There’s no doubting the resemblance to Rosenzweig.” She turned to Liam. “Do you realize the importance of this find? Convictions have been upheld on the basis of a picture coupled with eye-witness testimony.”

Liam looked very pleased with himself. “As some entertainer use to say, ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet.’”

Ben shook his head. “No.”

“What?”

“It was Al Jolson. And he said, ‘You ain’t
heard
nothin’ yet.’”

Liam stuck out his chin, “Well maybe I’m talking about Bachman Turner Overdrive. Ha!”

Catherine interrupted. “Liam, will you please tell us what else you have in the envelope. The suspense is killing me.”

“Well, when the intern found the old magazine article, that gave him the idea of searching old American magazines for pictures.” He dug into the envelope and spread out several more photographs on the coffee table. “Here’s one of a young Rosenzweig in Life Magazine taken in 1953. Rosenzweig is standing next to Senator Griffen. The likeness between that and the German picture is uncanny.”

Catherine and Ben studied the two pictures side by side. “Wow,” she said over and over. “Wow.”

Ben hung his head and covered his face with his hands. “That’s enough isn’t it? To justify a lawsuit, to withstand a challenge? To get us all into court?”

Catherine nodded. “It sure is!” She threw her arms around Liam. “Wow.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

Winnetka, Illinois December 2004

Elliot Rosenzweig, dressed casually in a cream silk shirt and brown wool slacks, walked down the hall of his gracious home and into the north sitting room where his wife, his granddaughter and another young woman were seated around a glass table leafing through piles of booklets and brochures.

“Popi,” said Jennifer, rising and indicating her guest, “I want to introduce you to Andee Grattinger. She’s our wedding consultant, the best around. She did the Chadwick’s wedding in Kenilworth last summer, the one that made the cover of North Shore Magazine.”

Andee stood and extended her hand. “I’m honored to meet you, sir, and delighted to be given the privilege of coordinating Jennifer’s wedding. I’ve brought along some albums, some of our more spectacular occasions. Please let me know if they meet with your expectations.”

“My expectations are entirely in my granddaughter’s hands. If she’s happy, then I’m happy.”

They all took seats around the table and paged through the albums. “I love this setting, Nonna,” Jennifer said, holding up a page in a pink quilted album. “See how they have the orchestra silhouetted against the sunset.”

“Sunset won’t work for us,” said her grandmother, lovingly. “We face east, darling. But what about the moon shining off the lake? It would make a lovely backdrop.”

“Are there other family members who should be singled out throughout the evening?” Andee said, making notes.

Elliot shook his head. “My daughter and her husband died in a car accident many years ago, when Jennifer was just a baby, and she has no brothers or sisters. Neither my wife nor I have any family other than Jennifer. We came from Europe, you know. Jennifer’s father was an only child, so there are no aunts or uncles. No, I’m afraid there’s just the three of us, as far as family is concerned. I think you’ll find no shortage of friends, however.”

In his gray butler’s jacket, Robert walked to the doorway, politely cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Rosenzweig, may I see you for a moment?”

“Pardon me,” Elliot said with a smile. “I leave it all to you ladies. I’m a bull in a china shop, as they say.”

In the hallway, Robert whispered, “There is a gentleman, a uniformed officer from Cook County, at the gate house. He says he must see you about official government business.”

Elliot looked puzzled. “On a Saturday? Why do they bother me at home?” He shook his head. “Have Russell bring him to the front door. I’ll meet him there.”

A few minutes later, a man in a brown bomber jacket, a Cook County Sheriff’s Department patch on the sleeve, delivered a manila envelope to Elliot. “I’ve been ordered to personally hand this to you, sir. It’s a lawsuit.”

“A lawsuit? Why would this come to my house?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” said the deputy and he left to return to his car.

Elliot tore open the top of the envelope, just enough to see the caption:
Benjamin Solomon v. Elliot Rosenzweig a/k/a Otto Piatek
, and turned white.

“What the hell is this?” he said as he rushed to call his lawyer.

Chapter Forty

Jeffers finished reading the lawsuit, removed his half-glasses and turned to face his client.