Once We Were Brothers (6 page)

“Pilsudski was a conservative and like most Poles, distrusted Russia above all. We all feared the Bolsheviks. Pilsudski felt that he couldn’t count on England or France to come to our aid if Russia attacked, so he signed a ten-year non-aggression treaty with Germany in 1934. Hitler was promising to protect Poland’s borders.”

“If the Jewish community was supported by Pilsudski, why didn’t he contain the anti-Semitism?” Catherine asked.

“Ah. Pilsudski died of cancer in 1935,” Ben said. “In the four years between his death and World War II, anti-Semitism grew much worse. For example, in the 1920s, one out of every four university students was Jewish, but by 1938, before the war, it was down to 8%.

“Getting back to my story, Otto’s mother stood in the foyer and begged Otto to go with her to Germany, but Otto turned his back on her and walked into the bedroom. She stood there sobbing.

“My mother, God bless her heart, took pity on her. ‘Come in, please,’ she said and led Ilse to the couch. Stanislaw followed her in.

“Minutes later, my father fetched Otto from our bedroom. He stood stiffly before his mother, his arms folded across his chest. Ilse looked at him, at his icy cold stare, and broke down.

“‘Otto,’ she cried. ‘You can’t understand what it’s been like for me. I was beside myself. I never wanted to leave you and I curse all the forces that tore us apart. But not a single day has gone by that I haven’t seen you and talked to you.’

“Otto was clearly puzzled by her statement and narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you talking about? I haven’t heard from you in over a year.’

“She fingered a gold locket she wore around her neck, clicked it open and held it up. ‘Look Otto, I talked to you every day.’

“Inside the locket was a little black and white photo of Otto taken when he was very young. Ilse reached out for Otto, pulled him close and combed his long blond hair with her fingers. ‘My Otto,’ she wept, ‘you could come with us. I can take care of you now. We could make up for lost time.’

“Otto shook his head.

“‘I have influence, Otto. I could get you a leadership position in the Hitler Youth. You could be very important.’

“‘Could you get Ben a leadership position, too?’

“‘No,
liebchen
, I’m afraid I can’t. Ben is a Jew. There are no Jews in the Hitler youth.’

“‘That’s what I thought. I’m sorry but I live here now.’

“‘You don’t understand, Otto,’ she said. ‘You should see what’s happening to the Jews in Germany. Soon, I think, the Jews will be driven from all of Europe. Please come with me.’

“‘You left me in the care of Jews two years ago. It didn’t seem to bother you then.’

“‘Things are different now, Otto. Even here in Poland.’

“‘Not for me,’ he said. ‘I’m staying here with Aunt Leah and Uncle Abraham’ – that’s what Otto called my parents.”

Catherine looked up from her pad. “Was she right? Were things different for Jews in Poland in 1935?”

Ben nodded. “It was getting dangerous to walk alone, especially after dark. It was just a year later that the Radical Nationals called for a ‘Day without Jews.’ It was planned for the date on which the Jewish academy students took their exams throughout Poland. Gangs gathered around the schools and in the Jewish neighborhoods.

“That very afternoon, Beka came running into the house screaming. Young punks carrying canes topped with razor blades had chased her from the school. Otto went berserk and ran outside with a broom handle, swinging it like a baseball bat, ready to take on the whole gang. I followed after him. Most of the gang took off, but a couple of them stayed behind and stood their ground. In the fight, Otto got sliced on his forearm. Deep cut too, almost to the bone.

“Instantly he became Beka’s hero. The doctor stitched him up and Beka waited on him hand and foot for a week. My father reported the incident to the police but nothing came of it. From then on, Otto walked Beka to and from school every day. Always with a broom handle and a knife.”

Catherine looked up from her pad. “And yet, you say this is the same Otto who ultimately became a Nazi and betrayed your family?”

It took a long time for Ben to respond. “Things changed, Miss Lockhart. And so did some people.”

“I’m afraid we have to wind this up,” Catherine said. “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“When can I come back?” asked Ben.

She glanced at Liam, who sheepishly grinned and shrugged.

“Well, it does seem as though we’ll need another session,” she said. “Maybe Tuesday. I have hearings the rest of this week. Call me tomorrow. I’ll check my schedule.” She smiled and ushered them all to the elevator.

* * *

Four blocks west of Jenkins and Fairchild’s office, on the eighty-third floor of the Sears Tower, in the corner office of Columbia Indemnity Corporation, Elliot Rosenzweig sat behind his desk, talking to his secretary Brian and a barrel-chested man with a ruddy face and a buzz-cut. Carl Wuld, the owner of Regency Investigations, wore brown slacks and a tan, checkered sport coat over a cream-colored polo shirt.

“There’s not much on this Piatek guy,” Wuld said. “Apparently, there really was a Nazi named Otto Piatek. German records mention him in passing. Nothing on his activities that I can find. He was some kind of officer. I don’t think he was any big deal. He wasn’t stationed at any of the concentration camps as far as I can tell.”

“What happened to him after the war?” Elliot said.

“I don’t know. Like I said, there’s not much about this guy. Probably died.”

“Carl, how long have you and I been doing business?”

“A long time, Mr. Rosenzweig, and I’m very appreciative.”

“And I pay you well?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smiled sheepishly. “No complaints.”

Elliot swiveled back and forth in his oversized leather chair, first to the windows and then back at Wuld. First to the view of the Michigan shoreline forty miles across the lake and then to the flushed face of Carl Wuld across his desk. “This is important to me, Carl. I need to know everything that can be known about this Piatek person. Not just during the war, but afterward. If he survived, I need to know where he went. If he’s dead, I want to know when and how he died. And I want proof. Is Regency going to be able to do this for me?”

“Oh, yes sir. You can count on me.”

“Please don’t come back and tell me that there’s
not much
on Otto Piatek.”

“No, sir.”

“What about Solomon?”

Wuld looked uneasy and hung his head. He spoke in mumbles. “Not much on him either. Sorry”

“Tell me what you know,” Elliot said with obvious irritation.

“He came from Poland after the war. Immigrated in 1949. No criminal record in Illinois. No arrests. I can’t find anything through the Secretary of State’s office, you know, no DUI’s. I guess he pays his bills on time – there’s no judgments against him. No bankruptcies. Rents a place on Bittersweet.” Wuld shrugged. “That’s it.”

“That’s it? That’s it? The man lives in Chicago and that’s all you can tell me?”

“Sorry.”

“I need to know more,” Elliot said. “Maybe I’ve made a mistake hiring you, Carl.”

“No, sir. You have not. I’ll get more. Don’t worry.”

“Why did this man put a gun in my face, Carl? Are you following me? I want information. I want to know why this man linked me up with some Nazi.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir. I won’t let you down.”

Chapter Ten

Chicago, Illinois October 2004

The dedication ceremony for the new Rosenzweig Pavilion for the Performing Arts took place beneath the ribbons of brushed steel which framed the bandshell in Chicago’s new Millennium Park. A chilly northeast wind blew in off the lake and across the Great Lawn, shaking loose and scattering the season’s last brown and yellow leaves. Only a smattering of sailboats remained in Monroe Harbor, tied to their buoys and bobbing in the whitecaps.

Elliot Rosenzweig was introduced by Mayor Burton, who referred to him as “Chicago’s treasure.” The ceremonial assembly included the usual government dignitaries along with members of the Fine Arts Council. The crowd, which had come more to listen to the symphony orchestra than to see a dedication, numbered about six hundred.

Elliot, his white hair tussled by the wind, accepted the silver plaque and leaned forward to speak into the microphone. “Mister Mayor, members of the City Council, Maestro Bernard, and all you wonderful people of Chicago, I thank you for the generous words which have been spoken about me today and for the honors given to me. I am deeply humbled.” His words came out in echoes. “It has been my privilege to serve the cultural core of the finest city in the world and to play my small part in its ongoing development.” The wind sent rumbling noises into the microphone, which were amplified throughout the Millennium Park sound system like rolling thunder.

While Elliot addressed the assembly, two elderly men stood at the back, watching from the promenade. The one on the left handed a pair of binoculars to the one on the right.

“It sure looks like him, but it’s been so many years,” said the man as he returned the binoculars. “I don’t know if I could swear to it in a court of law.”

“Did you ever know that man to be imprisoned at Auschwitz? Did you ever come across an Elliot Rosenzweig?”

“No, Ben, I didn’t, but there were so many.”

“You were there for two years, Mort. Until the liberation. You worked on intake. You saw them all.”

“No. No one saw them all. We only saw some of the ones they registered. A fraction of the many. Dead skeletons and walking skeletons. Only a small number survived. But, in truth, I never knew an Elliot Rosenzweig.”

“Back in Poland, before your family was shipped to Majdanek and you to Auschwitz, do you remember Piatek standing in the square? Doesn’t that man look like him?”

“There’s a resemblance, I won’t deny it. Of course, Piatek was young with a head full of blond hair. And that was sixty years ago. I don’t know, Ben”

The crowd applauded enthusiastically as Elliot waved and the Grant Park Symphony Orchestra began its program with selections from Grieg’s Peer Gynt.

Chapter Eleven

Early Tuesday morning, Liam unlocked the door to his small office on the second floor of a Dearborn Street brownstone, just north of the Loop. Yesterday’s mail, delivered through the brass chute in the door, lay scattered on the wooden floor. There was a message from Catherine on his voice mail: “I’ve scheduled a meeting with Ben Solomon today at 1 p.m. Would you please join us?”

He dialed her office.

“Ben’s due to arrive in a little while,” she said. “I want you to come and sit in with us.”

“I’m sorry, Cat, but I’ll have to take a pass. I have a meeting with Lawrence McComb on a new job. From what I understand it’ll be a big project. Lots of witnesses, statements, pictures.”

“Liam, you’re the one that roped me into this. Solomon is a difficult client – he’s hard to keep on task and I’m worried about the time he’s taking. Besides, he unnerves me, fading in and out of conversations like he does, and Adele can’t come today. The least you could do is sit with us. Are you sure you can’t get away?”

“I’ll try to get there late this afternoon, maybe around five or six, if you think he’ll still be there.”

“He’d still be here next Christmas if I let him. Please. Whenever you can. By the way, did you see the news last night? The dedication ceremony?”

“You mean Rosenzweig? Chicago’s treasure? I saw it.”

“How can I support bringing a lawsuit accusing Chicago’s Treasure of being a Nazi?”

“Are you harboring thoughts of representing him?”

“Absolutely not. Right now, I’m merely doing a favor for you and Adele. Keep that in mind. It’s a favor.”

“And I appreciate it. Evaluate his case and then decide if you want to go further.”

“Wait a minute. Let’s clarify my role here. Evaluation only. There is no
further
. If there’s sufficient evidence, I’ll send him over to Tryon at Justice. If he insists on a civil case, I’ll help him find an available civil lawyer. That’s it, Liam, but I have to tell you, so far I haven’t seen enough factual support to justify either. I can’t even get him to focus on the relevant issues. He just wants to give me history lessons.”

“Cat, please be a little patient. I know you’re busy and I realize this isn’t Jenkins and Fairchild’s usual inventory, but Ben’s a sweet old man and he’s been through a lot. He just needs someone to listen to him. You never know. He may have something.”

“Liam, you don’t understand the kind of pressure that large law firms put on associates. They don’t give me time to talk to sweet old men. And frankly, I have concerns about his sanity. He holds conversations with ghosts. I think I’ll rue the day you talked me into this. Get here as soon as you can.”

“Rue the day?”

“Just get here.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

Catherine hesitated and then spoke quietly. “Liam, there’s something else.”