Once We Were Brothers (48 page)

“Are you all right?” Catherine said. “Ben?”

He started to speak and his eyes rolled up into their sockets. Liam caught him as he fell sideways from his chair.

When the paramedics arrived four minutes later, Liam was still administering CPR. Hooked up to an IV, Ben was wheeled unconscious into the ambulance. Liam, Mort and Catherine scrambled into Liam’s car and followed the EMS van. On the way, Liam called Adele, who said she’d meet them at the hospital.

An hour later, Adele burst into the emergency room’s waiting area where Mort and Liam were sitting vigil on the plastic chairs. Catherine was pacing by the Coke machine.

“How is he?” Adele said.

“We don’t know anything,” Catherine said.

“Has Dr. Chou been called?”

The three looked at each other and shrugged.

“He’s Ben’s cardiologist – he’s been seeing him for some time,” Adele said. She walked over to query the admitting nurse. The nurse checked her records, left for a moment and returned to whisper to Adele, who nodded and walked over to the others.

“She told me that Dr. Chou was called earlier and he’s attending to him in the ER,” Adele said. “She didn’t have any further information for us. Ben’s had a heart condition for some time. This is not the first time he’s put me on pins and needles in the waiting room.” She took off her hooded parka, gloves and scarf and set them on a connecting chair. “The last few months have been very hard for him.”

Eventually a blue-gowned doctor, youthful and slight, with intense black hair, emerged through the double doors and into the area where the four anxious friends were waiting. “I’m afraid Ben’s suffered a myocardial infarction – a heart attack. He’s alive, thanks to your CPR and the paramedics, but he’s not awake. We’re keeping him sedated and helping him to function.”

Adele swallowed and nervously inquired, “What’s the prognosis, Dr. Chou?”

He shook his head. “His heart’s taken a beating and this is the third time I’ve seen him in the ER – of course, nothing this severe. I just don’t know. He’s a scrappy fighter. I wouldn’t have given you a nickel for his chances a few months ago, but he’s a driven man – he’s got a real strong will to live.”

Liam and Catherine eyed each other. “We know.”

“There’s no reason for you all to stay here,” he continued. “I mean you’re welcome to, but we’ll call you if there’s any change in his condition. We’re going to transfer him to CCU.” They shook his hand and he disappeared back into the ER.

“You might as well go home,” Adele said, picking up her winter gear. “I’ll stay with Ben for a while and I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“I’ll hang around for a bit,” said Mort.

Liam and Catherine departed into the midday freeze with plans to meet everyone back at the hospital at ten the next morning.

The drive home was quiet. Catherine stared over her shoulder and out of the passenger window, too upset to talk. She held a handful of tissues, periodically dabbing her tears. Off and on, her chest heaved with insuppressible sobs.

Back in her townhome, Catherine went straightaway to her office and printed out a subpoena directed to Elzbieta Krzyzecki, commanding her to appear for deposition in four days and demanding that she produce all documents in her possession pertaining to her marriage, her immigration and her naturalization. She held the subpoena out for Liam. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were red and her facial muscles were clenched in a struggle to hold it all together. “How fast can you serve this on Mrs. Rosenzweig?”

“Catherine…” he said softly.

“I want it served today.” Her voice was breaking. “Here, take it!”

“Catherine. We don’t know for sure that Elisabeth Rosenzweig is Elzbieta.”

“Take it, damn it, I know my job. I can’t stand here arguing with you, I have research to do. I have to prepare the affidavits and I have lots of work to do to get ready for trial.”

He grabbed her arms. “Catherine, if Ben doesn’t regain consciousness, the case is over. You can’t go to trial without Ben. You won’t have a plaintiff. Only Ben can tell his story, make his identification. You can’t even win the motion without Ben. He has to sign the affidavit. He has….”

“Stop! Stop talking like that. Please. He’s going to be all right. This case is keeping him alive, you heard the doctor. Please, Liam. He’ll get better. He’ll recover. I know he will. Now I have to get ready for trial. Please serve the subpoena. Please…”

He threw his big arms around her and cradled her while she dissolved into tears.

“Oh, Liam, what am I supposed to do now? Why have I been chosen?” she said through uneven breaths. “I’m so damn inadequate.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a good lawyer. And a good friend to Ben.”

“Compared to Ben, I’m nothing. What have I ever done? What have I accomplished in my life? I’ve represented insurance companies and big corporations in cases that have no social significance. What kind of a lawyer have I been? Were I to die tomorrow, Liam, what footprints have I left on the earth?”

“Cat, why are you beating yourself up?”

“This case means everything to me, Liam. Don’t you understand? It’s not just Ben’s case, it’s mine, too. It validates me – as a lawyer, as a human being. I will have done something. A contribution.”

“Don’t. You’re a good woman and a damn fine lawyer. And besides that, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, her arms around his waist, a fistful of Liam’s sweatshirt clutched tightly in her hands. “Please, Liam. I can’t let this go. Not now. Will you serve the subpoena?”

“Of course,” he said softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll serve the subpoena. You go and do your research. You prepare for trial and I’ll get her served.”

She sniffled and looked up into his eyes. “She has to be served today; I set the deposition for Monday.”

“I’ll get her.”

Chapter Fifty-nine

Winnetka, Illinois February 2005

Robert walked into the east parlor where Elisabeth Rosenzweig sat needlepointing a throw pillow.

“Madam, there is a delivery for you from Bloomingdale’s.”

“Oh, how nice. It must be the engagement present I ordered for Jennifer. Bring it in.”

Robert stood with his hands clasped behind his back and said, “I’m sorry, Madam, but the delivery man is requiring that you personally sign for the package.”

She completed the stitch and set the pillow on the couch. “Very well.” She followed Robert to the front door, where a tall man in a brown uniform and brown cap stood holding a large white box wrapped in a gold ribbon. He held out a clipboard.

“If you’re Mrs. E. Rosenzweig, you can sign right here.”

“I don’t remember having to sign for Bloomingdale’s packages before,” she said, taking the pen and signing her name to the delivery log.

Handing her the box, the delivery man said, “Homeland security, ma’am. Never can be too careful. See you Monday.” He smiled and walked out to the UPS van. Climbing into the passenger seat, he said, “Thanks, Gordon, I appreciate the help.”

“No problem, Liam.”

Inside the home, Elisabeth had a puzzled look. “See you Monday? Did you hear him say that, Robert? Do you suppose he has another package he didn’t give me today?”

“Very odd, Madam.”

She took the package into the parlor and unwrapped it. Inside was a white envelope from the Law Offices of Catherine Lockhart.

Chapter Sixty

Chicago, Illinois February 2005

At two a.m., Catherine was abruptly shaken from a deep sleep by the ring of her telephone. “Oh, no,” she cried, grabbing Liam, digging her nails into his arm. “I don’t want to answer it – it’ll be the hospital.” She folded her hands in prayer. “Oh, please God, please don’t let him die. Please don’t take him now.”

Liam lifted the phone off its cradle and held it out. She reached over the pillow, hesitantly accepted the handset and took a deep breath. “Hello?”

The answer was just a whisper. “Is this Catherine Lockhart?”

“Who is this?” Catherine demanded.

“It’s Elisabeth Rosenzweig,” was the whispered response. “I’m calling from my kitchen. My husband is asleep.”

“What do you want at this time of the night, Mrs. Rosenzweig, or should I say Elzbieta?”

“I want you to leave me alone. I didn’t have anything to do with Ben’s property. I never took a thing. Leave me out of this.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Elzbieta. You’re going to testify whether you like it or not. You’re going to tell us all about you and Otto and how the two of you snuck into the country under phony identities. Your going to tell us how the two of you got all your money from Otto’s Swiss accounts – how the two of you have lived a life of luxury on the confiscated property of murdered Jews.”

“Stop saying ‘the two of you.’ It was Otto, it was Otto. I never took anybody’s property. Back in Poland, I was the one who tried to help Ben and his family. I was never a Nazi. Ask Ben. He’ll tell you to leave me alone.”

“It’s over, Mrs. Piatek. Whether you were a Nazi or not, you’re going to be deported. Immigration fraud, assisting a Nazi war criminal in sneaking stolen money into the country, a whole host of offenses.”

“I can’t – I won’t – go back to Poland. You don’t understand. My granddaughter needs me, I’m all she has. And she’s getting married. Can’t we talk about this? Maybe we can work something out.”

“Does Otto know you’ve received the subpoena today?”

“No. He was at his lawyer’s office all day. He came in late in a very bad mood and went right to bed.”

“Mrs. Piatek, I can’t make you any promises, but if you’re willing to cooperate, I will try very hard to help you to stay in the country.”

Pause. “What would I have to do?”

Catherine put her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece and said to Liam, “Get me Richard Tryon’s home telephone number.”

“How the hell am I supposed to get that?” he whispered.

“I don’t know. You’re the PI. Just do it.”

“Mrs. Piatek,” she said into the phone, “I want you to meet me in the lobby of the Dirksen Federal Building tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Adams and Dearborn Streets.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“We’re going to meet with the United States Attorney.”

“Oh no. I can’t do that.”

“I’m going to pitch a deal. Your testimony against Otto in exchange for immunity from prosecution. You don’t have to say a word. If I can’t get the U.S. Attorney to make a deal, to promise not to prosecute you or deport you, you can go right home.”

“I don’t know. I have to think about it,” she said.

“Mrs. Piatek, if you’re not there at eight o’clock, the deal’s off.”

“I have to think about it. He’s a very violent man.” She hung up.

Liam came back into the room and handed Tryon’s phone number to Catherine. “It’s in the damn phone book under R. Tryon. You’re not seriously going to call him now, are you? At this hour?”

“Liam, this’ll be the biggest case of his life. He’ll jump at it.”

While Catherine was dialing, Liam said, “How did you know she assisted Otto in bringing Nazi money into the United States?”

Catherine smiled. “I didn’t. I took a shot. It was an inspiration.”

* * *

Six hours later, as a mid-winter thaw was lifting the temperatures into the forties, a well dressed woman in sunglasses and a full length mink coat slid out of a Yellow Cab and walked into the Federal Building. Liam, Catherine and Richard Tryon were waiting for her in the lobby.

“Mrs. Rosenzweig, my name is Richard Tryon. Thank you for coming. I want you to know that I’ve spoken with my superiors at the Justice Department and I have authority to talk to you about your cooperation. Will you accompany us to my offices?”

She nodded.

The interview was conducted in the U.S. Attorney’s corner office overlooking the federal plaza. Elisabeth kept shifting her eyes to the windows, as though she expected her husband to appear at any moment, peering in at her through the glass.

“I’m going to need protection,” she said, “for myself and my granddaughter. You have no idea how powerful my husband is.”

“I think we have some idea,” Richard said. “Miss Lockhart has given me a brief summary of your anticipated testimony. On the basis of what I have been told, we are prepared to offer you a grant of derivative use immunity, which means that in exchange for your cooperation, now and at trial, we will agree not to prosecute you for any of the facts you provide to us or testify to. This assumes, of course, that you had no involvement or participation in persecution under the Nazi regime.”

“I was never a Nazi. I didn’t hurt anybody. I never took anyone’s property. Otto was my only way out of war-torn Europe. My life was in shambles. Poland lay in a pile of rubble. Otto had money and connections. My only crime was becoming his wife.”

“Well, not exactly. You provided access to resources stolen by Nazi officers and held in post-war in Switzerland. You brought large denominations of cash into the country. You conspired to assist your husband in the concealment of his true identity. You lied on your immigration application. We have more than enough to commence deportation proceedings,” Tryon said.