The Colossus (20 page)

Julian warmed his hands with a cup of coffee and walked over to his living room window. He had landed in Chicago several hours earlier and was settling back in his small one-bedroom apartment on Southport. Raquel hated his place. The street crawled with yuppie drunks on the weekends, she would say. Well, there was a bar downstairs and, yes, young people did have a good time there. But Julian didn’t hate them. He had even become friendly with some of the regulars. But Raquel was critical of everything.

Then there was Max. He sipped his coffee, wishing he had never met her, never gotten involved with her and her insane problem. And yet all he could think about was her face, now happy, now sad, her lips full and welcoming, her eyes filled with eagerness to make love to him.

Max wasn’t like other women he had been with. She was so confident about some things, so diffident about others. So unsure, so unaware of her own voluptuous beauty. And yet so headstrong and impulsive.

After the Fardoon debacle, Julian had decided to let Max blow off steam. He needed to think, and Max needed to sort things out for herself. Their flight back to Chicago was early the next day. He figured she would calm down by then.

Back at the hotel, Julian had suggested some sightseeing, but Max wasn’t interested. She just wanted to stay in her room, she had said. They had met for lunch but it had been eaten in icy silence. After, she
had left him alone. He tried calling her, but she had left a recorded message saying she wanted to take a nap.

He had spent a few hours visiting Karachi’s sights. When he returned, he had knocked on her door. No answer.

Worried, he’d gone to the front desk only to find out that she had checked out. He had imagined all sorts of awful things. She could have been drugged. Or kidnapped! Julian had called Kevin, but he had no idea where Max had gone.

Sick with worry and yet angry with Max for not keeping him informed, he called her cell phone. Voice mail. He tried calling her work number. He knew that Max had forwarded that number to her assistant’s cell.

Kim answered. He started to introduce himself when Kim said, “Julian, hello. Max told me about you. She landed safely not long ago.”

Julian exhaled with relief. “And?” he said hopefully.

“She’s fine, but I’d give her some time.” Kim told him that Max had stopped in Berlin to meet Peter Schultz but hung up before Julian could say anything more.

Julian felt a rush of irritation. Silly, silly Max. He put down his coffee. Why had she felt the need to traipse off to Berlin to confront this Schultz? That was foolish, not to mention dangerous. What if he had done something to her? In the midst of his frustration, he also realized that he felt great remorse for leaving her to go off on her own.

At least she was safe. And she was home.

The lack of sleep from changing time zones began to overwhelm him. In a few hours, he would go to her. Tell her how he really felt about her. And apologize. On his knees.

Then he would lecture her.

For that he needed energy.

Julian awoke with a start. It was 4:00 a.m. He picked up the phone. Might Max be asleep, though? Never mind. He wanted to see her. He called her apartment.

There was no answer. Where was she? He called three more times. Nothing.

He dressed, ran out, and managed to find a cab.

At Max’s building, Julian hurriedly explained to the front desk clerk why he needed to let him in, reminding him who he was. Maxine Rosen’s frequent guest, good friend, even. The man wasn’t convinced. It occurred to Julian that he had only been to her apartment once.

The desk clerk called, but there was no answer. “She isn’t home, sir,” he told Julian.

“Try her mobile,” Julian said. He waited while the man at the desk made the call.

A cleaning woman entered the building. The desk clerk greeted her while he waited for Max to answer. At the same time, he pressed a button and opened the glass doors to let her in. Julian dashed in through them.

“Sir!” the doorman yelled.

But Julian wasn’t listening. He took the elevator to the 35th floor. He could hear the doorman summoning security.

He reached Max’s floor and banged on her door. No answer. She had told him she was a light sleeper. Why wasn’t she answering?

He pulled out his phone and called her again. Still nothing. He checked the time. 5:00 a.m.

Where are you, Maxine Rosen?

He paced in front of her apartment with a growing sense of dread that something was very wrong.

Ernst Frank’s apartment

Chicago

The phone rang. Ernst picked it up slowly. “Hello,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“I read your email,” his grandson said. “Max has managed to decode the research. It’ll be published now, I suppose.”

Alex had developed his mother’s cutting voice ever since he had taken over her company years ago. Ernst bent his head down and listened patiently to his grandson’s ranting. He couldn’t help being amazed at how alert he sounded. Like his mother, Alex must have risen at 4:00 a.m. and done his five-mile run.

“Clients will leave us slowly but surely. Sally Hart Weight Loss will become obsolete.” Alex’s voice became a whine. “There are investors waiting in the wings. They will disappear at the slightest whiff of doubt. Without that cash influx, this company will be finished.”

“Alex,” Ernst said. “Hiram told me this before and I’m telling you now. This will take years to make a dent in the business. Your mother was unstable. She was unable to see that.”

“Maybe,” Alex went on, “but perhaps it’s as good a reason as any to sell the company.”

“Please, no!” Ernst cried. “If you sell the company now, you destroy Sally. She would have died for nothing.”

“
Zayde,
grandfather, I took over the company because you begged me to. We’ll keep my mother alive this way, you said. The truth is, she is dead. It’s time to move on.”

Ernst was livid. “But…but…that isn’t what we discussed. What about everything I did for you? For Sally?”

“This company isn’t your daughter. Sally Hart is gone.”

Alex’s words were stabs at Ernst’s heart. He wanted to scream. The company was what had kept Sally in one piece. It was what had held her together throughout her unhappy marriage. It had been her support during and after her messy divorce. It had been her solace. Alex was wrong. The company
was
Sally Hart.

“We cannot let the company go just like that,” Ernst begged.

“Max should have let sleeping dogs lie,” Alex said and hung up.

Ernst felt a rash of anger at the events that had choreographed his actions thus far. The stone hand of defeat was pushing him against a wall, choking the life out of him. It was over. It had all been for nothing.

He had done what he had thought was right. He hadn’t been able to prevent Sally’s death, but he had kept his daughter alive through the triumphs of her company. He had done his part. And now, so easily, Alex was ready to throw it all away. It would all have been for nothing if Sally’s company were sold.

Ernst sat on his couch and watched the lake for a while. A sense of calm descended over him. His decision was made. He got up, steadied himself, and opened his safe. A small bottle containing a deadly poison stared back at him. Samuel had given it to him decades ago to get rid of a mouse.

“We modified the botulinum toxin in the lab by spawning a rapid-acting mutation of the
Clostridium botulinum
bacteria,” Samuel had said at the time. “They used it in covert Nazi operations to poison quite a few Allied officers. It brings on fatal paralysis in a human in less than ten minutes, but a mouse should be dead in seconds after ingesting this.”

Ernst put the bottle in his pocket along with a small pistol from his safe. Just in case.

He needed some air. He walked to the front door and opened it. To his amazement, he found Max outside, asleep on the floor.

“Darling, I was expecting you for breakfast. What are you doing here so early?” Ernst bent down and helped her up. She fell into his arms and held him tight.

“I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.” He led her in and closed the door.

Ernst went into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and took out a box of chamomile tea bags. He started a kettle and put a hand in his pocket. He took out the bottle of botulinum toxin and held it over one of the teacups. He hesitated for a few seconds before letting several drops fall. He then opened a packet of coconut cream cookies. “What’s that? Did I hear you right? You just got back from Berlin? I thought the plan was to go to Karachi from Hyderabad, and straight back home.”

“Yes,” Max said, “But I…I had to see Peter Schultz, Opa’s old boss.”

Ernst poured hot water into the teacups with shaking hands and placed both cups on the tray.

“He looks quite amazing for his age,” Max was saying. “He just might live forever.”

Ernst stepped into the living room with the tray trembling in his hands, his face twisted in a frown. Max looked at him.

“Should I take that?” she said.

“No, I’ve got it,” Ernst said. What had she learned? How much did she know?

“I accused him of killing Papa.”

Ernst managed to slam the tray on the coffee table. He opened his mouth in surprise but could say nothing. Of course, she would think Berliner had killed Hiram.

“How silly of me,” he said. “I left the cookies in the kitchen.”

He leaned forward and caressed her cheek. She put her hand to his and their fingers met for a second before his hand left her face. Her fingers were cool. Just like they had been as a child. She had clung to him the day Hiram had been found dead in his apartment, face down in his own vomit with a bottle of whiskey beside him.
Ernst had consoled her—as well as himself—that in time all would be well.

After that, he had done right by Max. Taken over for Hiram. He had done his duty.

Ernst went into the kitchen and returned with the cookies.

“What’s the matter?” Max said. “You don’t look well.” She stood up, her eyebrows scrunched together, and touched a palm to the side of his neck.

Suddenly Ernst couldn’t bear her touch. “It’s…it’s nothing. I’m worried about
you
. Drink the tea. That cup. And try a cookie.”

She picked up a cookie and took a bite. He sat beside her on the couch.

“Berliner didn’t kill Papa,” she said.

Oh dear, Ernst thought. How many minutes, hours, days before she realized the truth? How much time did he have?

Max smiled weakly.

“You haven’t had any tea,” he said.

“It’s too hot.” She grimaced, her pert nose wrinkling like a small child’s.

He nodded. She was a smart girl. She would know before long. As they talked she would find out. His muscles relaxed at the realization. He had held his secret like a tense ache for years now. At the thought of sharing it with her, he almost felt young again.

It was a wonder she hadn’t realized the truth already. It was because she trusted him completely. Like one trusted the sun to rise every day.

Ernst forced himself to think of the evening he had poisoned Hiram. He had added over 30 grams of aspirin to Hiram’s bottle of whiskey, knowing fully well that Hiram was going to have several drinks that evening. In fact he had even stayed and chatted with him, encouraged him to drink more, leaving only when the stomach cramps had come on. The combination of aspirin and alcohol would cause severe gastrointestinal bleeding, and if ignored, Hiram would die. The dose Ernst had allowed him to ingest virtually guaranteed it.

Later, when he was calmer, he had tried convincing himself that he had done nothing more than bring peace to a troubled man, a man who was tottering on the brink of a messy end by drinking too much anyway. The police and medical examiner hadn’t even considered foul play. They had found the aspirin in his system and concluded it was either suicide or accidental death, as Hiram drank too much and was known to be prone to depression.

After killing Hiram, Ernst held on to the botulinum poison for the day he would be caught for his horrible deed. The day he would have to use it on himself. But that day hadn’t come.

Instead a day even more horrific had come. This one.

He had managed to go on by telling himself that he had done what was needed to avenge Sally’s death. Hiram should not have laughed at him when Ernst asked him to not publish his work. “My Sally will die if you do,” Ernst had pleaded. But all Hiram had done was rebuke him and Sally for being childish. “Tell her to see a doctor,” Hiram had said. “It will be years before Sally’s company is affected. And by that time she can make permanent changes, maybe even sell the company.” Ernst had tried telling Sally all that, but all she had heard was the sound of impending doom. Her paranoia had taken over from there.

If only Hiram had taken him more seriously, if only Sally had been more stable. If only, if only.

Killing Hiram hadn’t been easy. Living with it had been a nightmare. Not a day passed without him feeling a cool chill every time he set eyes on a bottle of whiskey or aspirin. It wasn’t just the fear of being caught. He had been burdened with remorse watching his dear Max suffer because of her father’s death. The poor child had struggled to understand the reason her father had left her.

He shouldn’t have done it. It was rash and foolish. He had tried over the years to stop questioning his action, but it wasn’t easy. And he hated how he was able to pass for a sweet old man now. Jagged shards of guilt had eaten away at him over the years.

Had it been worth it?

Not once was he able to give himself the answer he wanted.

Max wondered if Uncle Ernst was pondering over Papa’s death, too. Was that why he was looking so agitated?

“I was thinking on my way back here, who could possibly have profited from Papa’s death? It couldn’t have been for money. Papa didn’t have much. It had to be the document.” She was rehashing her conversation with Schultz, but here in this familiar setting, it was easier to try and make sense of what he had said. She frowned. Schultz had said something vaguely significant. She looked around the room as she searched her mind for what it was.

On the dining table was a fruit bowl with some plastic-looking red apples. A stack of brochures was strewn on a chair. The colors were bright blue and lemon yellow—a stark contrast to the rest of the room whose colors had faded with time.
Sally Hart Weight Loss
, it said.

Max glanced at the brochures. They extolled the virtues of Sally’s company. New food products were mentioned.

Uncle Ernst suddenly breathed in, a sharp intake that sounded like a wheeze.

“Are you all right?” Max was truly concerned now. She picked up a cup of tea and brought it to her lips when Uncle Ernst suddenly reached over and grabbed her hand. A few drops of tea spilled on her lap. “Oww, that’s hot! What is the matter, Uncle Ernst? You’re not yourself today.”

“Not that cup, dear, no. This one is for you.” He handed her the other cup on the tray.

She took a sip. Uncle Ernst seemed to breathe easier. The tea was bitter. It had been steeped for too long. She set it down, leaned back, and closed her eyes.

It came to her then. What Schultz had said. If Berliner was too powerful to need to kill her father, it meant that someone less powerful would actually need to kill him. But how would they have found out about Papa’s work? Papa wouldn’t go around telling people. She hadn’t for a moment believed that he had been the one to tell Berliner about his work. Schultz had confirmed her belief by telling her about Papa’s test subject who had called and blackmailed him. Had this person called other companies, too?

Think, Max. Think.

Max glanced at the brochures once more. Sally would have had a lot to lose. Hers was a small weight loss company. But Sally couldn’t have done it. She was already dead when Papa died.

She drank some more of her tea and turned to Uncle Ernst. His jowls were shaking. His face was pallid.

“Uncle Ernst, how many people knew about Papa’s work?”

Uncle Ernst’s eyes were filmy. “No, no, no,” he was muttering to himself.

That’s when it hit her.

Like a hailstorm, pounding her mind with one icy realization after another.

What had uncle Ernst said once? “I was supposed to keep Hiram’s research, not Lars.” Uncle Ernst knew Opa’s work. He was his closest friend. He was the one person to whom Papa would have told everything. In fact, Papa probably did give Uncle Ernst the research. He gave copies to Uncle Ernst, Lars, and Kevin.

She looked at him and she knew. There was apprehension in his eyes, but mostly there was immense sadness. Tears were streaming down his face.

But why? Why did he do it? For Sally. For revenge of course. Seldom sympathetic about weaknesses in people, Papa had been quite callous about Sally’s suicide, she remembered now.

Uncle Ernst clenched his hands and gave a little sob.

Max’s chest filled with a searing pain she hadn’t known in years. She stood, tripped over the coffee table, and fell. Uncle Ernst tried to help her.

“Why did you?” she bawled. “Why? Why?”

“My child!” he cried, his tongue stumbling over his words. “You have no idea how relieved I am that you know. My sin has been gnawing upon me for too long.”

Max moved away from him.

Uncle Ernst looked devastated. “Don’t be afraid. You’re breaking my heart.” He held his trembling hands together. “I was beside myself when Sally died. When I told Hiram my Sally had died because of him, he shrugged. He was drunk. He laughed and called her a mad woman.” Ernst began to sob. “Not his fault, he insisted. You have no idea how it feels to be helpless and watch your loved ones die. I’ve had to do it twice. I was helpless the first time. After the second time, I just couldn’t let it go.”

“And so you made me that helpless one?” Max sank down to the floor.

He bent down to be at eye level with her. She shrank against the wall. “All I wanted, all I ever wanted when I got out of that camp was to have a family. A daughter. After my wife and child were gassed, it was all I dreamed of for a happy life. How does one gas a baby girl? How can a God, if there is one, stand by and watch such a thing? But it happened. And this God watched it happen—over and over and over again!” He slammed his fist against the wall.

“Once I got over wanting to die myself, I swore I’d have a family again and when I did, I’d do anything to protect them,” he said fiercely. “I decided that as far as my family was concerned,
I
got to play God. I was helpless against the Nazis. But I wasn’t helpless after the war ended. I would show them and myself that I was capable of having a family I would do anything for.”

He held his chest. The intensity of his words seemed to have taken his breath away. “Sally had been my golden child until she met James Hart,” he growled. He straightened himself slowly. His back must be killing him, Max thought. Uncle Ernst walked away from her. “He
was a gold digger. It takes one to know one, I told Sally. I had spent my youth taking advantage of rich women. But she became furious and didn’t listen. James Hart left her alone with Alex—a baby. And still she stayed away from me. She held all that old anger against me even after the bastard I had warned her about had left her. She rarely spoke to me for years. Suddenly, one day she called. She wanted to give me a chance. All I had to do was help. But I couldn’t. Instead I let her die.”

Max was unable to form coherent thoughts. She wondered if Uncle Ernst might hurt her. She looked at the door. There were some fifteen feet between her and safety. And he was distracted. “So he did give you a copy of the research,” she said. “You, Lars, and Kevin. If Lars failed, sooner or later I would have found that tape and asked you about the matzo ball soup. You did have the research!”

Uncle Ernst nodded. “Of course, I did. But I destroyed it along with the pill samples he gave me.”

“I thought you loved my father like a son.” Max edged toward the door.

Uncle Ernst put his palms over his face. “I begged Hiram not to release the work. ‘Don’t make me choose between a son and a daughter,’ I said. But he became indignant. He didn’t care that Sally had threatened to commit suicide. She couldn’t bear the idea of facing ruin a second time. The first time she attempted suicide was when her husband left her. When that attempt failed, she threw her energies into rebuilding her company from the rubble he had left behind. When she heard about Hiram’s research and his plans to release it, she attempted suicide again. I still did nothing. I hoped, fervently, that the threats from the Berliner people would stop Hiram, but he only became more determined. I asked him to postpone releasing the work, just until Sally was better and could be reasoned with. But he refused. And Sally, assuming the worst, took sleeping pills once more. This time she died. I hated Hiram then as much as I hated the Nazis.” His clenched fists slammed against the windowsill. He turned suddenly.

Max stopped moving. Her face was covered with perspiration. Uncle Ernst came closer to her.

“Have you any idea how hard it was for me to do it? You were always my little angel, turning into a beautiful young woman,” he said gently. “You were so dear to me.” His voice suddenly grew animated. “I have something for you.”

Max thought about the bitter tea. “The tea…was it poisoned?” If it was, she didn’t seem to be feeling the effects yet.

“No! Never!” He turned away. “I thought I could, but I just couldn’t. You’re my Max. My liebchen.”

Max scoffed at this. Uncle Ernst looked angry now. Max scrambled to her feet and made for the door, but Uncle Ernst was blocking it. In his hands was a small gun. His hands were shaking, but that only made Max more frightened that it might go off. “Sit! Please. I hate to do this but I need you to understand. Please.”

Max felt a strange calm come over her. The events of the past few days had made her more capable than she had ever thought herself. Or perhaps she was standing outside of herself, watching the scene unfold. It was what she sometimes did to cope. She went back to the sofa but remained standing. She felt like she was losing control of her body—only her mind seemed alert. Her legs had gone wooden. Was it the tea or merely the shock of Uncle Ernst’s betrayal?

Uncle Ernst went to the coffee table and picked up the second cup of tea. He took a sip and went on. “And in case you’re thinking it, I didn’t arrange to kill Lars. When you went to London, I placed a threatening call to him. That’s all.” His face took on an expression Max had never seen before. It looked like a death mask.

“Hiram could have helped Sally, but he didn’t. He was too selfish. He had been waiting for years for success, he told me. ‘I cannot wait until your daughter gets well to enjoy my glory. She may never get well,’ he said
.
I know he had tried to reason with her, but in the end, he just didn’t care about anyone but himself and his ambition. He deserved—”

“To die? You took a life, how is that fair?” Max cried.

“All’s fair in a love like mine,” Uncle Ernst said sadly.

Max felt her knees give way. If this was the way it was to end, so be it. Kevin would see that the research was published. She had done her duty. She had avenged her father.

“Today I’m torn,” he said. “You see, you are the one I love most, you’re my dearest. You have been the one true joy in my life. Only you. And so before I feel weak and change my mind, look here. I have something for you in this backpack. A thief, a man named Aaron West, has been working for me. He has been following you everywhere.”

“What?!”

Uncle Ernst gulped down his tea and sent her a sad smile. “Darling Max. If you only knew the pain I have felt every time I looked at you. I realized too late that you were the one I loved most. And now that you know, I cannot go on. I love you, my darling. You’ve been all the family I ever wished for.”

Max squeezed her eyes shut, feeling love and hatred for Uncle Ernst all at once—an emotion that was tearing her apart. Seconds later, a shot went off. Max slumped to the ground. Seconds later she heard a groan followed by a dull thud.

She opened her eyes. How was she alive when he had used the gun on her? Or had it gone off by mistake? There was a desperate knocking at the door. She somehow got to her feet and opened it.

Julian threw himself at her and squeezed her so tight she could barely breathe. “Are you all right?” he took her face in his hands. “I was mad worried about you,” he said. “I then remembered that your Uncle Ernst lives here. I’ll call an ambulance.” He stumbled over Uncle Ernst. “Did he shoot at you?” He picked up the gun. “Did he shoot himself, too?”

Uncle Ernst’s fist was clenched. Julian pried open his hand. There was a bottle. He looked at the cup of tea on the table and at the bottle.

Max was shaking.

“And what’s this?” Julian opened the backpack that lay beside Uncle Ernst. “There’s a vial of pills here! Two vials. These aren’t the Indus pills, are they?”

Max couldn’t respond. She was drowning under a tsunami of feelings—anger, love, sympathy, grief. A flood of icy reality washed over her. She had lost everything. Everyone she held dear was gone. She looked at Uncle Ernst lying on the floor—misshapen, flabby. In his tattered, ugly wool sweater. Poor darling Uncle Ernst. How much harm he had done in the name of love. The only thing she could feel good about, the one thing she could hold on to, was that he had said he loved her.

Julian was calling the police in a voice that sounded drugged. The world around her dimmed. Julian became a smudge.

Max slumped to the floor.