Karolina's Twins (17 page)

“He turned around with a pleading look on his face. ‘Kapinski, help me. They'll kill me. Give me a break. What can I do? Is there some penance I can pay? I have a little money.'

“Mr. Kapinski shook his head and pointed at the bridge. ‘You're finished here, Louis. Go.' Feinberg crossed the bridge without looking back. We never heard from him again.”

*   *   *

T
HE NEXT MORNING, I
went to work as usual, but I was distracted. Much of the day I spent in a daze. The whole Feinberg incident had disturbed me. As much as I hated him, I couldn't handle the guilt knowing that his banishment would probably end in his death or transport to a labor camp. A few times during the day, David came by my station to ask if I was all right. I lied, and he knew I was lying.

“A few days after Feinberg's banishment, David summoned me to his office again. ‘You have to let this go,' he said. ‘Move on. Feinberg was a Nazi spy. Striking out against Feinberg was the same as striking out against any Nazi killer. Kapinski would have handled him the same way. He gave you the option because of what happened to your family.'

“‘I know, but it really doesn't honor my father to send some poor, meek Jew to the slaughter, even if he is a traitor. Tell me, how do I move on? My father was a hero, David; he never stopped fighting for Poland. But me? I sit here like a mouse and sew all day just to eat my crumbs and stay alive. And if they kill me tomorrow, what do I have to show for my life? Where are my footprints on the earth? I want to do something. I want to make my father proud.' I stood, put my hands on his shoulders and looked into his blue eyes. ‘What can I do, David?'

“He stared back at me with a serious look. He pondered my question. Silent moments passed. I heard a clock tick. Then he said, ‘Go back to your sewing machine. There may be something coming up. I'll call you if you can help.'

“I smiled, kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘Thank you.' It was the first time I ever kissed him, but it wouldn't be the last.”

Catherine raised her eyebrows and gave a modest smile.

“Enough for today,” Lena said.

 

S
IXTEEN

“C
AT,” GLADYS SAID, “THERE'S
a man on the phone from the Illinois Department of Aging. He wouldn't say what it's about.”

“I'm sure I know, Gladys. Just put him through.”

“Attorney Lockhart, this is Agent Forrester. I'm a field investigator for the Illinois Department of Aging and we've received a report of possible elder abuse of a certain Lena Woodward of 460 East Pearson Street. I went out there to do my face-to-face, and Ms. Woodward said she wouldn't speak to me without her lawyer being present. She means you.”

“Good for her,” Catherine said. “I wish all my clients would have that much sense. Who reported the abuse?”

“As an attorney, you must know I can't tell you. The identity of the person making a report of elder abuse is confidential by statute.”

“What's the alleged abuse?”

“Ma'am, I'm only doing my job, which is to have a face-to-face assessment with the suspected victim. If I can't do my job, I have to call in the police. And the Adult Protective Services Act makes it a crime to interfere with my investigation.”

“Who's interfering?”

“Ma'am, unless Ms. Woodward lets me into her home, I have to file a report that refers the matter to the department for follow-up, which may include immediate protective custody. Really, all I want to do is my face-to-face assessment and she won't talk to me without you being present. So will you meet me at her residence?”

“All right, I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

*   *   *

A
LARGE AFRICAN-AMERICAN
man in a brown sport coat, white shirt, brown-and-orange-striped tie and tan pants was sitting in a leather chair in the lobby of Lena's building when Catherine arrived. He stood quickly as she entered and grabbed his black briefcase. “Miss Lockhart?”

Catherine nodded and held up her palm. “Give me a few minutes with Lena and we'll buzz you in.”

He sighed. “Really, I need to see her as she is. I need to note her condition and surroundings.”

“What do you think will change in five minutes, Mr. Forrester?”

He emitted a small groan and retook his seat. “I'll have to note that.”

“What should I expect from this face-to-face?” Lena said to Catherine when she arrived.

“I'm sure it's just a routine home visit. He's received a report of elder abuse. He'll want to know if there's an emergency situation—is your health or safety at risk? He'll ask you a few questions, take a look around your apartment to make sure your living conditions are acceptable and then report back to his department supervisor.”

“I'm not at all happy with this intrusion. I don't want to be on some caseworker's examination table. What right does a total stranger have to come into my world and pass judgment on whether my living conditions are
acceptable
?”

“I know you're not happy, but don't give him any reason to advance your case. Just answer his questions directly and politely. Don't beat him up. He's just doing his job.”

Agent Forrester entered Lena's condo, looked around and let out a low whistle. Her floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto Lake Michigan as though a living seascape were framed as art on a wall. Forrester stepped from the foyer onto the soft, dusty-blue carpeting and surveyed the furnishings. Her expansive unit was exquisitely furnished in French Provincial—rose-and-white carved chairs, tufted ottomans and occasional pieces, and a three-cushioned sofa covered in off-white linen that anchored the formal living room. Fresh flowers in crystal vases adorned the side tables. Forrester stopped abruptly and stared at an original signed oil painting hanging over a sofa table.

“Is that a…”

“Yes, Marc Chagall. I bought it at an auction in Lyon.”

“Wow. When I got the assignment this morning, I mean, usually I go out and…” He paused.

“And?” Lena said, leaning forward and raising her eyebrows, waiting for him to figure out a way to finish his clumsy prelude.

“Well, I don't see Chagalls.”

“Chagall speaks to me,” Lena said. “We come from similar backgrounds. That particular work evokes memories of my childhood. He was…”

“I know, a pious Jew from a small town in Belarus. His father was a fish merchant.”

Lena nodded and smiled. Her face brightened a little. “Mine owned a store in Chrzanów, Poland. Chagall was lucky that the U.S. art community smuggled him out of France before Hitler arrived. My family was not so lucky.”

Forrester stood before the painting as though it were an altar. Enraptured. “I love Chagall. I suppose you've seen the ceiling at the Paris opera house?”

“You mean the Palais Garnier? The Paris opera house is now that dreadful steel thing at the Opera de la Bastille.”

“Oh, right. I agree. The new house is hideous. It belongs in Houston or Phoenix. Not in Paris. Of course, I meant the Garnier.”

“Did you know Chagall painted those panels right over a nineteenth-century mural?”

“I did not know that.”

“Which is your favorite, Mr. Forrester? Mine is the
Pelleas and Melisande
.”

“Hmm. Gorgeous blues and pinks. I should have known, seeing your living room. I'm afraid I'm partial to
The Nutcracker.
I love ballet.”

“You're testing me,” Lena said with a smile. “It's
Swan Lake.
”

“You're right, of course.” Then, with a twinkle in his eye, “Just doing my job.”

“Will you have a cup of tea?” Lena gestured for Forrester to sit on her rose settee. “Tell me, Mr. Forrester,” she said from the kitchen, putting a kettle on the stove, “why did you come over here?”

“Call me Thomas. I'm here on a routine procedure they call a face-to-face. Sometimes we get notifications that an elderly person is in distress and we have to check it out.”

“You mean abuse?”

He shrugged. “That doesn't seem to be the case here.”

Catherine smiled and took a seat on the other side of the room.
I am superfluous,
she thought.
Just a spectator.

“Who complained about me?” Lena said nonchalantly.

“I'm sorry, ma'am, I'm not allowed to make that disclosure, but you probably know.”

“Oh, my son, Arthur. He's very troubled, ever since my husband died.”

Forrester nodded his head and accepted his cup of tea. “Perhaps, you can subtly suggest that he seek counseling, Mrs. Scheinman. I can give you references.”

“Oh, call me Lena.”

Forrester smiled and took out a little camera. “Is it all right if I take some pictures of your beautiful apartment? Just for the file? I promise I won't circulate them.”

“Go right ahead. They appeared in
Chicago
magazine in 1993.”

He walked around the unit, snapping pictures and giving a series of low whistles. “Lovely.” He stopped and turned. “One more thing, please.”

“Bruises? You want me to strip?” Lena said with a smug smile.

“God, no. I need to talk to you briefly about your financial situation.”

“Not interested. It's not your business.”

“I'm very sorry. A significant section of the Adult Protective Services Act addresses financial exploitation of the elderly. That is to say, determining whether another individual might be taking advantage of your financial resources. It's part of my evaluation.”

“Nope.”

His facial expression showed regret. “We do have subpoena powers.”

“Then issue your subpoena. What individual, other than Arthur, is presumed to be taking advantage of my resources?”

“Apparently the report concerns an attorney and an investigator who may be inducing you to invest your assets in a quest to locate certain individuals.”

“Inducing me. Really?” She looked at Catherine. “I went to them, not the other way around. And I haven't paid her a penny. I fully expect that she will bill me for her time, as she's entitled to do, but as of this date, she hasn't used a cent of my resources.”

Forrester turned his attention to Catherine, who sat in a wingback chair across the room, her legs crossed, her arms folded across her chest. “She doesn't need my help, Mr. Forrester. I have nothing to add.”

Forrester stood. “Well, I won't be keeping you any longer. Thank you for your kind hospitality, Mrs. Scheinman.” He smiled and set his cup down on the counter. “I mean, Lena.”

 

S
EVENTEEN

A
WEEK AFTER FEINBERG'S
banishment, during my afternoon break, David summoned me to his office again. He shut the door, arranged two chairs to face each other and invited me to sit. ‘You said you wanted to do something to make your father proud. How serious are you?'

“‘Serious, David. What more can I say?'

“‘Serious enough to risk your life?'

“My heart beat hard against my rib cage. This was an opportunity for me to get into the fight. ‘Risk, yes. Forfeit, no.'

“‘Are you at all familiar with TAP, the
Tajna Armia Polska
?'

“‘The Secret Polish Army?' I nodded. ‘My father mentioned it to me when we talked, but I can't say I'm
familiar
with it. I think my father was involved.'

“‘He most certainly was. Now it's part of the Polish Home Army, the AK. If you truly want to become involved, I mean up to your neck, then come up here tonight after work, during evening shift change.'

“I stood to leave and David said, ‘Lena, I don't want anyone back at your apartment becoming alarmed at your absence. Our meeting this evening may take some time. I know you live with Karolina…'

“‘You want me to talk to Karolina?'

“‘Not about our meeting or anything we discuss. Just tell Karolina that I've invited you to have dinner with me. Can you do that? Will she believe it?'

“I blushed. ‘I'm sure she'll believe it and will probably be very jealous.'

“‘Is that so? Well, come back at six o'clock.' He opened the door, repeated his admonishment to disclose nothing and watched me return to work.

“At the end of the day, I met Karolina outside the building and whispered, ‘David asked me if I'd have dinner with him tonight after work.' I smiled a wicked smile.

“Karolina's eyes widened and she smiled as well. ‘You vamp! How'd you get so lucky? He's dreamy.'

“I shrugged. ‘I guess he likes boring girls. I may be home late.' I bit my bottom lip.

“She gave me a light punch on the arm. ‘You'll have to tell me all about it,' she said and left the building.

“I merged into the crowd leaving the building and slipped into the stairway. At the top of the stairs, I knocked on David's door. Another man, gaunt, tall, dressed in dark trousers, a hooded sweatshirt and a gray wind jacket, let me in. He looked me over, head to toe, and then back at David. ‘This is Captain Scheinman's daughter?' he said. David nodded. ‘And she can be trusted?' David nodded again. Then the man motioned for me to be seated. ‘I am Jan.'

“I shook his hand.

“‘We want to talk to you about a very important job, but first I want to tell you about a man,' Jan said, ‘a great Polish patriot, who served at one time with your father.'

“‘What's his name? Perhaps I know him.'

“Jan shook his head. ‘No names—not his real name nor his code name. It's for your safety as well as his. Among us, we shall refer to him as Ares.'

“I nodded. The god of war. I was so excited, I literally sat on the edge of my chair.

“‘Like your father, Ares was an Austro-Hungarian soldier in the First World War. He served valiantly as a member of the cavalry corps, though just a teenager. He entered this war as a ranked officer in the Polish Army. That's as much of his personal life as I will tell you. Should you be captured and interrogated, should you be forced to divulge everything you know, we don't want you to possess enough information to identify him.'