"Thank Father Meekins. I would’ve had your ass locked up if it had been up to me."
"I'll thank him. And we'll deliver him back to you in a day or two. Same plane, no cost to him."
"Goodbye."
Chapter Forty
The flight from Phoenix to Chicago took just under three hours, with the jet stream blowing eastbound. Father Meekins worked on his laptop, shielding its screen from anyone who came near. Christine watched as the hostess brought him a meal of steak, potatoes, garlic bread (his request), and a chocolate shake. No vegetables, he had been adamant about that. "If this is going to be difficult work, then at least let the food be enjoyable," he told the hostess.
He was sitting at the bulkhead; Christine was two rows behind, catnapping. She had found a wool blanket and avoided caffeine and was ready for some sleep. She tried to work with the priest on his testimony but he now seemed recalcitrant. "I'll talk when we're in court," he declared. "Not before."
It was just ten p.m. when they set down at Midway Airport in Chicago.
Chapter Forty-One
Father Richard Meekins—"Bibby" to his family—was forty-eight years old, thin and vigorous and a regular at the gym. He wore a black suit with priest collar when he took the stand on May 20. It was an extra-warm day outside and the suit looked hot, but Thaddeus knew the cleric would have it no other way than the black suit. It was emblematic, an affectation, if you will, the black suit and white collar. You could see it coming a block away and you knew there was a dedicated man wearing the uniform. He was sworn in and added, "So help me God," to the oath requested by the clerk. He took a seat in the witness chair, looked over at the jury and nodded, and turned back to Thaddeus.
"State your name."
"Richard Meekins."
"Is that junior?"
"No."
"And what was your grandfather's name?"
"John E. Meekins."
"Did he ever go by another name?"
"He did. Janich Heiss."
"And he was a captain in the Nazi SS at one time, correct?"
"He was."
"Tell us. What was the SS?"
"The Schutzstaffel. It was a Nazi paramilitary organization that answered directly to Adolf Hitler."
"What is your business, occupation or profession?"
"Priest. Society of Jesuits."
"Were you ever a Nazi like your grandfather?"
"Never."
"What was it like growing up with a grandfather who had followed Hitler?"
"Well, he was a severe man. He demanded perfection. He thrived on routine. Breakfast at six-thirty. Dinner at six sharp. He was a strict disciplinarian though he never spanked. His idea of discipline was to add two hours of study to your nightly three hours of study. That kind of thing. He was also a godless man. When I asked him once about God he replied, 'The state is God. All power comes from the state.'"
"Was he involved with the Nazi party to your knowledge as you were growing up?"
"He was. He had men over to visit. They met in the den and spoke quietly. Occasionally on Saturday nights they had beer fests. They sang songs in German, lifted steins and swayed and sang until after midnight. Rarely did I see any of them intoxicated, however. My grandfather, never. Like I said, he was strict and he was especially strict with himself."
Just then, the witness produced a handkerchief from an inner pocket and pressed it against his forehead. "Warm in here," he remarked. The court reporter took down even that non-responsive comment, as was her job when they were on the record.
"Did you ever join him in Nazi-related events?"
"Never. He kept that part of his life separate from me."
"You have a brother Robb and a sister Julie?"
"Yes, older and younger, former and latter."
"Were either of them involved with your grandfather's Nazi events? Anything of that nature?"
"Not that I know of. Though Julie—she would have made someone an excellent German wife. She was very much in love with Germany, its food and music, when we were young. She used to beg my grandfather for stories about the old country."
"Where is Julie today?"
"Today? She's flying in to see me."
"No, I didn't mean that, sorry. Where does she live?"
"San Diego. Ocean Beach. She runs a fitness spa there."
"That would be Ocean Beach Bodies?"
"Yes."
"Has Julie ever been involved with the Nazi party?"
The priest's eyes narrowed. He seemed to withdraw, his smile fading, at the question.
"You'd have to ask her that."
"Well, I'm asking you, sir."
"I think she might have hung around the edges in college. Nothing serious. A mild flirtation."
"A mild flirtation with Nazism?"
"That's just my way of putting it, I guess."
"Would that be like a little bit pregnant?"
"Your point is well-taken, Mr. Murfee. All I can tell you is that she did investigate the party, maybe even before college—maybe in high school. But as far as later involvement, honestly, I would have no way of knowing. We're not a close family."
"Do you see your sister socially now that you're both adults?"
"I usually spend Christmas with her and her family."
"How does that go?"
"Very German. Very traditional. German foods—a whole roomful, by the time she leaves the kitchen after three days of preparation. She's very provincial that way."
"She sounds like a true daughter of Germany."
"Maybe, I don't know. I know that we traveled separate roads when we became adults and left home."
"Your tendencies went elsewhere?"
"I've been a professional Catholic since boyhood. Started with serving God as an altar boy."
"Do you recall overhearing a telephone conversation on the day your grandfather was shot and killed?"
"I do."
"Describe those circumstances."
"I was a curious kid. Curious about Grandfather's secrets. Like all little boys, I guess. That particular day, I was rattling around in his clothes closet looking for secrets. Just trying to see what he was all about."
"That was it?"
"Tell the truth, I was very enamored with the idea of my grandfather maybe having a gun hidden away somewhere. I was basically looking for a gun."
"What did you plan to do with the gun if you found it?"
"My plans never got that far. I was just looking."
Thaddeus shifted his feet behind the podium. He looked over at Christine, who was furiously making notes on her laptop. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the jury was very involved with the narrative. So he continued.
"So, you were inside his closet. Door opened or closed?"
"Open. I didn't expect to be caught. Grandfather was at his camp."
"His camp?"
"That's what he called it. The place where the men went to drink and socialize. That's what I knew about it. Today I know it was a Nazi lair, if you will. A fortress where they were planning who knows what."
“You’re inside his closet, in the garage bedroom where he lived. What happened in the closet?"
"I heard someone come in the room. At first I thought it was Julie. I knew she used to nose around in there, too. She was always looking for a gun. But only when Grandfather was away for sure. We wouldn't dare be caught in there."
"So someone came into your grandfather’s garage bedroom while you were in the closet. What happened next?"
"This someone came into the room. Just when he got there, the phone rang. The answering machine was on because Grandfather was away. Over its speaker I could hear the conversation."
"Do you remember what you heard?"
"Word for word."
"Tell the jury what you heard."
"Well, this man, Gottfried Zimmermann, answered the phone in my grandfather’s bedroom."
"What did your grandfather say? Try to tell us word-for-word."
"Did Zimmermann respond to your grandfather?”
"He said, 'What do you want me to do?'"
"And your grandfather said?"
"He said, 'We will kill both of them, we will kill their wives and children, and we will kill their friends. I make that vow.'"
"Then what did Zimmermann say?"
"Nothing. The gunshot blasted over the phone.”
"What did Zimmermann do?"
"Nothing. Then I heard a different voice on the phone."
"What did that voice say?"
"It asked for the address. It said, 'I have something for you.'"
"Was anything ever delivered?"
The priest looked thoughtfully at the jury, remembering.
"Not that I can recall. I really don't know about that. My father, Richard, would know better."
"Was that the end of conversation, then, 'I have something for you'?"
"Yes. The phone went dead."
"What did Zimmermann do?"
"He picked up my grandfather’s phone in my grandfather’s bedroom. He called another man. Who was to call two more. They were all to rush to the camp. Zimmermann then flew out of the house, jumped in his Ford Bronco, and tore off. I remember that Bronco. It was about the color of your paralegal's suit. Kind of white, kind of not white."
"Is there anything further you have to add?"
"Objection. Leading."
"Just trying to run down all the leads, Your Honor. I'll withdraw the question if counsel finds it improper."
"I do."
"Withdrawn."
The judge said, "Counsel, you may cross-examine."
ADA VanMeter proceeded carefully, as she didn't want to offend Catholics who might be sitting on the jury by attacking one of their beloved priests. She knew better. Besides, by the time she had finished, it was clear that Father Meekins had nothing more to add and it was clear that his story wasn't going to change. What had been said, had been said, as far as he was concerned.
Finally he was excused.
The judge had another hearing that took precedence over this criminal trial, so he dismissed the jury for the afternoon and took up other business.
Thaddeus, Christine, Lodzi, and Father Meekins rode down on the elevator. It was very quiet. At the lobby, the door flew open and Thaddeus spoke for the first time.
"Listen, all, I called Albert and he's waiting out front with his van. He's going to run me back to the office with Christine and then take Father Meekins with him to the airport, where they're leaving for Phoenix. The plane is fueled and waiting as I speak. Lodzi, I can give you a ride back with me, if you'd like."
"Beats the marshal's service. I'll just take you up on that."
One by one they exited through the rotating door and assembled on the sidewalk. Albert's burgundy van was pulled against the curb, flashers blinking. Cabs would pull up behind him, unload their passengers, and then lay on the horn for him to move. Albert had the window down and he would just wave them around. Fingers flew up as the cabs flew past, all ignored by Albert, who was wearing his Ray-Bans and ready to fly.
Just as they were getting in the van, a voice called from behind.
"Bibby! Hey!"
Bibby turned and Thaddeus turned. Lodzi and Christine were already loaded in.
"Julie!" cried Father Meekins. "Thaddeus, this is my sister, Julie!"
She came forward and extended her hand. On her wrist were two gold bracelets and a black-faced watch. She was wearing khakis, pale blue shirt, and had a scarf around her throat, very loose, very stylish. She was carrying a black purse with two straps.
"What are you doing here?" Father Meekins asked his sister.
She was clearly younger, actually four years younger but looking ten.
"I came to see you. I wanted to hear your testimony but the cab took forever from O'Hare. Of course I had to stop off at Dad's house to pick up a souvenir. Something for Lodzi. Obviously I missed you. I found courtroom 505 but it was on overflow and they wouldn't let me in. So I came downstairs to wait. And here you are! I thought it would be at least five o'clock before court let out. I almost went for a slice of Chicago's deep dish pizza. But you came down just as I was about to ask someone for a restaurant recommendation. Now here we are!"
Father Meekins turned to Thaddeus.
"She can ride back to Phoenix on your plane, with me?"
"Of course," said Thaddeus. "Only too happy to help out."
"Will that work?" the priest asked his sister.
"Wonderful. I get you all to myself for three hours. My confession will take at least that long."
The siblings laughed and Thaddeus held out an arm, indicating they should load in. Which they did.
Everyone strapped in and Albert nosed the van out into traffic. Down to the cross street and past State Street (one-way) then up to Monroe, and then right to Van Buren, where the red light halted their movement.
Almost as if in slow motion, Julie opened her purse. Thaddeus caught only a silver flash rising up out of the purse, hand gripping the gun, then the barrel coming up level and the muzzle pointing directly at Lodzi's chest, as he sat across from Julie.
Seated beside Julie, the priest’s eyes opened in alarm. He saw the gun, realized why she had brought it along, and was on his feet and lunging across her shooting hand all in one long, continuous thrust of his body.
An ear-deafening roar and the priest cried out and fell to the floor. There was a small hole, seeping blood, on his right upper shoulder. He moaned and tried to push himself away from the floor, but his upper body strength failed him.
Christine wrestled the gun away from Julie and jumped at her. She twisted the woman's gun hand behind her back, pulled up, and had control of her prisoner, just as she had operated as an MP. Without a word, Albert pulled around Van Buren, sped up, and found a place to pull to the curb. He calmly dialed 911 and reported the shooting.
Thaddeus, sitting beside Lodzi, heard him whisper.
"What?" Thaddeus said. "Say once more."
Lodzi's eyes closed and he fell back against the seat. He whispered, “A German saved me.”
"Nobody move," said Albert. "The police are on the way."
Everyone obeyed, shocked and speechless. Thaddeus looked up and found he had been brushing at blood and bits of tissue that had spattered his suit.
Thaddeus reached down and touched the priest’s head. “Lie still. Help is coming,” he said to the man. Then he took the priest’s hand in his and held it there.
Father Meekins lifted his head and said in a strong voice, “Tell Lodzi. It stops here. Never again.”
Then the police cruisers began arriving.
As the first officer approached the side door of the van, Julie looked up. Her eyes gazed directly at Thaddeus, her rage evident.
"Got a card, counselor? My grandfather's Luger tried to kill a Jew.”
“You shot your brother! You realize what you did?”
“I shot a Jew lover.”
She was roughly dragged out of the van and forced down in the back seat of a Chicago PD cruiser.
Next came the EMT’s. A stretcher was unfolded, the priest transferred, and fluids started. He was hooked up to telemetry and a street-side examination made. All the while, Father Meekins was awake and alert. He asked for a bottle of water and the EMT’s shrugged and gave him one.
He would be discharged from the hospital after an overnight stay. The wound was superficial, and he wished to return to his parish.
When she heard of the attack, U.S. Attorney VanMeter called Thaddeus. She was dismissing the charges against Lodzi. He would be killed by the Neo-Nazis if he went to prison. He was being given the option of going into Witness Protection.
He accepted.
But he would
n’t agree to leave Chicago.
Chapter Forty-Two
Turquoise was in charge of naming Katy's charity since it had become so much more than wear, eat, and sleep. A corporate charter had been drawn up by Thaddeus and paperwork filed with the IRS so tax-free donations could be accepted.
Turquoise heard the story of Lodzi Ashstein and the German priest who saved him. Thaddeus told her about Lodzi’s life, his suffering, and his overcoming against all odds. He told her about the German priest who saved his life.
Two days later, Turquoise had her answer.
The sign painters came on Saturday morning and painted the sign across the front window in gold leaf, in the shape of a half circle. The sign said,
Lodzi Ashstein Miracle of Life Community Center
Everyone welcome.
Inside, behind the reception counter, a new face was now seen. A little, very old man with white hair, wearing his best black suit, greeted each and every person who came through the door.
“That’s a great name on the front window,” he smiled. “You’re safe at last.”
The End
Also by John Ellsworth
The Defendants Thaddeus Murfee Vol. 1
Beyond a Reasonable Death Thaddeus Murfee Vol. 2
Attorney at Large Thaddeus Murfee Vol. 3
Chase, the Bad Baby Thaddeus Murfee Vol. 4
Defending Turquoise Thaddeus Murfee Vol. 5
The Mental Case Thaddeus Murfee Vol. 6
Unspeakable Prayers Thaddeus Murfee Vol. 7
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Acknowledgments
Thank you to Debra Ellsworth. Thank you to Bev Nigro and Cheryl Hopton for their enthusiasm and confidence and sharp eyes and red pens. Additional debts are owed to early readers Ralph Rowland, CaryLory Becker, Robert Corish, M.D., Jan Dromlewicz, James Lennertz, M.D., Rich Burklund, Georgia Bridgman, Nairn' Gillet, Cindy Bigler, Ph.D., Mike O’Leary, Nora Baladerian, Ph.D., Roger ven Torres, M.D., Dave Hancock, Mike Roberson, and all the other kind, gracious folks who have helped make my books special.
Unspeakable Prayers: WW II to Present Day (Thaddeus Murfee Series of Legal Thrillers) Page 25