by Matt Goldman
I said, “Huh. I have nothing against Karin Tressler as a person. I actually like her. And maybe she’s good for Israel and maybe she isn’t. I don’t know enough about those things to say. But here’s what I do know: the same people who hate you and me because of the religion we were born into, they love Karin Tressler. That’s who you’ve aligned yourself with. A lint filter that catches the worst of the worst. They fucking hate you, Ian. Because you’re Jewish. They simultaneously deny the Holocaust happened and would love to perpetrate it again. Luke Tressler, Karin’s brother, has a swastika on his back. He’s your colleague. He’s your political ally. How does that happen?”
Ian Halferin pounded his fist on the table. “Nothing’s all good or all bad. You’re being naïve, Shapiro.”
“When you work with them, you become them.”
“Nice catchphrase, but it’s not true.”
“You kidnapped me. With Luke Tressler at your side. Seems pretty true to me.”
“I was trying to protect Karin. And to do that I had to protect the firm. The firm represents her interests. I wanted to know what you knew. Who you were in contact with. And how it reflected on the firm. I needed you on our side. But you betrayed us. You betrayed our people.” Ian Halferin lifted his fork and ate. The son of a bitch still had an appetite. He said, “How can the Jews survive hatred and prejudice if we can’t stick together? You’re a bad Jew, Shapiro. In fact, you’re not even a Jew. You’re the enemy.”
I lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “Karin Tressler’s brother carried a tiki torch in Charlottesville and chanted, ‘Jews will not replace us.’ And I’m the enemy? You’ll have to tell me how that works.”
“I would, Shapiro, but you’re incapable of understanding.”
“Am I? A monster open fired inside a Pittsburgh synagogue and killed eleven Jews, including a ninety-seven-year-old Holocaust survivor. On Shabbat. Luke Tessler is no better than that subhuman piece of shit. And that’s who you associate with to protect your interests. Maybe you can explain that. But not now. You have to go.”
“What are you talking about?”
I stood and nodded to the police officers. They came over to our booth. The young woman officer looked at Halferin and said, “Sir, please step out of the booth and put your hands on the table.”
“What? We made a deal!”
“No, we didn’t. You just heard what you wanted to hear. You’re good at that.”
One of the police officers said, “Sir, if you do not stand and put your hands on the table, we will use any force necessary to remove you from the premises.”
The restaurant had gone quiet. All eyes were on our booth. Ian Halferin stood, turned his back toward the officers, and placed his hands on the table. The older officer patted him down, and the younger one said, “You are under arrest for kidnapping. You have the right to remain silent—”
Halferin said, “I know my fucking Miranda rights. Let’s just get this over with.”
The young cop pulled Halferin’s arms behind his back and cuffed his wrists together.
Ian Halferin turned to me and said, “You’re what’s wrong with this world, Shapiro. You and every self-hating Jew like you.”
They turned him around to leave the restaurant. I saw more than one smartphone held high, recording video. I could hear Halferin breathe like a panting cat. I said, “You know that saying you just touted? Never again. Well guess what? You are the again, and Anne Frank is rolling over in her mass grave.”
38
Ian Halferin would be out on bail in hours, and I had no intention of easing the conscience of his bailor. I walked up Marquette, took a right on Ninth Street, and entered the building I’d grown sick of. When I stepped into the lobby of Halferin Silver, the receptionist on the rolly chair threw her eyes my way.
She said, “Hello, Nils Shapiro. You haven’t called my cousin yet.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“We’re all busy, but we find time for the important things.”
“Really?”
She nodded, then grabbed the reception desk to roll herself toward the lobby entrance. “That was good what you did, catching Luke Tressler. But poor Karin. She’s devastated. It’s over for her. Over.”
“You sound pretty sure about that.”
She shrugged. “I hear things.”
“I bet. Is Susan in?”
“Ms. Silver has an appointment this morning. She’ll be in shortly.”
“I’ll wait.”
I was about to sit down when the air smelled soapy. A second later, Celeste Sorensen entered from the corridor. She saw me and stopped cold—the muscles in her ripped arms tensed. A long silence filled the reception area. Sheryl Glass watched as if it were riveting TV.
Celeste broke first and said, “Mr. Halferin isn’t in yet.”
“I know. I just had breakfast with him. I’m here to see Susan Silver.”
“She’s not—”
“I know that, too. I’m waiting.”
“Why didn’t Ian come back with you?”
“He wanted to but his hands were tied.”
Celeste pivoted toward the rolly chair but Sheryl answered before Celeste could even ask. “I don’t know anything about it. I expected Mr. Halferin to be in by now.”
“Mr. Shapiro, why don’t you wait in Ms. Silver’s office. It’s more comfortable, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
I followed Celeste Sorensen through the corridor of framed prints and into Susan Silver’s office. I hadn’t seen it before. Susan Silver had a glass desk with glass sides holding it up. Her seating area featured a love seat and chairs upholstered in matching fabric of black-and-white houndstooth. The coffee table was also made of glass and mimicked the desk in style, only shorter and smaller. It all whispered that Susan Silver had taste if you cared to notice but she wasn’t going to shove it down your throat. I chose one of the houndstooth chairs and saw, mounted on the wall, something that seemed out of place in Susan Silver’s decor.
A trophy fish mounted on the wall. Only it wasn’t a trophy, but rather a young northern pike, a foot long and not much thicker than a bratwurst. An engraved brass plate was affixed to the plaque, but I couldn’t read it from where I was sitting.
Celeste said, “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“No, thank you.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
I said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” She forced a smile.
“Were you romantically involved with Todd Rabinowitz?”
Her smile faded. She said, “Why would you ask that?”
“Because I know your marriage is rotten. And so was Todd’s. You two worked together every day. Sometimes that’s how affairs happen.”
Celeste Sorensen leaned to her right to look into the hall. She apparently saw no one because she said, “Todd and I were friends, but we did not have an affair. I forget Annika works with you and probably tells you everything I say. I just … I haven’t had a real friend in a long time.… She’s a good listener. And you’re right—I don’t have a good marriage. But God wants us to have what we have and withholds what He doesn’t want us to have.”
“So, God doesn’t want you to have a good marriage?”
Celeste Sorensen smiled. “You don’t believe in God, do you, Mr. Shapiro?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t think about it all that much.”
“Why is that?”
“The Golden Rule covers a lot of ground, and I don’t waste my time asking questions that can’t be answered. Not for me, anyway. What anyone else believes is their business, and I’m happy for them. As long as their beliefs don’t lead them to harm someone else.”
“It’s hard to have faith. But it’s worthwhile. You should try it sometime.”
“Faith in what?”
“In a God who loves you. Who put you on this earth to serve Him. Who does battle with the devil every day and needs your help to wi
n.”
“Well,” I said, “if I ever meet that God, we’ll have a talk and see if we’re on the same page.”
“You will meet that God,” said Celeste, “but by then it will be too late.” She smiled. “Why does it matter if someone was having an affair with Todd? I mean, to you, why does it matter?”
“Because Luke Tressler wasn’t working alone.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Pretty sure.”
“And you think whoever was sleeping with Todd might have helped Luke kill Todd and Robin and that artist?”
“It’s possible.”
She looked down and kept looking down then said, “I think Todd was involved with someone but that person is incapable of hurting anyone. Especially Todd.”
I said, “Well, it must be someone at the office or you wouldn’t have an opinion about it.”
Celeste Sorensen said nothing.
“And there aren’t a whole lot of women working here. You. My friend on the rolly chair. One associate. A few support staff. And Susan Silver.”
Celeste hesitated then said, “Are you sure I can’t get you coffee?” I nodded. She smiled then walked out of the office. I texted Ellegaard and Annika. They needed to know what I now knew, and I needed their help to prove it. I’d just hit Send when Susan Silver walked into her office.
She said, “Hello, Nils. I heard you were waiting for me.” She wore a pink summery dress and a simple string of pearls around her neck. Her silver hair was pushed back by a tortoiseshell set of teeth on top of her head. The teeth matched her glasses. “So, how can I help you?”
“First I’d like to help you. You’re going to get a call from Ian Halferin within the hour. He’s been arrested and will ask you to bail him out.”
“Arrested? That can’t be true.”
“I was there when it happened.”
Susan Silver walked over and sat on her houndstooth loveseat. She looked sick. It took her a while to form the question. “Arrested on what charges?”
“Kidnapping.”
“What?! Who did he kidnap?”
“Me.” I told her about my stolen Volvo, drinks with Luke Tressler, and my adventure in the van. She buried her face in her hands. Her breathing grew arrhythmic, and tears squeezed their way between her fingers. I said, “It’s interesting.”
She took a moment to regain her composure, then said, “What’s interesting?”
“You’re just a person right now. Not one bit a lawyer.”
She lowered her hands. Her eyes were red. Mascara smeared her face. She looked like an evil clown. She said, “Of course I’m a person.”
“All the lawyers I know would have jumped into action when hearing their partner had been arrested. They would have called the bank or their broker to liquidate funds for bail. They would have sent someone to the precinct if not gone themselves. They would have kicked into lawyer mode immediately.”
“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”
“You haven’t disappointed me. I don’t care what happens to Ian Halferin.”
“Well then, I’m sorry if my emotion makes you uncomfortable.”
“No need to apologize. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable. But I am curious who you’re crying for.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Are you crying for Ian because his career is over? Are you crying for you because your firm is over? Or maybe you’re crying for Todd Rabinowitz because his life is over.”
“I’ve cried plenty for Todd Rabinowitz.”
“You were in love with him.”
Susan returned her face to her hands. Her shoulders heaved.
I said, “Why the big secret? What was the problem? You’re not married. His marriage was ending. Why couldn’t you just be together?”
She took a few breaths to compose herself. She stood, walked to her glass desk, picked up a remote control, and pressed a button. Her office door shut. She set down the remote, lifted a box of tissues in a leather tissue box cover, walked it back to the love seat, and sat. She wiped her face and looked at what had collected on the tissue. “Oh my God, I’m a mess.”
I said nothing that confirmed she was, indeed, a mess.
Susan Silver said, “Todd insisted we keep our affair secret.”
“Because of Karin Tressler?”
Susan nodded and pulled her knees up onto the couch. “Todd said any perception of marital infidelity in Karin’s campaign would reflect badly on her. He wanted her to win the primary. It was important to him. I’m glad he lived long enough to see that happen.”
“Was it important to you?”
“Yes. It was important to me for the same reason it was important to Todd.” Susan Silver grabbed a few fresh tissues, blew her nose, then shut her eyes. “I wanted to tell you something the other day when I walked to your place, but I lost my nerve—I couldn’t risk it. Now it doesn’t much matter, at least for the reason it did then.”
“All right…”
“Todd and I worked hard to help Karin Tressler win the primary. But we wanted Karin Tressler to lose the general election. We shared this with no one. Todd didn’t even tell Robin.”
“Let me make sure I’m hearing you right. You want Karin Tressler to lose in November?”
“More than want. We actively plotted for her to lose.”
“Was that in the best interest of your client?”
“No. Of course not. It’s the main reason I stopped myself from telling you this the other day. I could get disbarred.”
I said nothing.
“Two years ago, before this firm worked for Karin Tressler, her people scrubbed her brother, Luke, from the internet. Almost impossible, but they did an excellent job. But Todd stumbled across Luke’s history. It was by accident. He was in D.C. representing our firm at a fundraising event. One of the attendees at the event was a journalist who had been in Charlottesville. She had taken pictures. They were in her personal collection, and some of those pictures were used in a presentation. Todd recognized Luke Tressler as one of the tiki torchbearers chanting those horrible things. Todd told no one. Except me.
“Then we did a little digging and found more dirt on Luke Tressler. So we quietly investigated all of Karin Tressler’s inner circle. Her campaign has a number of white nationalists. They’re anti-black. Anti-brown. Anti-LGBT. Anti-Semitic.”
“Did you discuss it with Ian?”
“I tried. But without telling him what I knew about Luke. I just told him I was concerned that some of the people in Karin’s camp had swung too far right. They weren’t conservatives. They were fascists.”
“And?”
“And Ian Halferin had drunk the Kool-Aid, so to speak. The more conservative the candidate the better. I considered presenting him with the Luke Tressler information, but Ian had dug in. He wasn’t going to budge. He would have pushed back. We have a business to run. It cannot tolerate that kind of conflict at the top.”
There was a knock on the door. Susan Silver told whoever it was to come in. The door opened. Celeste Sorensen entered. She said, “I’m sorry to interrupt. Ian’s on the phone. He says it’s urgent.”
“Thank you, Celeste. Send it in. And please shut the door on your way out.”
Celeste Sorensen left. Susan went to her desk. The phone rang. She answered it. “Hello?… My God, that’s terrible … Of course. I’ll send David right away with bail. As soon you’re arraigned, we’ll get you out … Okay, hang in there. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
She hung up and returned to the houndstooth couch, phone in hand. She dialed and held it to her head, “Hi, Celeste. Could you please bring David into the office?”
Twenty seconds later Celeste Sorensen entered with a young man wearing a bow tie and suspenders. I don’t know why young men sometimes dress like old men, but I like it. Time feels less linear, and that’s comforting.
Susan Silver said, “Celeste, please take David into Ian’s office. David, you know the combination to th
e safe, right?”
“I do,” said David.
“Ian has been arrested. Get down to the courthouse ASAP and bail him out. Take fifty thousand in cash. I don’t want any delays if they make a stink about verifying funds.”
Celeste said, “Arrested? What for?” The soapy-smelling woman with sinewy arms looked hard at Susan, but Susan revealed nothing. Then Celeste looked at me, as if I’d tell her.
Susan said, “Celeste, I need your discretion right now. Please keep this between us. We’ll have a company meeting about it this afternoon. David, could you please go now?”
“Yes, of course. I’m on it.”
“Thank you.”
Celeste led David out of the office. The door closed behind her.
I said, “You always keep that much cash in the office?”
“Ian worries about the grid going down. If it does, he wants the firm and his family to be taken care of.”
“Ah. A doomsday survivalist with means.”
Susan paused for a moment then said, “Where were we?”
“You tried to tell Ian about the fascists in Karin Tressler’s campaign, but he’d dug in.”
“Right. And in the process of learning more about Luke Tressler and some of the others, Todd and I found ourselves moving away from the right.”
“You mean to the left?”
“I’d say the right moved to the right of us.”
“And you were on the inside of Karin Tressler’s campaign. A saboteur’s dream.”
“Yes,” said Susan. “So we assembled a goody-bag of information about Luke Tressler and Karin’s efforts to cover her brother’s past. We intended to release it to the press ten days before the general election. We wanted to change the outcome of the election, and possibly weed out other anti-Semitic incumbents and candidates. We wanted conservatives. Not reactionaries. Not crazies. We wanted to make a real difference. Just me and Todd Rabinowitz, a couple of lawyers no one’s ever heard of.”
I said, “What do you mean wanted to, as if you’ve failed? Luke Tressler’s past is front-page news. Karin Tressler’s candidacy is in real trouble.”
“Thanks to you. Not Todd and me.”