The Chemist's Shop

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The Chemist's Shop Page 17

by Richard Brumer


  “You did this for revenge, didn’t you?” Weisman said. “You had the opportunity, the means, and the place to carry out your vengeful plan.”

  Michael appeared to be caught off guard and simply replied, “No.”

  “Mr. Ross, let me ask you again. Think about the truth that lies within you. It was pure and simple revenge, wasn’t it?”

  “No, it wasn’t anything like that. He came to my house for a game of chess. After a while, I knew Harry Sanders was Hans Stern, the Nazi officer responsible for murdering my family.”

  “That was the reason you murdered Harry Sanders? Because you believed him to be a man you knew as Hans Stern?”

  “Yes, sir. He was Hans Stern.”

  “How did you come to the conclusion that this man, who you thought was Hans Stern, was an SS Nazi officer?”

  “I looked into his eyes, then heard his laugh. The last time I heard that distinct laugh was when he threw my wife out of the barracks.” Michael’s jaw tightened and through clenched Michael added, “He called her a bitch.”

  Weisman shot back. “You just heard him laugh and that was enough for you to come to the conclusion that this was the man who hurt your family?”

  “Yes,” he answered, choked up. Michael swallowed hard. His eyes filled and a tear ran down his cheek.

  “He raped and killed my wife and gassed my daughters. It was his laugh that made me look at him again. That’s when I realized I was right. He was Hans Stern!” Michael yelled.

  Weisman took a deep breath. “Mr. Ross, this may surprise you, but there is no record on file that shows that anyone named Hans Stern was an officer in the German army—no pictures, no information about him being a Nazi, and nothing relating to him being an SS officer at Auschwitz.”

  “That’s not unusual. Many Nazis have erased their pasts.”

  “You admitted to the court earlier, during direct testimony, that you killed the man named Harry Sanders who you presumed to be Hans Stern. Please affirm this is correct,” Weisman said, pacing again.

  “I did, yes. I told you I don’t remember killing him,” Michael answered, crossing his hands in front of him.

  “But you remember being filled with rage.”

  “Yes, only for a moment.”

  “Because he laughed like someone you knew twenty-five years ago?”

  “No!” Michael spoke directly to the jury. “Because he murdered my family!”

  “You know, Mr. Ross, you were mistaken when you killed a man you thought was Hans Stern. The Nazis kept meticulous records. We researched your claim, and the fact is, there was no SS officer at Auschwitz named Stern and no other Nazi officers or non-officers who were named Hans Stern. I don’t know what fantasy you were living in, but you killed the wrong man, Mr. Ross. You killed Harry Sanders, a law abiding citizen with no criminal record.”

  Gasps ran through the courtroom. The jury sat frozen in their seats and appeared to be in a state of shock. Judge Jordon banged his gavel repeatedly to restore order, but the crowd still murmured.

  Brenda Coleman stood up and shouted to Weisman, “You know better than that, David. You know that Nazis destroyed incriminating records.”

  The judge struck the gavel with more force and threatened to clear the courtroom unless everyone quieted down.

  Weisman spoke to the court, “Your Honor, the fact that the Nazis destroyed records is irrelevant. The court cannot assume that a record of the deceased’s presence in Auschwitz existed and then was destroyed. How can we ever know that is a fact? So there can be no proof of the defendant’s claim that Harry Sanders is Hans Stern and that this man was even in Auschwitz. The people maintain that an act of calculated revenge for a heinous crime committed by someone else Mr. Ross knew in Auschwitz resulted in the death of Harry Sanders, an innocent man.”

  Brenda was on her feet. “I object, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained. Mr. Weisman, save your speeches for closing statements, please. Do you have any other questions for Mr. Ross?”

  “Mr. Ross, is it possible that the man you claim was Hans Stern was not a Nazi officer during World War II and you only imagined him to be the person who took the life of your family?”

  “No, it is not possible,” Michael said, shaking his head. “He was the man.”

  “I…” Michael started to speak, then stopped. Wide-eyed, he stared ahead, an expression of revelation on his face.

  “Yes, Mr. Ross? Are you ready to tell us the truth, that you remember your cold-blooded killing of Harry Sanders?” Weisman scanned the jury.

  “No, I…”

  “No? Your Honor. I have no further questions for the defendant,” the prosecutor said, turning away from Michael.

  Before the judge could dismiss him, Michael stood up and yelled, “I have the proof!” He hesitated and screamed out again. “I can prove that the deceased is Hans Stern and that he was an SS officer at Auschwitz.”

  Appearing stunned, Weisman whirled to face the defendant. “Okay, prove it!”

  Brenda immediately addressed the court.

  “Your Honor, may we have a short recess so I can confer with my client?”

  “Take all the time you want, counselor. I am adjourning this court until after the weekend. The trial will convene on Monday at 10 a.m.”

  Brenda stood, her lips pressed tight as Michael walked toward her.

  “What are you doing? What got into you? You can’t just shout out like that in a courtroom. I’m your lawyer. For God’s sake, ask for water, tell the court you don’t feel well, and talk to me. Don’t just yell things out. Now, it’s part of the record. Weisman will come to court Monday morning and rip you apart. If Weisman says there was no Hans Stern that means he researched it. He’s good at that. It’s his specialty, very methodical.”

  Brenda shook her head and sighed. Jeff patted Michael on the back and told him that they still had a shot at winning and asked him to stay optimistic.

  “All right, Michael,” Brenda said. “What is this proof you have? Weisman found no one named Hans Stern who was an SS officer in Auschwitz. He’s got us. He got us, Michael! He’s entitled to full disclosure. What were you thinking? Sorry, I’m all over the place. Let me know what kind of proof you have.”

  Michael took a deep breath. “You want it short and simple or do you want me to beat around the bush?” Michael asked with a smile.

  “Come on, Michael. I’m exhausted. Say something to make me smile.”

  “I have a document that I took from the records office in Auschwitz shortly before the liberation by the Soviets. It shows Stern’s entire history in black and white. His rank service number, his signature, where he was born, everything.”

  Brenda’s jaw dropped and she stared at him, “Michael, uh…”

  “Wait, there’s more.”

  “More? What do you mean ‘more’?”

  “It has his picture on it, in his full dress SS uniform. I see you smiling now. I knew you would. I enjoyed watching you blow off steam, so I waited a bit before telling you. When I first held this document in my hand and looked at it in the barracks, I felt like I was given a precious gift.”

  “Why didn’t you let me know about this before? If we attempt to get this information about Stern into evidence, Weisman is going to kick up a storm and challenge its authenticity. We could get forensics to testify if it is, in fact, authentic, but to validate Stern’s signature would be impossible.”

  “Why?” Michael asked.

  Brenda shook her head and looked down. “Because we don’t have anything to compare it with. We could have used a legitimate passport, but his was forged and would never be admissible.”

  “But we do have something to compare. I have a signed letter from him using the name Harry Sanders, thanking me in advance for inviting him to my home for an evening of chess.”

  “Really? Isn’t it unusual for him to send a thank you note in advance? It’s not generally done. Why would he do that?”

  “My impression of Stern was
that he was a rigid man who had an exaggerated sense of propriety, or maybe he felt that if he sent it to me in writing, it would be his way of making sure I would keep the date.”

  “The testimony of a forensic document examiner could show that Hans Stern and Harry Sanders are one and the same man. Where is this document?” Brenda said as she patted Michael on his back and slipped her files into her briefcase.

  “It’s at the house.”

  “Is it in good condition, readable?”

  “Not mint condition, a little yellowed and creased, but very well-preserved.”

  “And why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Brenda scolded.

  “In my wildest dreams, I never thought I would need it. I had forgotten about it. I just kept it as some kind of memento. When I was at Auschwitz, I knew deep inside that I would be the one to avenge my family. Maybe I took it for that reason. I don’t know. Weisman was right when he questioned me on the stand. He was right all along. It was about revenge.”

  “And where is the letter from Sanders thanking you for the opportunity to play chess with you?”

  “It’s in the kitchen drawer to the right of the sink, under a lot of junk. You’d have to dig to find it.”

  “How do I get into your house? Where will I find a key?”

  “It’s easy. You’ll never believe it.”

  “Really? You mean?”

  “Yep, under the doormat.” Michael had a wide grin on his face. “But there is a slight catch.”

  Brenda rolled her eyes. “What’s the catch? Don’t be a tease.”

  “Well, the document is in my house all right. It’s there, but I don’t know exactly where it is. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it, but it has to be there somewhere. I think it’s in the study. Somewhere with the animals. It’s a little messy, but it’s probably in there somewhere.”

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “Okay, I’ll go over there before it gets dark. If there is any problem, I’ll come to the jail. If you don’t see me, it means I found it. What’s this about animals?”

  “I’m not sure,” Michael said, scratching his head. “It was just so long ago.”

  “What does that mean? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Brenda said, exasperated

  “Oh, I don’t know either, but it’s there. Could you do me one favor?”

  “What?”

  “Could you empty the refrigerator? Everything must be moldy and smelly.”

  “Michael, I’m your lawyer, not your housemaid. I’ll make an exception this one time, but I’m adding it to your bill,” she said with a wide smile. “Just don’t ask me to do the windows.” They both laughed.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Brenda said sheepishly.

  “What? Don’t tell me you changed your mind about doing windows?”

  “No, I just want to let you know that was the first time I saw Weisman flustered in court. It was a beautiful sight.”

  “But he thought he had me. Why would he be flustered?”

  “I’ve known David for a long time. We go to conferences together, have coffee. Trust me, I know him. His expression sent a message to me that you really might have proof.”

  ***

  Michael returned to his cell. Albert told him his case was set for three weeks down the road.

  “That’s a long time, Albert. Why?”

  “Justice is slow. I got used to that.”

  “What’s your lawyer like?” Michael asked.

  “Tom Kennedy is a nice man who knows the law. He’s a good lawyer for me. I’m glad to have him on my side. I’ve always heard from jailhouse lawyers that public defenders are too busy to do a good job.” Albert stroked his beard, smiled, and shook his head. “If jailhouse lawyers are so smart, why are they in here in the first place? It doesn’t take too much brains to stay out of jail, just follow the law, but maybe that was my problem too. I was so impulsive. After what that man did to my grandbaby, I wanted to kill him. I didn’t think twice about it and couldn’t give a crap about the consequences. I’d do it again.”

  “I know how you feel. I really do. Did Kennedy prepare you for your case?” Michael asked as he sat next to Albert.

  Albert took a deep breath. “He prepared me all right. At least, the best he could. Except there’s one problem.”

  “Go ahead, what is it,” Michael said, focusing on Albert’s face.

  “My son’s friend, Jamal, actually witnessed the shooting from the side of the road when I shot that scum, Daryl. Jamal saw the bastard pull a gun on me as I was coming at him, but I got him first and Daryl dropped his gun. Jamal looked at me, terrified, picked up his gun, tucked it under his belt, and ran off as Daryl was on the ground.”

  “And you saw this?” Michael asked.

  “I did. Jamal yelled at me, saying, ‘I’m getting outta here.’”

  “Why would he do that? Pick up the gun and take off?”

  “I know why. He was terrified of the police and thought they might show up. He lived in fear of them. There was a warrant out for his arrest for not showing up in court for a minor offense, like sleeping on the street. Why he didn’t show up is beyond me. He would have gotten a slap on the wrist and the case would have been dismissed. But he didn’t show up and whenever Jamal saw a police car, he’d duck down an alley. Plus, he always wanted to have a gun for protection and this was a good opportunity to get one.”

  “So, with Jamal’s testimony, you would have a good case for self-defense. Did the police turn up?” Michael asked.

  “No, but Jamal was gone. If the police showed, we both would have been arrested. I called the police and told them what happened, and they arrested me, but Jamal already left and I don’t know what happened with Daryl. I always told Jamal to turn himself in if there was a warrant out for him, pay the price, and get on with his life, especially for something so minor, but he was scared to go to court. He heard too many stories about blacks getting harsh punishments for small stuff. That’s the way it is with young black males. They break the law, get arrested, make bail, and hide. They’re afraid of appearing in front of a judge. Anything could go wrong.”

  “Sorry to hear that about Jamal, but I understand what you’re saying about black males. Why, Albert, why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s about hatred. All I know is that there is a separate set of laws for black people.”

  “Where is Jamal now?” Michael asked, shaking his head and biting his lip.

  “Nobody knows. He’s gone, and Kennedy said there was no funding left for a private investigator to find him. It takes big money for an investigator.” Albert looked down, shrugged, and remained silent for a moment. “My lawyer said that finding Jamal could turn the case in my favor. It would mean that he could address Jamal’s minor offense in court, get it dismissed, and then have him testify on my behalf. It takes big money for an investigator and Mr. Kennedy’s hands are tied.”

  “I can help you with the money part. I’m not rich but I have enough to get you an investigator. That could be important in your case.”

  “Thanks, Michael, you’re a true friend and someone I never would have met outside of these circumstances, but I’m used to playing the cards I’ve been dealt. Kennedy is doing a good job so far. He’ll find a way, but thanks anyway. You’re a good man. I’ll be leaving this cell tomorrow, going to new quarters, and will miss you.”

  “Good luck with your case, but something tells me you will come out of this okay, regardless of the verdict.”

  “You know I will.”

  Chapter 25

  Brenda drove her ’67 Camaro ten miles over the speed limit through the countryside. There was still snow on the ground, but the roads were clear. Her goal was to find the hidden document and find it fast. Taking the documentation with Stern’s information was a minor theft for Michael all those years ago. He said he took it for no reason other than just to have it. Maybe, deep down inside, he thought he would use it against Stern if he ev
er survived the concentration camp, but the reason wasn’t important. Now that document had huge relevance and promised to be a major piece of evidence in this case. That is, if there really was a document. Weisman seemed so sure when he claimed that his research showed there was no Hans Stern to be found.

  Michael had handled himself well during Weisman’s cross examination. Now he had the opportunity to accept Weisman’s challenge to “prove it.”

  His trial had made headlines throughout the country, but a projected outcome was uncertain. The consensus was that Michael was the good guy, and Stern, the bad guy. That was to be expected. Nazis were never high on people’s list of nice people and, maybe because he was a Nazi, now Stern’s existence in Auschwitz was being called into question.

  Although Michael shouldn’t have taken the law into his own hands, many people were drawn to his side. Still, Brenda had reminded Michael that nobody has the right to take another person’s life, and if Michael was in his right mind, he had options to choose from other than vigilante justice. The law would have to prevail, not popular opinion, but she was his lawyer and wanted him to win. The question of whether he was in his right mind was the basis for the defense’s argument.

  Was he in his right mind? Brenda pondered the question as she pulled into the driveway. She knew he did know right from wrong, but irresistible impulse was all she had. No other argument would result in a verdict of not guilty.

  Brenda sat in the driveway of Michael’s detached garage. She had visited the crime scene once before, when preparing the case, but now she had a specific purpose. An eerie feeling came over her as she looked straight ahead and imagined what had happened there on that terrible night. The garage door was still taped with yellow strips declaring it a crime scene. Her thoughts were everywhere. How fortuitous it was for him to have a detached garage when Stern was gassed. Otherwise, his house could have gone up in flames. She wondered if the placement of his garage had influenced his decision to kill Stern the way he had.

  Brenda flipped the mat at the front door and found the rust-stained key. The door opened into a small foyer and she felt the cooler air as it swept across her face through the open living room windows.

 

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