Ryan shrugged. “I could say it is centrally located, but truthfully Chicago is safer. There are too many eyes in D.C. As a group, they assemble in Chicago once or twice a year. Individuals may come here more often. They meet as a group, but they will each have a private audience with the congressman in his neighborhood congressional office. Tomorrow night, Zielinski; his chief of staff, Michael Stanley; Bryant and representatives of six of the country’s largest military contractors are scheduled to attend a dinner at the Palmer House.”
Mimi’s jaw dropped. “The Palmer House! Those bastards.”
“Does that mean something to you?”
“Don’t you see the irony? That was the scene of the wedding. Last year Vittie threw this extravagant wedding dinner for Chrissie and Preston, and several wealthy businessmen were in attendance. These wealthy men will now sit with wine in their cups and blood on their hands in the very room where they toasted long life and happiness to Chrissie and Preston less than six months ago. And to think, I stood there, microphone in hand, and thanked these murderers for coming.”
“We’re not sure who the murderers are,” Ryan said, “or the conspirators, but Zielinski did book the dinner at the Palmer House for tomorrow night.”
Mimi pursed her lips. “I never thought it was possible for Vittie to have any involvement in Chrissie’s death—he loved her so much—but if he can sit and break bread at the scene of her wedding, knowing that one or more of his group killed his daughter, then I guess he’s capable of anything.”
“He’s not the only member of that group who’s capable of anything.”
Mimi looked hard at Ryan. “Who was it, Agent Ryan? Which one of them did it?”
“I don’t think we’re there yet.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHICAGO
ALBANY PARK NEIGHBORHOOD
FEBRUARY 1966
“Thank you for taking the day off, Mimi,” Ryan said when the group reconvened two days later. “The information you’ve given us is very helpful.”
“I’ll do anything to bring those killers to justice.”
Ryan smiled and nodded. “Of course you would, and I may have a special assignment I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Assignment?”
Eli shook his head and held up his hand. “Wait a minute, Cliff. We haven’t agreed to proceed with that yet. For the moment, why don’t we continue our background discussions? Mimi, we all know that Preston was spending a lot of money last fall. He had that fancy new car, he had VIP tickets to special events and we understand he had a new wardrobe from Marshall Field’s. Do you know how he came into all that money?”
“Nathan would know better than I would. Preston talked to him almost every day. Nathan theorizes that Vittie was paying Preston to keep quiet and ensure his loyalty.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“It came up at the time of the wedding. Preston said that he sneaked into the secret room at the congressional office. The accountant’s room.”
“Malcomb Friedman?”
Mimi shook her head. “I wouldn’t know his name. He’s a pudgy guy with greasy hair and glasses. Preston said he had a locked room at the office. No one was allowed to go in there but Vittie, Stanley and the accountant.”
“But Preston went in there?”
“Apparently, they left the door open one day. It was just too tempting, and Preston snooped around. He said he saw ledger books and bank records, and told us it was ‘major shit.’ That’s what he said. ‘The kind of shit that could send people to jail.’”
“Did the congressman know that Preston had entered the room?”
“I don’t think so, but eventually he must have learned. Preston suspected that the receptionist saw him.”
“What did Christine say about the secret room?”
“I never discussed it with Chrissie. In many ways she was so naïve. So clueless.” Mimi paused and swallowed hard. “She had the innocence of a child.”
“Have you been in the congressional office, Mimi?”
“Oh, many times, but never in the locked room.”
Ryan put his yellow pad on the table. “Can you draw a layout of the office and show us where the accountant’s room is?”
Mimi took the pen and sketched the office. “Right there.”
Ryan sat back. “Ledgers and bank records. That’s our smoking gun. It will seal the deal.”
The group decided to take a coffee break. During the break, Ryan and Eli walked over to Mimi and said quietly, “Are you doing all right with this? It must raise a lot of uncomfortable memories.”
“Of course it does, but I’m doing it for Chrissie.”
“You mentioned that you’ve been in Congressman Zielinski’s home,” Ryan said. “How many times?”
Mimi shrugged. “More than I can count. Since I was a child.”
“When was the last time?”
“November, after the funeral. I went for a few nights. They were holding visitation.”
“Have you been there since?”
“No, why?”
“Would you have any reason to go to Congressman Zielinski’s house now, say tomorrow or the next day?”
“Is this the special assignment you mentioned?”
“It is, but to be perfectly frank, it could be risky,” Eli said.
Mimi locked eyes with Eli “Count me in.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
FÖHRENWALD
FÖHRENWALD DP CAMP
AMERICAN ZONE
FEBRUARY 1947
Föhrenwald’s population continued to grow, and despite the initial objections from UNRRA, the camp continued with construction of additional housing. Eli was tasked with supervising, but he didn’t mind. His days were filled with meaningful service. As he was about to leave his home for the construction site, Dr. Weisman dropped in.
“How is our little fellow doing today?”
“Much better, Joel. He’s eating well; he has a lot more energy; he’s back in school.”
“The antibiotics worked well. No coughing, wheezing, shortness of breath?”
“I haven’t witnessed any of it. How’s Bernard doing? I’ve been so busy I haven’t been able to see him for a few days, not since I returned from Garmisch. He’ll want to know what happened, and I almost hate to tell him that we failed again. I’m planning to visit him after work today.”
Dr. Weisman shook his head. “Bernard’s not well, Eli. He grows weaker by the hour. If you have anything to tell him, you should get over there. Now.”
* * *
The nurse handed a surgical mask and gloves to Eli and whispered, “Don’t stay too long. He needs his strength. Every word he says takes a little more out of him. He knows he doesn’t have much more time, but he wants to see his friends, especially you.”
Bernard was propped up in bed, and his eyes were half-open. His complexion was chalky, his facial muscles had lost much of their tone and his breathing was labored. He spoke in a raw whisper, barely audible. “Hello, my friend. How did it go? When is the trial?”