“The ledger books are no longer locked away. We have reviewed them, and to quote Preston Roberts, they contain major shit. You’re all going down.”
Stanley smiled. “You won’t see my name or Zielinski’s name in the ledger books. Do you really understand the entries on those pages? I doubt very much that a simpleton like Preston could or that you could either. The accountant was very skillful … no, maybe we should say obtuse. Unclear. He used codes and entries that only he would understand. And I’m sure that he can explain each entry in a way that is consistent with sound accounting practices and legitimate purchase orders. Face it: you need my help. You have six businessmen on tape. How many more are out there that aren’t on your tapes? What evidence do you think you’ll need to bring down a powerful twenty-year congressman? And, of course, there is the matter of the unfortunate deaths of Christine and Preston Roberts. Imagine what I could do for your career, Assistant U.S. Attorney Berman.”
“You’re facing the electric chair for murdering those two kids,” Eli said. “We saw you with the gun in Zielinski’s office.”
Stanley let out a short chuckle. “I’ve never fired a gun in my life. I doubt the pistol was even loaded.” He looked at Ryan. “Was it?”
Ryan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You threatened a woman with a gun. And you can be held equally responsible for the Robertses’ murders as a coconspirator, even if you didn’t pull the trigger.”
Stanley sat back and glanced at Berman. “Conspiracies are so hard to prove, aren’t they? The when and how, what was said and the steps in furtherance—all beyond a reasonable doubt. Not a slam dunk for you, is it, Mr. U.S. Attorney?”
Eli stood and leaned over the table. “Who killed those kids?”
Stanley held up his index finger. “Sounds like there’s room for a deal. I can give you the murderer. I can give you the military contractors who aren’t on your tapes. I can decipher the ledgers and tell you exactly what each of them agreed to do and where the money went. Once again, Eli, you need the services of Maximilian Poleski, he of royal blood. As I have always told you, we are bound together.”
“I needed you once, and all your promises meant nothing. You betrayed me without a second thought.”
“Times were different. I had my own skin to protect.”
Eli lunged forward, grabbed Maximilian by the throat. Through clenched teeth he snarled, “You were supposed to protect Esther! She was executed at Majdanek, you son of a bitch. And you even lied when you wrote Ravensbrück on the note.”
Ryan stepped forward, took Eli’s hand away and held him back from Stanley.
Stanley coughed and rubbed his throat. “It was an excusable error.”
With his lips drawn in a contemptuous sneer, Eli said, “I’d sooner see every one of those corrupt contractors go free before I’d agree to lessen your jail sentence by one single day.”
“Ah, but it isn’t your call, is it, Eli?” He turned to Berman. “I can give you the murderer, the other contractors, the source of every payment and be your star witness at trial. Do we talk?”
Berman nodded. “If what you say is true, if you can provide corroborative testimony and the information you’ve just described, we can discuss recommending a reduced sentence in exchange for your cooperation.”
From behind the mirror, tears rolled down Mimi’s cheeks.
“I want it in writing before I say a word,” Stanley said, popping his finger on the table.
“It’ll have to be cleared by my chief.”
* * *
“You can’t let him do this,” Mimi pleaded. “He’s as guilty, or more so, than all the others put together. I don’t believe that he didn’t commit the murders. I saw the evil in his eyes when he held that gun on me.”
Eli placed his hands on her shoulders. “Mimi, I feel the same as you. There isn’t a man alive who wants Maximilian Poleski punished more than I do. In fact, no punishment would be severe enough for me. But Berman is right. If Poleski’s testimony puts all of the corrupt contractors behind bars, takes down Zielinski and brings the murderers to justice, then we need to make the deal.”
Mimi’s jaw was shaking. “I need to know who killed Chrissie and Preston. Please, Eli, before we go any further with this man, make him tell us about the murders.”
“There’ll be no deal without that information. No deal without his testimony in the murder trial.”
* * *
Two days later, a written Plea and Cooperation Agreement was drafted by the U.S. Attorney’s Office and brought to the interrogation room for Stanley’s signature. Berman turned on the tape recorder and pointed to the multipage proffer that lay on the table.
“Mr. Michael Stanley, also known as Maximilian Poleski,” Berman said, “so we are clear this morning, do you understand and accept the importance of complete honesty and full disclosure?”
Stanley looked at Eli and Ryan and nodded.
“Please respond verbally.”
“I do.”
“Do you also understand that even though the government will recommend a reduced sentence, we cannot guarantee it? Ultimately, it will be up to the judge.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”
“Keep in mind, Mr. Stanley, if any of the information you provide is untruthful or if you fail to fully cooperate and respond to any request, the agreement will be voided, and you will be prosecuted.”
“I understand; I understand. Let’s get on with it.”
“When did you first meet Congressman Witold Zielinski?”
“It was in September or October 1945. The Allies were preparing to start the trials at Nuremburg. I had a lot of information on Hans Frank, and I agreed to be a witness in his trial in exchange for a visa to the U.S. Vittie was in Europe on a joint congressional study about reconstituting Poland. We met in Munich and hit it off. I was amazed at how smooth and easy it was for me to get a visa, and I mentioned that to Vittie. You wouldn’t believe how incredibly valuable a U.S. visa was in those days. Vittie shrugged and told me that visas were under his jurisdiction. It didn’t take much imagination to see there was a way to make some real money. So I pitched the plan to Vittie. We’d run it like I did with the Juden Ausweis cards; I would find customers, and he’d get the visas. Simple as that.”
“Talk to us about December seventeenth,” Berman said.
Stanley nodded. “That was the day of the fire. Things had spun out of control in Chicago. Nicky was getting buried in his divorce case and he was drinking heavily. He kept coming to us demanding more and more money, but we couldn’t steer any more shipments his way. The little shit was making a damn fortune and stuffing all the cash in his office safe to hide from his wife.”
“And Christine saw the money?”
He nodded. “Sure, Christine saw the money. Hell, Christine knew all about the money. She was reporting the amounts to her father every day. She knew that money was coming in from contractors left and right. Nicky was the pivot man. All the money was funneled through Nicky. No one was foolish enough to drop money on the congressman.”
“Christine kept track of bribes?”