Once We Were Brothers by Ronald H. Balson Page B

every which way ducking their heads, past the injured who lay bleeding. And the noise – the screams, the bombs, the planes, the guns – it was deafening. I found Hannah outside the school, grabbed her hand and ran back to my house. If this was to be the end of the world, we would face it together. We held tightly to each other as the bombs rained on Zamość.
    “Five days later the German Army rolled into Zamość without any resistance. We watched their black convertibles, their tanks and canvas-covered trucks from our living room window. My mother and father cried.”

Chapter Seventeen
     
    Chicago, Illinois October 2004
    The uniformed doorman, behind his granite counter in the lobby of the Bittersweet apartment building, pursed his lips and shook his head. “I don’t know of anyone going up to Mr. Solomon’s that day except you and the lady. But this is a busy place. We got a hundred sixty units here. I can’t remember every visitor who comes in. And people could get buzzed in when I’m not at the desk.”
    “It would have been before eight p.m. It could have been any time in the afternoon. Were there any unusual visitors that day, anyone who wasn’t a guest – maybe a delivery man?” asked Liam.
    “Nothing that sticks out in my mind.”
    Liam looked around the lobby. A bank of steel mail boxes lined the west wall adjacent to the glass entrance door.
    “I assume the door to the elevator lobby is always locked?”
    “Right. Either a tenant or I would have to buzz you in. Of course, the residents all have keys.”
    “How does someone get in the back door?”
    “By the loading dock? Only the maintenance guys open the door. I suppose there are times when it’s open and somebody could get through, but the door from the dock to the apartment elevators is always locked.”
    “Do the maintenance guys have keys to each of the apartments?”
    “Of course. Fire regulations.”
    “Who was on duty last Tuesday?”
    He thought for a minute. “That would be Stefan Dubrovnik.”
    “Is he here today?”
    “Supposed to be.”
    “Where can I find him?”
    The doorman reached behind his desk and pulled out a black walkie-talkie.
    “Stefan? Can you come up to the lobby? I got a detective here who wants to ask you some questions.”
    “I don’t have no information for detective,” the handset belched in an Eastern European accent. “I just do my job. I don’t get mixed-up in no trouble.”
    “It’s not about you, Stefan. It’s about the break-in on seventeen.”
    “I don’t know nothing about break-in. I go now.”
    “Stefan? Stefan?”
    The doorman shrugged. “He turned off his two-way.”
    “Where is he?”
    “Probably the basement.”
    “Will you buzz me in?”
    “Can’t do it. You’re just a private guy.”
    Liam took out his cell phone. “All right, I understand. Let me call Belmont District and get a squad over here. Maybe if enough cops go through the building, talk to all the residents, I’ll get some answers.”
    “Hold on, hold on,” the doorman said. “Jesus, don’t do that. I’ll buzz you in.”
    Liam quickly descended the concrete steps into the boiler room where a small, thin man was hurriedly packing his duffel in the corner. He had close cropped hair and wore a long sleeve black tee shirt.
    “Stefan Dubrovnik?”
    “Yah.”
    “I’m Liam Taggart. Can I ask you a couple of questions?”
    “No. I’m in big hurry. I know nothing about no break-in or nothing what’s missing.”
    “I didn’t say anything about something missing. How do you know something is missing?”
    “I don’t. I just figure. They break in, they take.”
    “Who’d you let in the apartment, Stefan?”
    “No. No. I go now.” He tried to angle by and head for the stairs, but Liam blocked his way, holding the man’s biceps in a tight grip.
    He spoke quietly, inches from Stefan’s face. “Stefan, let me say something to you. Dubrovnik is a city in Croatia, on the Adriatic Sea, very pretty as I