dead! He could not have survived!’
Frieda Kroner frowned at Mr Silver. Then she spoke for the first time. Traces of German hid in her accent.
‘He is here, you old fool! And where else would he be?’
‘But we are the people he once …’
‘That is correct,’ she said coldly. ‘He killed many of us once. And now, he is doing it again. This is to be expected. Why are you so surprised? Does a man who hates so much ever really stop? Poor Sophie. When he saw her, she didn’t have a chance. Nobody ever, did.’
A large tear dropped down her round cheek. She sat back hard, folding her arms across her ample bosom, making no effort to wipe it away.
Simon Winter held up a hand.
‘Mrs Kroner … there’s no indication that someone other than the suspect the police are searching for is involved in Sophie’s death …’
‘If he saw her, he wouldn’t hesitate. He would act swiftly. And she would die. And this is what happened.’
The woman spoke with a bitter finality, forcing Winter to hesitate, his mind racing with questions, as he told himself to move slowly.
‘There was a letter. Sophie told me about a Herman Stein who killed himself. He allegedly saw this man as well?’
Again there was a small silence in the room.
Rabbi Rubinstein nodded his head gently.
‘We talked, but we could not agree. It is hard to believe.’
‘You have the letter?’
‘Yes.’ The rabbi reached down and picked up a copy of Raul Hilberg’s The Destruction of the European Jews, which
was resting next to the coffee service. The letter was inside the book. He handed it to Simon Winter, who swiftly read:
Rabbi:
I know of you through Rabbi Samuelson at Temple Beth-el, who gave me your name and told me that you were once a Berliner, as I was, many, many years ago.
You, perhaps, will remember a man we knew in those sad times only as Der Schattenmann. This was the person who found my family, when we hid out in the city, in 1942. He saw to our deportation to Auschwitz.
I hoped that this man was dead, along with all the others. But it is not so! Two days ago I attended a large meeting of the Surfside Condominiums Association and accidentally saw him in the audience, sitting two rows behind me! He is here. I am certain of it.
Rabbi, who am I to call?
What am I to do?
It is wrong that this man still lives and I feel I must do something. My mind is black with questions, clouded with fears. Can you help me?
The letter was signed by Herman Stein, who also gave his address and telephone number.
Simon Winter looked up from the single sheet of paper and the handwritten message.
‘The letter arrived?’
‘Three days after Mr Stein’s death. All the way from Surfside, this is not far, it is not Alaska or the South Pole, but the postal service does not deliver the letter until three days after it was written. Such a thing.’
The rabbi’s lip quivered slightly.
‘I was too late to help this poor Mr Stein.’
‘And?’
‘I contacted the police. And I called Mr Silver and Mrs Kroner and of course your neighbor.’
‘What did the police say?’
‘I spoke with a detective who made a copy of the letter, but who told me that Mr Stein, whom I didn’t know, had lived alone for many years and all his neighbors had been worried for him of late, because he seemed so sad. Moping about. Talking to himself’
‘Acting crazy just as if death was standing beside him,’ Frieda Kroner interjected.
The rabbi nodded. ‘The detective told me Mr Stein had written a suicide note before he shot himself and that was that, he could not help me further. He was a nice man, this detective, but I think he was busy with many other things and not so interested in my problems. He showed me Mr Stein’s suicide note.’
‘Do you remember’
‘Of course. How can you forget such a thing? I can still see the words, right in my memory. It was one sentence only: “I am tired of life, and miss my beloved Hanna and so I go to join her now.”
Frieda Kroner frowned at Mr Silver. Then she spoke for the first time. Traces of German hid in her accent.
‘He is here, you old fool! And where else would he be?’
‘But we are the people he once …’
‘That is correct,’ she said coldly. ‘He killed many of us once. And now, he is doing it again. This is to be expected. Why are you so surprised? Does a man who hates so much ever really stop? Poor Sophie. When he saw her, she didn’t have a chance. Nobody ever, did.’
A large tear dropped down her round cheek. She sat back hard, folding her arms across her ample bosom, making no effort to wipe it away.
Simon Winter held up a hand.
‘Mrs Kroner … there’s no indication that someone other than the suspect the police are searching for is involved in Sophie’s death …’
‘If he saw her, he wouldn’t hesitate. He would act swiftly. And she would die. And this is what happened.’
The woman spoke with a bitter finality, forcing Winter to hesitate, his mind racing with questions, as he told himself to move slowly.
‘There was a letter. Sophie told me about a Herman Stein who killed himself. He allegedly saw this man as well?’
Again there was a small silence in the room.
Rabbi Rubinstein nodded his head gently.
‘We talked, but we could not agree. It is hard to believe.’
‘You have the letter?’
‘Yes.’ The rabbi reached down and picked up a copy of Raul Hilberg’s The Destruction of the European Jews, which
was resting next to the coffee service. The letter was inside the book. He handed it to Simon Winter, who swiftly read:
Rabbi:
I know of you through Rabbi Samuelson at Temple Beth-el, who gave me your name and told me that you were once a Berliner, as I was, many, many years ago.
You, perhaps, will remember a man we knew in those sad times only as Der Schattenmann. This was the person who found my family, when we hid out in the city, in 1942. He saw to our deportation to Auschwitz.
I hoped that this man was dead, along with all the others. But it is not so! Two days ago I attended a large meeting of the Surfside Condominiums Association and accidentally saw him in the audience, sitting two rows behind me! He is here. I am certain of it.
Rabbi, who am I to call?
What am I to do?
It is wrong that this man still lives and I feel I must do something. My mind is black with questions, clouded with fears. Can you help me?
The letter was signed by Herman Stein, who also gave his address and telephone number.
Simon Winter looked up from the single sheet of paper and the handwritten message.
‘The letter arrived?’
‘Three days after Mr Stein’s death. All the way from Surfside, this is not far, it is not Alaska or the South Pole, but the postal service does not deliver the letter until three days after it was written. Such a thing.’
The rabbi’s lip quivered slightly.
‘I was too late to help this poor Mr Stein.’
‘And?’
‘I contacted the police. And I called Mr Silver and Mrs Kroner and of course your neighbor.’
‘What did the police say?’
‘I spoke with a detective who made a copy of the letter, but who told me that Mr Stein, whom I didn’t know, had lived alone for many years and all his neighbors had been worried for him of late, because he seemed so sad. Moping about. Talking to himself’
‘Acting crazy just as if death was standing beside him,’ Frieda Kroner interjected.
The rabbi nodded. ‘The detective told me Mr Stein had written a suicide note before he shot himself and that was that, he could not help me further. He was a nice man, this detective, but I think he was busy with many other things and not so interested in my problems. He showed me Mr Stein’s suicide note.’
‘Do you remember’
‘Of course. How can you forget such a thing? I can still see the words, right in my memory. It was one sentence only: “I am tired of life, and miss my beloved Hanna and so I go to join her now.”
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