I catch Geisman that morning as he leaves his room to check out. It’s early, and Julie’s still asleep. “I’ve got something to show you.”
He squints at me for a few seconds. He may not be completely awake. Then he gestures for me to follow him to the elevator. “Did you find more paintings in Frau Kinigader’s house?”
“I found several.”
His forehead crinkles. “Really? You have been very busy. Are they listed on Herr Kinigader’s inventory?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see them.”
That gets his complete attention, which is what I wanted. He stops to frown at me. “I do not understand. What exactly do you find?”
I show him the under-the-door photo on my laptop. He stares at it for a while, purses his lips, tilts his head to one side, then the other. “Please, will you explain to me what is this?”
“It’s unframed paintings, face to back, with a sheet thrown over the top. Those are the edges of stretched canvases.” I give him the thumbnail sketch of what I saw upstairs in Ute’s house.
His face clouds over as he listens. It doesn’t look like he’s mad, exactly, but he’s not a happy camper. “Doing this is an offense in Austria. It may be also in your country. I cannot use this photo.” He leans closer. “The colors are paint, yes?”
“Yeah. See these two? The paint ran, that’s the stripe.”
“I see.” Geisman stands straight and examines me. He’s wide awake now. “Herr Simon. I appreciate the effort you have made to help. Finding the von Sivers painting was most useful. But I cannot be associated with your illegal actions, even indirectly. Goodbye, sir.” He heads down the hall toward the elevators.
Seriously?
I start after him. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. We’ve got a house where a Nazi art dealer left at least one painting. There’s at least one locked room full of paintings upstairs. Are you saying we have to ignore that?”
Geisman stops, bows his head slightly, then faces me. “I am saying, Herr Simon, that you offer me no proof that I can present to a judge. I can request a warrant to seize the von Sivers because we have actual proof that it is the object of a criminal act. When the police deliver that warrant to Frau Kinigader, she may simply surrender to them the painting and the need for a search disappears. This is how the law is enforced in my country. Yours may be different.” He turns and drags his roller bag the last few feet to the elevator lobby.
This, I didn’t expect. “Seven of the eight pieces downstairs may be on the inventory.” I realize how loud I’m getting and dial it back. “Shouldn’t you at least get those? Get some real experts after them?”
His mouth is tight, and he’s fidgeting with his roller bag’s handle. He leans forward to push the “down” button. “Perhaps. The proof for the others is inconclusive. I must consider whether including them will put at risk my request for the warrant.”
“But… isn’t your whole gig about finding stuff the Nazis stole?”
“It is not. My work involves estates. I find heirs and lost property. I find assets that husbands and wives hide from each other. If I may say, I am very good at this work. It is why Julie engaged me to work on her behalf. I am not an activist. I am an officer of the court. I must follow the law.”
This is when Ida drops in to tell me you should have tried.
I am trying. I can’t piss him off.
Try harder.
I give myself a three count to make sure I don’t say the wrong thing. Then I slide between Geisman and the elevator. “You know, everything the Nazis did followed the law.”
Geisman’s head draws back a couple degrees. His eyes narrow.
“They went out of their way to make sure everything they did was legal. They changed the laws to cover themselves. They had lawyers and judges who—”
“What point do you make?” It’s the first time I’ve heard Geisman raise his voice. I hit a button. I can’t tell if it’s the right one.
“My point is—”
The elevator door dings open behind me. A bellhop and a sixtyish woman look at us like it’s too early in the morning to deal with our kind.
“Sorry,” I tell them. “We’re going up.” I turn back to Geisman when the door rumbles closed. His mouth is mashed shut. “My point is there’s legal, and there’s right, and sometimes the two overlap. This time, they don’t.”
He shakes his head. “I have heard this argument in the past. Unfortunately, it is not—”
“What you can take to a judge? Look, Geisman, I’ve spent a lot of time with lawyers. I’ve learned that you guys can make white black and up down when you need to. I’ve—”
“You do not understand.” His half-karate chop startles me. “When the police take the von Sievers painting from Frau Kinigader, it will be news throughout this country. There are people, political parties, that still take the National Socialist line. Solicitors will represent her for no cost because it follows their ideology. They can appeal the warrant all the way to the European Court of Human Rights. They have so much money. I, however, do not. They do not hesitate to attack, personally, people who oppose them. I cannot afford to lose all of my clients save for Julie—”
“So you’re scared?” Ida’s screaming in my ear, try, try, try. “There’s also people who’re against the nut jobs. They’ll support you. Think about what this is about.”
“I do nothing else, sir.”
“Do you?” When did I get so close to Geisman? We’re breathing the same air. But I have to make him see so Ida will leave me alone. “There’s a room in that house that has a hundred, maybe two hundred canvases in it that’ve been missing for Seventy. Years. The Nazis—remember them? The worst—”
“Yes. I am aware of the Nazis. I grew up being aware of the Nazis. I—”
“Good. They took those paintings right before they murdered the owners. There’s another room that may have more. Julie’s paintings may be in there. Kinigader might be the new Gurlitt. Are you gonna let that go?”
Geisman looks away. His face is flushed and he’s breathing hard. “What do you expect of me, Herr Simon?”
“You’re a lawyer. You know how the system works. That means you know how to game it to get what you want. That’s what I expect. That’s what Julie expects.”
“Are you mad? Frau Kinigader is an aged… blind… milkmaid.” He shakes a finger at me with each word. “These people, they will make her the martyr if we pillage her entire—”
“Fuck her.”
Geisman’s eyes get real big.
“She’s a Nazi and a bigot. Stick her in front of a camera and let her run her mouth. Nobody except the whack jobs will speak up for her.”
He shakes his head. “If you believe that, you know nothing of my country.”
I’m running out of arguments. Ida’s still yelling at me. You want this so bad? I ask her. You’re gonna help. “Ever hear of Ida Rothenberg?”
“No. Who is this?” The changeup seems to confuse him. He cocks his head like he’s not sure he heard me right.
Now all I have to do is get through the story without reliving it. “Holocaust survivor. She spent half her life chasing her family’s paintings around the world. She was closing in on one in Los Angeles when some little scumbag gallery sold it out from under her. It was her last straw. She killed herself on TV to make people pay attention to what happened.”
His eyes do all his talking for him: big, round, horrified.
I take a step back physically as well as metaphorically. “I won’t give you the photo, but you can’t unsee it. We both know what’s in that room. We both know you can give maybe dozens of families closure. You can decide to do the right thing. Or you can decide to walk away, and maybe you get to live with your own version of Ida because you became her last straw. Your choice.”
We stare at each other for what seems like a long time. He finally reaches around me to push the “down” button again. “I must take the early train to Wien. I will consider what you say during the trip. In any event, I will work with the Häschke family, the owners of the von Sivers, to recover their painting.” His voice isn’t exactly normal, but he’s got it under control again.
That’s the best I’m going to get from him right now. “How long will it take? With the von Sivers, I mean.”
“The request may be several months waiting, but it will be heard. Our court system is not swift, but it is fair for the most part. I will inform Julie as matters progress.”
“Thanks.” I stick out my hand. He looks at it, then at me, then he shakes it.
The elevator opens behind me. I step out of the way.
He pulls his roller bag in after him, then stops the door from closing. “You may not credit this, but I do believe in doing the right thing, as you put it. I am also a realist. Those two things do not always work well together.” He nods at me. “Please give my regards to Julie. Goodbye, Herr Simon.”