CATHERINE SIDLED SLOWLY INTO the passenger seat and grimaced a bit as she bent forward. When settled, she let out a long sigh.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
“I wish you’d quit asking me all the time if something’s wrong, Liam. Every time I grunt you want to rush me to the doctor. Pregnant women grimace, grunt, sigh, grumble and bitch. It’s our Constitutional right. Leave me alone.”
“It’s something more. My Catherine radar picked up a troubled sigh.”
Catherine grinned. “You know me too well. It’s about Lena. I’m probably being overcautious, but yesterday’s conversation keeps playing out in my mind and it disturbs me.”
“Was it particularly terrifying?”
Catherine shook her head. “No. Actually, it was uplifting. Of course, hearing the details of her travail is horrifying, but yesterday she described a scene where she was recruited into a situation, all of which I find highly improbable. Isn’t that terrible—that doubts are creeping into my mind?”
“You’ve always had a keen lawyer’s intuition. What perked up your antennae?”
“The coming attractions, the parts of her story that I’m anticipating she’ll tell me tomorrow. I don’t think it can be true—at least the part that puts her in the middle of it. I want to believe her, but I think to myself, how is it possible that what’s she’s telling me all really happened to this one girl?”
“You think she’s exaggerating? Maybe she’s confused?”
Catherine shook her head. “Not confused. But I’ve heard that people who suffer from dementia, even in the initial stages, sometimes believe that the stories they read or hear about other people actually happened to them. Her own doctor told me that was a common symptom.”
“He told you that she…”
“No, no. He was just describing symptoms of dementia in general.”
“And you believe Lena shows signs of dementia?”
Catherine turned to face Liam. “No, I don’t, but I’m not a doctor. I’m not competent to do a mental-status exam. What if parts of her story really belong to someone else?”
“Well, what if they do?”
“This most recent discourse…”
“Oh, I get it. There’s a possibility that Karolina’s children might just be a story she heard and not something she experienced?”
“I hate to think that. But maybe. It’s certainly possible. Maybe there’s some truth in Arthur’s allegations. Oh God, I hope not, Liam.”
“What harm is there in listening to Lena’s tale? Hearing her out? What’s the downside? Is it too much strain on your practice? Does she take too much time? Do you need to curtail your sessions?”
“No. Things are slow at the office right now. I can certainly find the time. The downside is my emotional investment. I just fear a grand disappointment at the end of the road. For both her and me.”
“What is it about this most recent episode that triggers these doubts?”
“She’s about to tell me that she embarked upon an espionage career to deliver secret notes from a spy inside Auschwitz, code-named Ares. And if that isn’t bizarre enough, she says that the spy was a Polish war hero who voluntarily had himself thrown into Auschwitz so he could organize a resistance and tell the world about what was happening inside the concentration camp.”
“It couldn’t happen?”
“To Lena Scheinman, a person unknown to any historical accounts?”
“I admit it’s questionable, but that’s just it. Question her. Hell, you’re the best cross-examiner I know. What is it you say: cross-examination is the crucible of truth?”
“It’s not just my angst about Lena’s involvement, it’s about buying into the spy story itself. That she smuggled out reports of the gas chambers to the Allies? I mean there’s that whole debate—why didn’t we bomb Auschwitz or the rail lines when we had the chance? Why didn’t we do something to stop the slaughter? As a survivor, I’m sure it’s something she’s rightfully pondered all of her life.”
Liam nodded. “My understanding, admittedly based on minimal exposure, was that America didn’t know that mass exterminations were happening until late in the war, maybe 1944 or 1945. I recall a picture of a shocked General Eisenhower at a Buchenwald sub-camp demanding that his aides take photographs and films proving to future disbelievers that the death camp really existed.”
“Right. And now Lena embarks upon a story of a Polish hero who intentionally has himself committed to Auschwitz and smuggles out diaries of the mass exterminations to Churchill and Roosevelt. Not in 1944 or 1945, but relatively early in the war. And armed with that knowledge, the Allies didn’t do a damn thing to stop the genocide? For years? And Lena Scheinman’s right in the middle of the mix? She’s the Mata Hari who delivers the reports? Doesn’t that send up credibility alerts?”
“Cat, you have the tools…”
“I know, I know, cross-examination is the crucible of truth. But do me a favor. Conduct some of your world-famous investigative research. See if you come across anyone like this Ares person.”
“Done.”
Liam slowed the car and pulled into the parking lot for Northwestern Memorial Hospital. “Let’s see if those ultrasound photographers can get a good eight-by-ten glossy of the world’s most beautiful baby-to-be.”
“Liam, there’s something else,” she said, getting out of the car.
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “I’ve been having some pains. When I talk to the doctor, I don’t want you freaking.”
“Pains? What kind of pains? Where are the pains? Damn, Cat, why didn’t you say something? When did you start having pains?”
“A few days ago. I’m sure it’s nothing. They’re very minor. They come and then they go away. I figured since we’re going to the doctor anyway, I’d wait to tell him.”
“Why would you wait? Where are these pains?”
“I think we’ll let the doctor do the diagnosis. And there’s something else.”
“Something else? Something else??”
“I need more maternity clothes. We have to shop.”