LIAM LANDED AT THE Munich airport, rented a car and drove north toward Regensburg through the rolling farmlands of Bavaria, a patchwork of greens and golds. Arriving in Regensburg late in the afternoon, he booked a room at the Muencher Hof, on the main square near the Danube. A dinner of schnitzel, a couple steins of Erdinger weissbier, a walk around the old city and Liam retired for the night.
After breakfast, Liam drove south to the little rural village of Scharmassing and 155 Dorfstrasse, the last known address for Siegfried Schultz. The white stone two-story house with a red tiled roof had been well cared for. Liam, carrying a German-English dictionary in his hand, rang the doorbell and an older man in gray slacks and blue cotton shirt, buttoned at the neck, came to the door.
“Ja, was wollen Sie?”
“Do you speak English? Sprechen Sie Englisch?”
“Ja. A little.” He pinched his thumb and index finger to show how little he spoke.
“Thank you. My name is Liam Taggart and I’m looking for the family of Siegfried Schultz.”
“Siegfried Schultz?” He shook his head. “Ich weiß nicht, I don’t know Siegfried Schultz.”
“He used to live here. In 1941.”
“1941? Ach. Seventy years.” He shrugged. “I’m here for only forty. The man before me, his name was Burger. Not Schultz.”
“Siegfried Schultz was a soldier. His mother lived here. I think she may have taken in two little babies in 1943.”
“Two babies?”
Liam nodded.
“Why do you need to know?”
“The two babies were lost during the war. I’m working for the mother who lost them.”
He shrugged. “I come from Pfaffenberg in 1963. I would not know anything about babies.”
Liam turned to leave and the man called, “Excuse me, please, Herr Taggart. Fräu Strauss, she is eighty-six, but she knows of everybody in Scharmassing. Go to her. Twenty-two Rosenstrasse in Oberhinkofen. It’s just down the road. Tell her Werner sent you.” He smiled and nodded. “She speaks Englisch, ja.”
“Thank you very much. Danke,” Liam said.
The Strauss townhome was just a few miles away. She answered the door in a formless blue-and-pink-patterned housedress and pink fur-lined moccasins. Her hair was silver-gray and rolled into a bun. She squinted at Liam.
“Fräu Strauss, Werner sent me to you.”
“Werner Hoffman?”
“I think so. On Dorfstrasse.”
She pursed her lips, thought a minute, nodded, stepped back from the door and said, “Come in.”
She walked into her living room and gestured for him to follow with a quick brushing flip of her hand. “Sit.”
Her living room was furnished with large overstuffed pieces covered in floral fabrics. And white doilies. Doilies sat on the tables, on the arms of the chairs and on the backs of the couch cushions. Liam sat gently on the edge of the couch.
“I’m looking for the family of Siegfried Schultz. He used to live at 155 Dorfstrasse.”
“Yes. Of course. Helga Schultz.”
Liam smiled broadly. “Wonderful. Did Helga have any children besides Siegfried? Did she have two little girls?”
Fräu Strauss tilted her head back and stared with one eye. “Why are you wanting to know? Is this legitimate?”
Liam laughed. “Absolutely. I’m an investigator tracking down the story of two little babies that were left behind and lost during the war. I believe they may have been taken to Fräu Schultz. In fact, her son Siegfried may have been the father. I’m working for a friend of their mother who now lives in America.”
“Hmm. Helga never said anything about Siegfried having children. And she would have. She wanted grandchildren. I didn’t have any, and Helga would have bragged. Oh my, she would have bragged.” She shook her head. “Siegfried was killed during the war, you know. In Ukraine.”
“Siegfried may not have wanted to tell his mother about the babies until he could see her in person.”
“Ja, that would make sense. But he never came back from the front.”
“And the babies? Did anyone bring two babies to Fräu Schultz?”
Fräu Strauss shook her head. “No. No babies. Siegfried was Helga’s only child. She would have loved to have two babies. She would have told me for sure. When Siegfried died, Helga had no use for the farm. She sold her farm in 1950 and moved into town. She passed in 1974. She didn’t have much when she died, and what she had she left to the church. She had no surviving relatives.”
Liam sighed and stood to leave. “Thank you for your time, Fräu Strauss.”
“Sorry I could not be much help to you in your investigation.”
“Actually, you did help. You crossed a possibility off the list. Thanks again.”
Liam called Catherine from the Munich airport and gave her a report.
“Are you coming home?” Catherine asked.
“Not yet. I’m flying to Kraków in an hour. I’m going to trace the route of the train and make inquiries for a couple of days. Maybe someone will come forward.”
“Liam, we’re running out of time. The court date is approaching and if we don’t have some proof of Karolina or the twins, I’ll have a hard time countering Arthur’s argument that they don’t exist. Especially now that we know she never mentioned them at Yad Vashem. You’ve got to find some evidence.”
“That deadline’s unreasonable. It’s possible someone will have a memory of two babies being found by the railroad tracks, or maybe Muriel Bernstein will surface to confirm Lena’s story, but we need more time. I think you should move for a continuance, maybe a couple months.”
“I don’t think Peterson will give it to me. I’m not his favorite lawyer, you know.”
“It can’t hurt to try. Hell, just sixty days. What’s the rush?”
“You heard Peterson. He’s protecting the vulnerable elderly who are mercifully brought under his wings in the probate division.”
“Lena didn’t look so vulnerable when she was there. She scared the crap out of Arthur.”
“Yes, she did. I’ll file the motion. Maybe he’ll give us sixty days. Good luck in Poland.”