“YOU DO UNDERSTAND that we are in deep trouble, don’t you, Cat?” Liam laments as they wait for Britta and Emma in the office. “You have thirty days to allege specific facts about Henryks and thus far Britta hasn’t given you any. She’s only scratched the surface with her narrative about her family and life in Denmark. She hasn’t focused on Henryks at all.”
“That’s not fair; I asked her for the total picture. I want to know what happened in Copenhagen during the war. If I don’t have an understanding of the setting, I won’t be capable of presenting the facts clearly to a jury. I need to know in what way and under what circumstances Henryks’s acts were traitorous or collaborative or I won’t be an effective advocate.”
“Only thirty days, Cat. If you want my opinion, you’ll have to move Britta along. What makes Henryks a traitor? What did he do? When did he do it? Impress upon her the need to know right now. Facts, Cat. To quote the incomparable Six-o’clock: ‘Right here, right now.’”
Catherine twists her lips and shakes her head. “I don’t need all the facts right now, I need them in thirty days. But I’ll nudge her. She’ll get there eventually. At some point, I’ll need you to find witnesses and physical evidence, but not yet.”
“Only too happy to comply, my love, but speaking selfishly from my own point of view, if you’re going to ask me to go out and round up documents, witnesses or other physical evidence to corroborate the things Britta’s going to say, then I need to have sufficient time. I might have to go to Copenhagen. That being said, if I don’t have time, you’ll be stuck with Britta’s word against Henryks’s. Like it or not, you need to rush her.”
“You know me, Liam, that’s not how I operate. I know time is tight, but if we jump ahead too quickly, I’ll miss something important. Context and circumstance are paramount in this case.”
“She’s a bright woman, Cat. Give her some credit. Let her know that we need the details. Emphasize the urgency. She’ll respond.”
Catherine hesitates, then rejects the suggestion. “There is a time demand, but there is a danger inherent with rushing an interview. If I let her pick and choose the details, it’s bound to come back to haunt me. I learned early on in my career, from Walter Jenkins himself, that you can’t let a client sort through facts and disclose only those she deems helpful. Clients will filter information based on how they think their case should be presented, and they’ll leave out the negative facts. Then we’ve set ourselves up for a surprise when our opponent introduces undisclosed facts in an ‘Aha’ moment. Every case has good and bad facts. Negative facts can be managed if you put them out there yourself and spin them in the most favorable light. It’s much better than scrambling to clean up a messy surprise.”
“So, you think that a thorough narrative is going to bring out both the good and bad facts? You could run out of time.”
“I do. She’s methodical. Going through Britta’s narrative at her speed may take a little longer, but it may be the only way to get everything. I’ll prod her along as best I can.”
“Okay, you know best.”
Catherine perks right up and smiles brightly. “Could I have that in writing, please? You know, the part where Catherine knows best? Also, what in the world were you talking about when you asked Britta if she knew about Camp Tennis?”
“Ha. Kamptegnet. It means Battle Sign. It was a right-wing magazine published in Denmark during the Nazi occupation. I came across it while researching Danish anti-Semitic groups. It was a nasty publication, patterned after Der Stürmer, the Nazi newspaper that displayed grotesque cartoon drawings of Jews with misshapen faces. I’m hoping there’s a connection between the two publications.”
“Britta maintains there were no anti-Semitic organizations in Denmark. She said it was religiously tolerant society. No Nazi sympathizers. To quote her, ‘Growing up Jewish in Denmark was very pleasant.’”
“It may have been for her, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any anti-Semitic groups. I’ve come across several of those groups, and many of their members were prosecuted after the war. Right now, I’m trying to find out if either Henryks or his father were members of Denmark’s National Socialist Party.”
“There was a Denmark National Socialist Party? You’ve learned that?”
Liam nods. “Yeah, the DNSAP. It was a minority political party. It held two percent of the Parliament seats. There were other fringe organizations, paramilitary groups that supported the Nazis and sought to undermine the Danish government, but before the war they were minimal. The question is whether Henryks participated in those groups. Did Ole or his family assist the Nazis in furtherance of their agenda, either before or during the occupation? Were they informers?”
“And you have information on the members in those groups?”
“Nope.”
“Remember, not just Henryks. You have to research the name Hendricksen as well.”
“I know, but I’m running into roadblocks. My research takes me only so far and then I’m stymied. Much of what I need can’t be found online. I’m afraid the answers lie elsewhere, deep in Danish historical records. It’s daunting. There’s just too much. I need a guide. That’s why I contacted Dr. Robert Lundhill, professor emeritus of Nordic history at the university. He’s agreed to meet with me this afternoon.”
“Good work. I’ll handle Britta’s interview without you today. How did you find out about Lundhill?”
“My friend John Lawrence knows him.”
“John Lawrence, the golfer?”
“Golfer and scholar. He’s friendly with Dr. Lundhill, and that’s the only reason he’s agreed to meet with me. Lundhill is a renowned historian who has written extensively on the Scandinavian countries, and he doesn’t normally give interviews.”
“Maybe he’s come across the name Henryks in his research; wouldn’t that be lucky?”
“He hasn’t. Neither Henryks nor Hendricksen. I had to tell him about the lawsuit up front. I didn’t want to be sneaky in my request to interview him, and he appreciated it. He already knew about the lawsuit anyway. There’s another good reason for me to seek out Dr. Lundhill. Although Britta is very thorough, we’re only getting what she remembers about what she observed, in other words, her teenage perception. She saw the occupation through her schoolgirl experiences.”
“GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE,” Emma says in a lively tone as she and Britta enter the room. Britta is dressed for spring in a light blue cotton suit and a soft red beret. She smiles and sets her straw purse on the table. “I hope we’re not too late.”
“Not at all,” Catherine says, “right on time. Are you ready to have your memory prodded?”
Britta is not sure how to take that. “My memory is just fine, thank you. It doesn’t need any prodding; it’s there at my command. Fully cooperative.”
“All right, then. When we broke last week, you had just finished telling us about the day the Germans occupied Denmark.”
“That’s right; April 9, 1940. As I said, it was totally unexpected, and everyone was shocked; my father, King Christian, members of the cabinet, all of them. Imagine waking up to see Wehrmacht soldiers marching through your streets in formation like they were in Berlin marching down Unter den Linden. There would have been absolute panic in Copenhagen had it not been for King Christian X. He came on the radio with an elegant address and told everyone to stay calm. He said the Germans did not come to kill us or rule us. We had not been conquered. Denmark had signed a cooperation agreement with Germany, and the agreement promised that there would be no interference with our daily activities. Our domestic affairs would be managed by the Danish government just as before.”
“I thought you said that the king had limited authority.”
“Well, he did, but he was the titular head of the country. His legal influence was mostly ceremonial, but the people loved our king. He was a symbol of the Danish spirit. He would ride his horse through the streets of Copenhagen almost every day.” Britta’s eyes brighten and she smiles at the memory. “He’d wear his royal tunic with golden epaulets and rows of shiny brass buttons, his leather britches and black boots. He’d sit high in the saddle and smile and wave at everyone as he took his morning ride. Children would follow him on their bicycles. People would come out just to wave at him.
“On this Tuesday morning, when the German soldiers swarmed our city, not only did he reassure us with his radio address, but he took his morning ride. It was an affirmation of normalcy. It was reassurance. He was still the king, and we were still Denmark. Do not fret.
“Grethe, who had gone out to see the king, ran back to get me. ‘Come, Britta,’ she urged, grabbing my arm. ‘We have to go to the park. Everyone is going.’ We ran all the way to Copenhagen’s central park, Fælledparken; a beautiful park with acres of trees, a pond with swans and a children’s playground. Many a night my parents would take us to stroll and enjoy the serenity. There were wonderful evening concerts and a dance pavilion. How we loved that park,” she says wistfully. “I still do, you know. I miss it terribly.” Something comes to her mind and it derails her. For a moment, she pauses to spend time with her memory. She reaches down, pulls a handkerchief from her purse and dabs her eyes. “And I miss Grethe more than you can imagine.”
Catherine smiles. “It does sound enchanting, Britta. I’d love to see Copenhagen myself one day.” She gives Britta a moment to get settled and then says, “All of your descriptions of life in Copenhagen paint a lovely picture, and I wish we had the luxury of spending more time talking about them. But we don’t. I don’t mean to rush you, but we have a deadline and we should get on to where Ole Henryks or his family come into the narrative. We can’t lose sight of the fact that we have a drop-dead date in less than four weeks. We have to get to the point where Henryks collaborates with the Nazis.”
Britta sniffles and flicks away a tear. “Yes, of course. I understand. But you see, what I’m telling you is so important, because here, on the day the Nazis invaded Copenhagen, with their tanks and their troops and their armored vehicles flooding our streets, my sister came home to fetch me, and we joined our people who gathered in the park to sing patriotic songs. Thousands of us on the great lawn, all together, just to sing. Can you understand that? We knew who Germany was, what it had done to Poland, Austria and Czechoslovakia. We knew what a warmonger Hitler was. Yet there we stood, my sister and I, and we sang Danish songs with our people. I held my sister’s hand and she squeezed mine. Tears were visible on her beautiful face. Tears of pride, Ms. Lockhart. She was pure Denmark. They had crossed our borders and entered our world, but our spirit was unbroken. Our king rode his horse and we sang in the park.” Britta tightly closes her fists. Her shoulders shudder and tears fill her eyes. Emma reaches over to place her hand on her grandmother’s arm.
“Our people never lost their identity. You must understand that, because the unity of our spirit was the reason we were able to rescue our Danish Jews. No other occupied country did that. Only Denmark, and only because we were united. Three years later, when the deportation order came down, Denmark stood tall in solid defiance just like we did on that April morning.” She pauses and points her arthritic finger at Catherine to make her point. “Except for Ole Hendricksen and his ilk. They were traitors and they betrayed us.” With that, Britta gives way to her tears.
Emma reaches over and puts her arm around her grandmother’s shoulders. “Bubbe, it’s all right. We do understand.”
Catherine pours a glass of water and sets it on the table. The room is silent. Britta reaches for the glass, but her hand is unsteady. Emma holds it out for her, but she declines. Britta struggles to get back on track, but it is apparent that her forward progress has stalled. Emma finally says, “Ms. Lockhart, I’m afraid this is all very emotional for my grandmother. I think it would be best if we stopped for today.”
Catherine agrees.