Adam Forster placed his latte on his desk, removed his jacket and sat down. He looked around; John Windsor and Mitch’s offices were empty, Nick and Ellen were out but at the far end of the office, another group of employees was hard at it. He logged into the computer and checked his emails. For a moment he sat back and drummed his fingers, then leaned forward, logged into another screen and opened his personal emails. Six emails; one from his lawyer and none from her. He opened the lawyer’s email and clicked on the attachment. It was official, he was divorced.
Adam sighed and logged out. His wife, no, as of yesterday ex-wife, was really gone from his life. He rubbed his hands over his face. He hadn’t told Mitch he was married when they were on the UK mission together, no need to: they were separated then for the second time and Samantha was an amusing distraction. No need to tell him now, either, I guess, he thought. Impossible woman. He closed his email account.
Adam came back to the now with a thud as Nick appeared and dropped down in the chair at the desk opposite him.
“Thought you had the place to yourself, huh?” Nick asked.
“All good, I’m not one for my own company,” Adam said. He took a deep breath and opened his notes. Right, Benjamin Hoefer, let’s look into your history. He logged into jewishgen.org to begin, typed in the family names he knew and began there.
Mitch glanced at his watch: he would just make it to his appointment with the Director of the Anti-Defamation League and Southern Poverty Law Center if the traffic kept moving. It stalled to a crawl again and he sighed. Spotting a street park, he swung the car in, alighted, paid the meter and decided to walk the few blocks. As he raced along, his phone rang; he glanced at the screen—it was his new housemate, Lyn.
“Lyn,” he answered. “All okay?”
“Yeah, just letting you know I was going to have a few girls over for dinner if that’s okay? About five or six…you’re welcome to join us of course and bring a friend.”
“Ah, thanks for letting me know. I’ll be working late so I probably won’t be there until after ten or so.”
“Okay, but don’t be shy, they won’t bite. Are you running or have I caught you in the middle of something exciting?” she asked.
“No, just running. I had to park two miles from my meeting.”
“Okay, over and out,” she said.
Mitch looked at his phone—she was gone. He liked a straight-to-the-point person. He arrived at the gray ten-story building and, straightening his tie, he ran up the stairs to the reception area. Within five minutes, he was in the Director’s office.
“Thanks for seeing me,” Mitch said.
“Always happy to work with the FBI,” Allan Butler said. He pointed Mitch towards a couch, poured two glasses of water and sat on the couch opposite.
Mitch studied him; he must have been close to seventy years of age, tall and wiry, dressed in a brown suit.
“Been doing this for a while?” Mitch asked.
Allan smiled. “Do I look old and tired?”
“It would take its toll,” Mitch said. He noted the room also looked tired; tired cream curtains, old framed photos and a desk that looked like it came off the Ark.
“Yes, it can get to you. So from what you said on the phone, I understand you are looking for possible groups or individuals who could be threatening the book tour or Benjamin Hoefer personally.”
“Yes, except they are not accusing Benjamin Hoefer of being a Jew or Holocaust supporter, they’re accusing him of being a Jew hater and a Nazi.” Mitch handed over the photo of the last frame of the film reading: Nazi, Jew hater, fake!
“Yes I understand. So they are accusing him of making a name or money out of misery that he or his father didn’t suffer,” Allan said. “So he’s one of them …”
“In theory yes,” Mitch said.
Allan sat back and exhaled. “I think you have to talk to some of the local groups and see what they know about Benjamin, if anything, and they may have a lead for you—if they’ll talk to you.”
“Have you got a starting place for me? Some local contacts?” Mitch asked.
“Indeed I have.” Allan leaned back and grabbed several pieces of paper from his desk. “There are currently over eighty active neo-Nazi groups across the States.”
Mitch’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding me?”
“I wish,” Allan said.
“I had no idea,” Mitch said.
“Yes. Believe it or not, neo-Nazi groups still share a love for Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany and a hatred for Jews. But they don’t just hate Jews, they’re open to hating any minorities, you know, like gays and lesbians.”
Mitch thought of his new housemate and wondered why anyone would choose to hate Lyn and her girlfriend, Sandy. He shook his head.
Allan continued. “They blame the Jews for all our social problems and believe there is a conspiracy and that Jews really control the government, banks and media.”
“So Benjamin Hoefer’s book would offend them because he’s reminding us that the Holocaust happened, except for the fact that they think he or his father is a German traitor who’ll sell his name and country to associate with the Jews and take a slice of monetary pie.”
“Sounds like it at face value,” Allan said. He handed the list to Mitch. “There are two in this area so that’s where I’d start—the UNP which stands for the United Nazi Party and the NAO or New Aryan Order—but assuming Benjamin is on tour, it could be any number of groups.”
“From your experience, does the crime so far have any hallmark traits?” Mitch asked.
“Not really. I can’t say I’ve seen anything like this. But whatever you do, don’t go alone.”
On his way back to the car, Mitch spotted a florist and grabbed a bouquet for Ann. He spun by her and Henri’s house on his way back to the office and found her at home.
She answered the door in her tennis outfit, her graying hair neatly tied back.
“Mitch, what a lovely surprise and good timing; ten minutes earlier and I wouldn’t have been home. Come in.”
Mitch followed her into the palatial home where he had been recently staying for a few months between housemates.
“You should have told me you were coming and I would have made you lunch,” she continued, as he followed her into the kitchen.
“That’s okay, I’ve got to get back to the office anyway.”
“I was just about to make a sandwich, let me make you one for the road,” she said, starting to prepare. She stopped and looked up at his face. “You boys never eat properly. Are you okay in your new home?”
“Fine. I just wanted to say sorry about stuffing up the date last night. I hope it doesn’t put you in a bad place with your friend.” He handed over the flowers.
“Mitch, they’re lovely,” she said, taking the flowers and inhaling their perfume. “Just lovely.” Ann unwrapped the clear cellophane from the bunch of vibrant orange lilies and white roses and reached up into a cupboard for a crystal vase. “Orange is such a cheerful color. You shouldn’t be wasting your money on me, really, I don’t care if the date works out or not, it’s just worth a try to see you happy.”
Mitch frowned. “Oh, I thought you might have been upset.”
“No, I thought she was rude for leaving. Goodness, you’ve got an important job. If she can’t handle a few calls on the first date, she’ll never be right for you.”
Mitch’s eyes narrowed. I think I’ve been had by Henri.
On his way back to the office, Mitch rang Henri.
“Hello Mitch, Ann just rang and said you dropped in the most beautiful bouquet, how thoughtful,” Henri teased.
“Henri, you and your conspirators … when you least expect it!”
Henri laughed. “Sure son, I’ll put the boys on notice, do your best. So did you get to finish your meal last night?”
“Only the main. At least she left before I had to buy her dessert,” Mitch said. “Anyway, I was just ringing to let you know that I’m eating the best chicken and salad sandwich I’ve ever had. Ann made it, and I noticed you left your lunch at home.”
“Did you bring it with you?” Henri asked.
“You’re joking aren’t you?” Mitch said, and hung up with a grin.