Defending Britta Stein Read online

  Walter nods sheepishly. “She said that.”

  “Okay, so now they’ve installed cameras and they’re going to catch her, and then what?”

  “Nils has already contacted my office. He spoke to Howard Foreman yesterday. They will want aggressive legal action.”

  Catherine tries to cover a coy smile. “You’re in a pickle, Walter. What are you going to do?”

  “Not a damn thing. What can I do? I can’t handle this case.” He shrugs. “Ole will learn Mrs. Stein’s identity soon enough and then he’ll ask us to represent him, and I’ll have to turn him down. My firm can’t sue Britta Stein.”

  “So that’s it? You want me to sue Emma’s grandmother? Seriously?”

  Walter slowly swivels his head. “No, Catherine, that will not be necessary. Ole won’t have any trouble finding a lawyer to sue Mrs. Stein. They’ll line up like kids at an ice cream truck.”

  Catherine spreads her hands. “Then why am I the only one you trust with this matter, and what are you trusting me to do?”

  “I want you to sit down and talk to Emma. I want you to consider defending Britta Stein. From the short visit I had with Emma, from the bits of information that I learned, I’m sure there’s something here; I can feel it. Behind those painted statements there is a story. As they say, turbulent waters run beneath a placid surface. There’s a viable defense, I know it. Call it the sixth sense that comes to old trial lawyers. You would know—we’re two of a kind.”

  “Old?”

  He grins. “I didn’t mean that you are old. I meant to say you have the soul of an old trial lawyer, even if you don’t have the miles. I’d like you to sit down with Emma, talk with her awhile, maybe with Britta Stein as well, and see if you get the same vibrations.”

  “Oh, Walter…”

  “Don’t turn me down yet. Talk to Emma. She’s a very sharp young lady, and the things she told me about her grandmother, well … there’s a story there.” Walter slides a business card with a phone number written on the back.

  “Walter, please…”

  “Talk to Emma, Catherine. I think you’ll sense it too. You’re perfect for this case. You’ll thank me.” He stands and reaches into his pocket. “I’ll get the coffee.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  LIAM TAGGART LIES on the floor of his living room with Ben, Catherine and Liam’s two-year-old son. They are busy building a castle with plastic bricks. The evening news is playing on the TV and the announcer is recounting the circumstances of an arrest made earlier that afternoon.

  “Wow,” Liam says, “would you look at that. The Fifth District booked a ninety-two-year-old woman for spray-painting insults on the wall of The Melancholy Dane.” He chuckles. “They perp-walked that old lady into the Belmont station. Cuffed. Can you believe it? That’s our CPD for you. ‘We Serve and Protect.’ The streets are immeasurably safer now that this dangerous ninety-two-year-old and her lethal spray can are in custody.”

  “Liam,” Catherine calls out from the kitchen, “would you pause that program for me?”

  “Seriously? The news report?”

  With a dish towel in her hand, she walks into the living room. “Back it up, please, Liam. That’s the woman Walter was telling me about.” As the report continues, the screen displays a grainy nighttime video of a woman in a long overcoat scrawling “Nazi Agent” on an exterior brick wall.

  The female reporter, standing outside the police station, suppresses a smile and says, “The alleged offender, a senior citizen, Mrs. Britta Stein, has been charged with violating a Chicago municipal ordinance entitled ‘Criminal Defacement of Property with Paint.’ You can’t make this stuff up. We’re told that violation of the ordinance carries a fine of seven hundred and fifty dollars.”

  Liam chuckles. “They perp-walked that old lady into the station on a seven-hundred-fifty-dollar graffiti misdemeanor.”

  “That’s the least of her worries,” Catherine answers quietly. They watch as another news reporter interviews Sterling Sparks, identifying him as the attorney for the restaurant’s owner, Ole Henryks. Known to be overly dramatic, and often accused of trying his cases on the six o’clock news, Sparks has earned the sobriquet “Six-o’clock Sparks.” He leans over and speaks directly into the reporter’s microphone. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips are curled, and he delivers his responses in angry bursts of righteous indignation.

  “Mr. Henryks is outraged and saddened by the false and defamatory statements that have been plastered on his private property by this troubled person,” Sparks declares. “Mr. Henryks is baffled; who would do such a mean thing? He initially assumed that it must have been some kind of prank by neighborhood punks who have no conception of the hurt such meanspirited words can cause. It isn’t bad enough that these nasty comments appear on the walls of his establishment, but that the insensitive media has broadcast them for the whole city to see. Maybe the whole country! Mr. Henryks is a strong man, a good man, but he’s ninety-five years old and these words hit him like a sucker punch in the gut, and they’ve taken their toll on his physical well-being. He’s under a doctor’s care. We’re talking about a man who lived through the Nazi occupation of his homeland. Do you understand?”

  The reporter interjects, “I think it’s pretty well-known that Mr. Henryks immigrated here from Denmark after the war.”

  “Right, and it’s no secret that back in his home country, Mr. Henryks was regarded as a war hero. That’s why the nasty lies painted on his restaurant are so hurtful. Today we learned that the words were not pranks painted by neighborhood youth, but by a grown woman as part of a purposeful campaign to destroy the man’s reputation. I will tell you this right now, whatever this wicked woman has in mind, we’re going to put a stop to it and hold that woman legally responsible!”

  “You just referred to Mr. Henryks as a war hero,” the reporter continues. “The latest sign reads ‘Nazi Agent.’”

  Sparks is ready for the question. He reaches down and pulls out a copy of a photograph. There are three people in the picture—a tall man and two younger men, all standing side by side before a large fishing boat. The boat itself has a small cabin on the bow. It appears to be docked in a slip, along with several other fishing boats in a commercial harbor. “Do you see this?” Sparks says. “This is a picture of Copenhagen Harbor in World War II. This photo hangs proudly behind the bar at The Melancholy Dane. That’s Ole and his father. You better believe that ‘hero’ is the correct description for Ole Henryks. His family helped to rescue hundreds of Jews from the gas chambers. Maybe thousands. Ole and his father snuck Jewish families out of Denmark in their fishing boat in the middle of the night. Risking their lives, I might add. He’s a certified hero.”

  The reporter nods empathetically. “Well, notwithstanding those slanderous comments on his wall, we understand that Mr. Henryks is going to be honored next month by the Danish-American Association of Chicago.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Erin. He’ll be inducted into a prestigious hall of fame! I just hope he regains his health enough so he can attend and accept the honor.” Sparks pauses and appears to suppress his emotions. “This should be one of the happiest moments of his life…,” Sparks shakes his head, “… but along comes this depraved woman, for reasons known only to her, and viciously attacks his reputation with a succession of slanderous, vituperous epithets.” Sparks raises his chin and waits for the media to digest and appreciate his savory oratory. Pure Six-o’clock.

  “Does Mr. Henryks know this woman? We are told her name is Britta Stein.”

  Sparks responds dismissively. “Know her? Absolutely not. He’s never seen her before in his life. He has no idea why she would choose to attack him in such a vicious manner.”

  “Then I assume Mr. Henryks intends to press charges?”

  “Are you serious? Of course he does, and that’s not all. Mr. Henryks’s good name has been assailed and it must be redeemed. The only way to do that is in a court of law. I am announcing that first thing tomorrow morn
ing, I will file a lawsuit against Britta Stein for defamation, and we will seek compensation for all the damage and injury she has brought upon my client. We will ask the court to award him a civil damage award of five million dollars. This woman must be taught a lesson.”

  “Five million!” the newscaster says with the hint of a smile. “Do you think this elderly woman has that much money?”

  “Whether she does or she doesn’t is entirely beside the point. The measure of damages is what a man’s good name is worth, not how much money the criminal defendant has. Five million is probably a small fraction of the value of Mr. Henryks’s reputation, which he has earned by a lifetime of service and good deeds. I assure you that he will be vindicated in a court of law!”

  “Well, thank you for talking to us tonight, Mr. Sparks.”

  Liam shakes his head and utters, “Good luck defending this case, Mrs. Stein.”

  Catherine stares at the screen, backs up the video and replays the newscast. “There’s something here, Liam. Walter felt it and so do I.” Catherine fishes through her purse and pulls out the business card Walter gave her a few days ago. “I’m afraid I’m about to do something really stupid,” she says. She dials the number on the back of the card. “Maybe I’m the crazy one.”

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Emma Fisher?”

  “Yes,” she says tentatively. “Who’s calling?”

  “My name is Catherine Lockhart. I’m a friend of Walter Jenkins. I met with him a couple of days ago, and…”

  Catherine hears the young woman’s sigh of relief. “Oh my God, thank you so much. I was so hoping that you would call me. Mr. Jenkins speaks so highly of you and he said that if anyone could help my grandmother, it would be you.”

  “Walter is very persuasive. Would you be able to bring your grandmother to my office tomorrow afternoon, say about three o’clock?”

  “You’ll take her case?”

  Catherine hesitates. She takes a breath. She’s about to jump into deep, unknown waters and she knows it. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Emma. Walter thinks I should talk to you, and I respect Walter’s judgment. Have they released your grandmother yet?”

  “I was just getting ready to go pick her up. I’m certain we could be at your office tomorrow at three. Thank you so much.”

  Liam shakes his head in bewilderment. “Cat, what in the world are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

  She nods. “Oh well, maybe. Or maybe I really do have the soul of an old trial lawyer.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  CATHERINE LOCKHART’S FOUR-ROOM storefront law office is on Clark Street a couple of miles north of Chicago’s Loop. She has what is commonly referred to as a neighborhood practice—wills, trusts, real estate transactions, criminal defense, personal litigation matters—all in sharp contrast to the high-profile, institutional clients she served when she worked for Walter Jenkins.

  At precisely three o’clock, a young woman with curly black hair, large expressive brown eyes and a bounce in her step opens the door to Catherine’s office. She holds it open for her companion, an elderly woman in a wool suit with fashionably styled white hair and perfect posture.

  “You must be Ms. Fisher and Mrs. Stein,” the receptionist says. “My name is Gladys Valenzuela. I am Catherine’s assistant. It is nice to meet you both. Catherine is expecting you. Please follow me back to the conference room.”

  Catherine enters the conference room moments later with a brown file folder, which she lays upon the table. Emma extends her hand. “I’m Emma Fisher and this is my grandmother, Britta Stein.”

  Catherine warmly takes their hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” She gestures to her file folder. “I asked Gladys to run down to the courthouse and pick up a copy of the lawsuit that was filed against you today, Mrs. Stein. As you no doubt recall, Mr. Sparks threatened to file it first thing this morning.”

  Britta sits erectly in her chair. She does not seem at all nervous. She nods her understanding. “I haven’t seen the lawsuit yet,” she says matter-of-factly. “I bet it’s a doozy.”

  Catherine lifts her eyebrows. “Yes, I’m afraid it is a doozy, Mrs. Stein. It alleges that on six separate occasions you trespassed upon Mr. Henryks’s property for the purpose of defacing his building by painting scathing insults concerning Mr. Henryks, harming him in his good name, his business, his health and his reputation.”

  “Hmph,” Britta interjects. “Reputation indeed.”

  “Bubbe, hush,” Emma says. “Let Ms. Lockhart finish.”

  “On each of the six occasions, the complaint alleges that you intentionally wrote false and defamatory declarations on the outside walls of his restaurant. Further, that your illegal and tortious conduct followed the announcement that Mr. Henryks was to be honored by the Danish-American Association.”

  “Honor?” Britta says. “He deserves no such thing.” She dismissively brushes away the accusations as though they do not affect her. “Who are they anyway, this make-believe association? As far as I am concerned this Danish-American nonsense is just an excuse for young men to congregate for the sole purpose of drinking beer. For them to bestow an honor upon a traitor only means that the members of the association have been hoodwinked. I’m sure it must be the younger ones; they wouldn’t know any better. They probably want an occasion to honor a popular personality and have it shown on TV, as if that would bring them some credibility. Silliness, is all…”

  Catherine taps her finger on the lawsuit. “Let’s focus on the complaint-at-law, shall we, Mrs. Stein? Are the allegations correct? Did you intentionally paint those words on the side of Henryks’s building?”

  “Yes, I painted those words on the side of his building. And of course it was intentional. I don’t see how one could possibly paint those words unintentionally. But, Ms. Lockhart, the words were not false nor were they defamatory. The words were and are true.”

  “Why, Mrs. Stein? Why did you go over there and paint those words at all?”

  Britta lifts her chin. “I am a Danish lady; I can’t abide the charade. He is no hero. He is nothing but a liar and a coward. Worse, he’s a traitor.”

  Catherine turns the pages of the lawsuit to the page listing the painted statements, which she reads one at a time. “Liar. Informer. Traitor. Nazi collaborator. Nazi agent. Betrayer. Is the list correct? Did you write all of those?”

  “He is a liar and a traitor and all those things and more, and I’m not the least bit sorry that the truth is there for all to see.”

  Catherine sits down. “Mrs. Stein, this lawsuit is not to be taken lightly. It charges you with ‘defamation per se.’”

  Britta shrugs. She is impassive, as though they were talking about someone else.

  “Defamation per se means that the words you have used accuse Mr. Henryks of criminal conduct, crimes of moral turpitude and of coalescence with the Nazi Party. As such, the words themselves are innately harmful.” She lays her pen down. “And actionable in a court of law, with serious consequences.”

  “What about the First Amendment?” Britta says. “My freedom of speech.”

  “Freedom of speech is not absolute, Mrs. Stein. You are not free to use words that wrongfully defame another person.” Catherine extracts another document from her folder and places it on the table. “This is an order of protection; a temporary injunction which was entered this morning against you by Judge Obadiah Wilson. It strictly prohibits you from coming within fifty yards of The Melancholy Dane or Ole Henryks’s residence on Lake Shore Drive.”

  “Nobody notified me of any court hearing,” Britta says defiantly. “How could a judge enter an order against me if I wasn’t even there? What about due process?”

  Catherine rolls her eyes. “It’s a temporary injunction. The order was entered ex parte, in your absence, because it was presented as an emergency to prevent you from committing further unlawful conduct. The language of the order recites that a video of you spray-painting on Mr. Henryks’s build
ing was shown to the court.”

  Britta looks at the order, sets it down and scoffs. “Fifty yards! Does that mean I can’t take a taxi down Clark Street or Bryn Mawr? I guess if my taxi driver decides to drive along Lake Shore Drive, the both of us are going to jail, right? Does Ole Henryks now own the streets? Such nonsense. I will go where I choose. It’s a free country.”

  “Bubbe!” Emma pleads. “Listen to Ms. Lockhart. You can be jailed for willfully violating an injunction.”

  “She’s right, Mrs. Stein. I wouldn’t test Judge Wilson’s mettle. You can be sure that Mr. Henryks will immediately call the police if he sees you anywhere near his establishment or his condominium building. A willful violation of an order of protection could subject you to fines or even punitive incarceration. And I know Judge Wilson. He’s not one to fool with.”

  “Listen to your lawyer, Bubbe. Don’t go anywhere near The Melancholy Dane or Henryks’s apartment. You don’t need to paint any more signs; you’re bound to have accomplished what you set out to do. The whole world knows what you think about Mr. Henryks.”

  Britta leans forward and raises her index finger. “It’s Hendricksen, not Henryks. He even lies about his name. I wrote the truth.” Turning to Catherine, she says, “You called the order temporary. Does that mean it expires? There are additional statements I have in mind.”

  Emma’s head flops forward. “Bubbe, Bubbe. No! No more painting!”

  Catherine slowly shakes her head. “Definitely no more painting. Believe me, you’ve done enough. More than enough. The order is temporary because you weren’t there. Judge Wilson scheduled a hearing for all sides next Thursday to consider whether the injunction should be extended, and I’m fairly certain it will.”

  “You’ll go with her to the hearing, right?” Emma says. “I mean, she needs to take a lawyer with her, doesn’t she?”

  Catherine holds up her palm. It’s a stop sign. “She does, but Emma, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I told Walter I would agree to meet with the two of you and we would talk. There is a lot to consider before deciding how a lawyer can defend a case like this. Or whether I am the right person to defend your grandmother. I don’t have a handle on this. Mrs. Stein, you must have expected that there would be serious consequences when you painted all those harmful statements.”