She sat there for a moment. I saw in her face the relief of confessing a secret. I'd seen this before and it didn't surprise me.
"One day a government official comes with many papers and tells us we must sell the farm to Korkowski. We go to lawyer in Ostrava. That is the near city. He says the government is right. We must sell our farm. We ask if we can--" She paused and looked at Kenneth. "What is word?"
"Appeal?" he answered.
She nodded. "Yes. Appeal. We ask if we can appeal. The lawyer says yes but many months, many years. Very expensive. Why not sell?"
She threw up her hands. "So, we sell. We come to America."
Mr. Kopek went into their bedroom for a moment and then came back. He had a thick letter in his hand and thrust it at Kenneth who took it. I noticed that there were swastikas on the stamp and on the envelope.
After pulling out the bundle of pages, Kenneth said, "I don't read German." He handed it to me to look at. I didn't either, but I saw that the letter was postmarked in '41.
I handed the pages to Mr. Kopek, who waved them around. "This letter. It is from the German Governor of Silesia. Can you believe it? We get letter from the Germans telling us all about what happened."
Kenneth asked, "What?"
Mrs. Kopek said, "This Korkowski. He was a scoundrel. The Germans, they are very efficient, no? They take over Czechoslovakia and they want to know what do they own. So, there are Germans who are reading all the papers in all the government offices. And they tell us that we have been robbed!" Her face became tight and she clenched both her fists. Mr. Kopek started pacing again.
His wife said, "This Korkowski. He has bribed the government official to make false papers. His is not our relative. He made all the peoples believe his story. We sold him the farm for very few money and we come to America." Her face suddenly relaxed. She turned to her husband and said something in Polish.
He smiled and said, "Yes. My wife is right. This Korkowski saved us from the Nazis and the Communists. I like San Francisco. I like my store. We have a good life here. If we were in Petervald now, we would have nothing. The Communists took the farm and now the men we once hired, they run it." He smiled wanly. "And they cannot meet the new Five-Year Plan." He sat down and sighed heavily.
His wife spread out her hands and said, "So, that is who this man is."
I looked over at Kenneth who nodded. "That's the man your son is charged with murdering."
. . .
After this sank in, Mrs. Kopek looked at me and asked, "So now you know what my son does, no?"
This didn't really surprise me. As she'd said on Tuesday night, a mother knows.
"Yes."
Mr. Kopek looked at me and then looked at his wife. He asked her a question in Polish. She shook her head and then said, "We will discuss later. I know all about it. I found the money long ago."
That didn't surprise me either.
Kenneth stood up. "I have to get to the office and get ready for the arraignment."
Mrs. Kopek asked, "What is this?"
"Your son will be brought before a judge and asked whether he's guilty. Then the judge will set a time for a preliminary hearing."
Mrs. Kopek looked worried. "What happen after that?"
"If the hearing goes in Ivan's favor, he'll be released." Kenneth was being very hesitant. I didn't blame him. It was hard to tell a parent that the son could get the gas chamber.
I said, "Let's do one thing at a time."
Kenneth nodded. "Right. First we get through the arraignment and then we do the next thing after that."
The Kopeks did not look relieved.
. . .
Carter and I slipped into the courtroom about ten minutes before 10. I was hoping there wouldn't be any reporters, but they were out in force and they had photographers in the outside hallway. Fortunately, no one had noticed us as we walked in.
I'd been to arraignments before in this courtroom. There would be several of them in a row. It might be thirty minutes or even an hour before Ike was up.
While we waited, I looked around the courtroom. I didn't see either of the Kopeks. Kenneth was seated on the other side of the room with a briefcase on his lap. He was reading over something and looked up when the bailiff announced the arrival of the judge.
. . .
Twenty minutes later, Ike was brought in.
My first impression of him was that he was far more handsome than any photo could ever show. He was wearing a dark t-shirt and a pair of dungarees issued by the county jail. The shirt hugged his body and showed every muscle. He looked cold in the chill of the courtroom.
Like his photograph had shown, he was broad across the chest and the hips but not the waist. His blonde hair was falling in his green eyes. He had a younger, thinner version of his father's face. High cheekbones accentuated his eyes. Tight, pale skin was pulled over a thick jaw. If he was anything like his parents, the expression on his face was full of resignation with defiance on the edges.
The judge said, "State of California versus Ivan Kopek." I saw several reporters get their pencils ready. "Charge is first-degree murder. Who's defending?"
By this time, Kenneth was standing next to Ike. "Kenneth Wilcox, Your Honor."
"How does your client plead?"
"Not guilty."
The judge wrote something down. "Since the charge is murder, the defendant is remanded to the county."
He looked down and asked Kenneth, "Prelim?"
Kenneth said, "Yes, Your Honor."
"Fine. How about January--" He stopped and looked at something else for a moment. "No. Monday, December 21st at 9 a.m.? Judge Rollins." This was good news. That was only four days away.
The prosecutor sputtered. "But, Your Honor, that only gives us--"
"I have great confidence in the state's ability to offer sufficient evidence to bind over," the judge said with a big smile on his face.
Kenneth piped up quickly. "That's fine with the defense, Your Honor. Thank you."
The judge nodded and banged his gavel. "Next!"
. . .
After the bailiff escorted Ike out of the courtroom, Carter and I made our way over to where Kenneth was sitting.
He looked up and whispered, "Meet me in room 205." I nodded and we walked to the back of the room. When I opened the courtroom door, we were greeted with a barrage of flashes.
"Nick! Nick!" Several voices called at me all at once. Carter took my arm and barreled his way through the small throng.
As we walked up the stairs, taking two at a time, the throng followed. Someone asked, "Why are you here, Nick?" Someone else asked, "Does this mean Ivan Kopek is a homosexual?" A third person called out, "Come on, Nick! Give us the story!"
When we got to the second floor, I said, "OK." Carter let go of my arm and we turned around. Flashes went off again and four reporters crowded up on us.
"Who's from the Examiner?" I decided to take matters into my own hands. One of the men smirked as the other three looked at him. He was tall and thin. His shirt was untucked, he had a red nose, and he looked drunk.
"You don't get anything." I said. "But you other three. Fire away."
I recognized the man from the Chronicle. He'd been at my sister's funeral in May. He started. "What's your relationship to Ivan Kopek?"
"He's a client of Consolidated Security." That wasn't exactly true but I didn't want to bring his parents into the story.
"What are you investigating?"
"You know I can't tell you. What else?" I looked at the other two. One of them, who had a Call-Bulletin paper under his arm, asked, "Is Ivan a homosexual?"
"Not relevant."
"So, the answer is yes?"
I shrugged.
The Examiner guy smirked at me and asked, "Who'd you buy off in Georgia?"
Carter started. I moved my hand in front of him and said, "No one. If you read the transcript, there was no evidence. That's what the judge said."
"I heard you bought off the whole town.
"
I rolled my eyes. "I don't think the District Attorney down there would agree. Who else?"
The fourth one asked, "Is Kopek a Red?"
I said, "Absolutely not. He's been in this country most of his life."
The Chronicle guy asked, "So, what's the angle here, Nick?"
I looked at him for a moment and then said, "He's been framed. That's the angle."
He nodded and began to make a note.
I asked, "Why are you guys up here on the second floor?" I looked around. Other than the court employees, there was no one else to be seen. A couple of photographers got a couple more photos and then they were all gone.
We turned and walked over to the door marked Room 205.
. . .
A long conference table took up most of the room. We'd been sitting there for about ten minutes when Kenneth walked in. He put down his briefcase and looked at me. "We have a problem."
"What?"
"The Kopeks."
"OK."
"What does the mother know that the father doesn't?"
"That Ike has been hustling. In a big way."
Kenneth plopped down in a chair and sighed deeply. "Dear God. Now I understand."
"What happened?" asked Carter.
"All hell broke loose, that's what happened. The father said Ike can't come home. Ever."
I wasn't surprised.
Carter said, "Fine. When he's released, he can stay with us. I'm sure Nick will find something for him to do."
I looked over at Carter and smiled. I turned to Kenneth. Looking relieved, he said, "Thank you." He took a deep breath. "Now. We need to find out what was happening in that house." He looked at me. "I notice you left out the part about Ike hustling when you were telling me about the cousin who isn't a cousin."
I nodded. "Would you rather have known?"
Kenneth shook his head. "No. I'm glad I didn't. But, when the D.A. finds out, they're gonna after him. That's murder plus sodomy plus prostitution. Big guns."
I asked, "But what about a gun? Did the police find one?"
Kenneth was making notes. "I don't know yet." He finished writing and looked up. "Can you two go with me to meet with him this afternoon? I'm sure I can get us in there around 3 or 4."
We both nodded.
. . .
Ike was being held at The Hall of Justice. This grand old building, built after the fire of '06 destroyed the first one, was bursting at the seams even as the Board of Supervisors made plans to move operations elsewhere. We parked on Washington in front of The Black Cat and walked the block and a half west to Kearny.
We met Kenneth outside and followed him inside and into one of the meeting rooms. Somehow, Mike had pulled a couple of strings to make sure we could all go in.
We waited about five minutes in the small, windowless room before a guard brought Ike in. He was dressed the same as he'd been in court and looked tired. His hands were cuffed in front. The guard, whose badge said, "J. Brown," pushed him down into the chair across the table from us. Officer Brown looked at the three of us and said, "You get thirty minutes. After thirty minutes, the lawyer can stay but the rest have to leave."
Kenneth nodded and said, "Thanks."
The man grunted, stepped outside the door, and locked it.
Kenneth asked, "How are you, Ike?"
The young man shrugged and said, "Fine. How long do I have to stay in here?"
Kenneth replied, "At least until Monday morning. The hearing will be at 10 and, hopefully, you'll be released once it's over."
Ike rolled his eyes. "I guess you know why I was there."
I said, "Why don't you tell us?"
He looked me over. "You know what I do for a living?"
I nodded. Kenneth was taking notes.
"We talked to Sugar Joe. He's a friend of Carter's." I tilted my head in his direction.
Ike nodded and looked at us both. "You know I got a scrapbook about you both?" He was trying to play us.
"That's what your father told me."
Ike looked surprised. "You met my pop?"
I nodded. "Sure. And your mother. They hired us to find you."
That shook Ike. He sighed.
"And that's how I met Sam."
Ike looked up. For a brief moment, he looked happy and hopeful. And he blushed. "Sam Halversen?"
I nodded. "Yeah. So, I know what you do. I know about the dough you had stashed away in the desk, too."
The kid's eyes flashed when I said that last part. "What'd you do with it?"
"I gave it to your father."
A look of understanding rolled across his handsome face. "So, that's what happened with pop, then."
Kenneth said, "I think so."
Looking at Kenneth, Ike said, "My pop can't afford a lawyer but you can use that money."
I said, "Don't worry about that. Just tell us what happened so we can get you out of here."
Ike sighed. "OK. It started at Sugar Joe's."
"At the Turkish bath?" I asked.
"Yeah. That's a good place to find clients. Know what I mean?"
I nodded and waited.
"He came in there on Tuesday last week around noon. It was my birthday. I'd helped pop with a leaky pipe in the store then I headed over to Sugar Joe's to do my routine and see who might be there."
He relaxed a little and settled back in the chair. "By noon, I'd done my routine and was in the steam room. In walks this guy. He looked prime. Rich. Old. A little pudgy. Perfect target."
I looked at Ike and could see the stalking predator. It wasn't pretty.
He licked his lips. "So, I move over and ask him where he's from. He has a thick accent. Like my pop. He says Czechoslovakia. I don't say anything. He looks at me and, all of a sudden, he recognizes me."
"Did you know that at the time?"
"No. All I knew was that he was staring. He reached over and ran his finger over my scar and asks me where I got it. In Polish."
"And you speak Polish?"
"Sure. So I tell him about the day we left and how I fell on the cobblestones." He sat there for a moment, lost in thought.
Carter asked, "Then what?"
"He asks me, 'Is your name Ivan Kopek?' Again, in Polish. I nod and he smiles. 'I'm your cousin from Petervald.' I smile back and say, 'Yes?' Then he tells me his name." He sighed in disgust. "What an idiot."
Ike stood up and stretched his cuffed hands up in the air. The bottom of his shirt poked up far enough above the waist of his pants to reveal his flat stomach and a thin trail of blonde hair. I didn't think it was an accident.
Ignoring the show, I asked, "So, why did you leave with him?"
The guard banged against the door, so Ike sat back down. "I wasn't going to," he said. "Then he starts running his hand up and down my chest, and I'm thinking about how to get out of there, and suddenly it comes to me."
"What?" I asked.
"How to kill him." He said it plainly like he was talking about mowing the grass.
I nodded. Carter very softly asked, "Did you?"
Ike shook his head. "No. Someone beat me to it."
I took a deep breath. "What happened next?"
"He asked me about my parents. I told him they were dead."
"Why?"
"So I could be the long-lost orphan who needed a helpful uncle in the big city. I know that scam backwards and forwards. And he fell for it. Called me his little one in Polish." Ike shuddered. "Said he'd take care of me. So, we got dressed and I said I didn't have much. He said that was no problem. He had a big house on Russian Hill and that I could move in with him. And I did."
I sat there and watched him. He wasn't the sweet, young kid that I'd imagined. But now his bedroom made sense. He was adept at playing roles. The dutiful son. The grateful charge. The helpless orphan. And he'd learned how to make money that way. He was smart. Definitely smart.
Carter asked, "What happened after you moved in?"
Ike shrugged. "It was like any job. I was nice. I
used all the words in Polish I could remember that an uncle would like. I washed the dishes. I cleaned the house since the lazy S.O.B. never got around to hiring a live-in housekeeper. I even took care of the garden. I had my own bedroom, but I slept in his bed."
"Sam saw you going into George's. What was that about?"
Ike laughed. "That was his idea. He said he was tired of watching me walk around in such old clothes. He had money, he said. Why not spend it, he said. So, I did. He gave me a thousand bucks and off I went." He lifted up his hands and ran the left one across his mouth.
"What?" I asked.
"I wish I'd taken care of him last night."
"What was your plan?"
"Oh, it was easy." He leaned in and spoke softly. "Smother him in his sleep. You do it right, it looks like a heart attack."
I shook my head.
Carter asked, "What would your parents have said after it was over?"
He smiled his brilliant smile. "Oh, my parents would haven't said a word once they knew who it was. Besides, I had a plan to disappear before the cops could find me. All that cleaning I was doing for the old guy?" He smirked at me. "They're not gonna find any of my fingerprints in that house except on the doorknob where I opened the door for the cops. I wiped everything down that I touched every night before I went to bed. You should have heard the old guy. Kept calling me his wife."
Ike surveyed all three of us. I was watching him. Carter looked mildly surprised. And Kenneth was just writing. "You three think I'm a monster, don't you?"
Carter said, "I think you're probably the smartest person I've ever met. And I think you love your parents more than they'll ever know."
Neither Kenneth nor I said anything. As we sat there, the only sound inside the room was the scratch of Kenneth's pen across his pad as he wrote.
Carter was right on both counts but that didn't keep the kid from being a monster. As he'd been talking, he was sure of himself. He had everything planned out. And he probably would have done it, and gotten away with it, if only the guy hadn't sent him down to get new clothes. That was when Sam saw him and that's how we caught up with him. The man at George's would have had the only connection between this easily recognizable 'Joe Smith' and the address on Lombard Street. Vanity was a curious thing.
The Savage Son (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 6) Page 6
