Seeds of Hate

By Robyn Walters and Peyton Abbott

To survive Nazi Germany, young Wilhelm Kastner did the only thing he could...become a prized acolyte of Adolf Hitler. After the war, Wilhelm pursues his dream of being a teacher in America. All is well until an incident brings back his demons from the past. He will need to fight to this new Hell if he wants himself and his family to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BHC Press/Gelan
• Release date: Nov 7, 2017
• ISBN: 1946848026

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Edited by Alice Martin

SEEDS OF HATE

Copyright © 2017 Robyn Walters & Peyton Abbott

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Gelan

an imprint of BHC Press

Library of Congress Control Number:

2017936833

Hardcover ISBN:

978-1-946848-84-0

Softcover ISBN:

978-1-946848-02-4

Visit the publisher at:

www.bhcpress.com

Also available in hardcover and softcover

ROBYN WALTERS

To my husband, family and friends

who stood with me for five years

while I immersed myself in this

project, thank you. I love you all.

Love, hugs and kisses to

Mom and Dad in heaven.

I hope you are proud.

PEYTON ABBOTT

This book is dedicated

to my loving wife. Thank you

for all you have done to make

this life and this story possible.

I’ve been arrested, the man said in a strained whisper. Please, Mr. Kane, I need your help."

Pressing the telephone receiver close to my ear, I asked, Who is this?

Wilhelm Kastner. Controlled breaths filled my earpiece as he tried to stay calm. I’m at the county jail now.

Looking at my watch and desk calendar, I considered the time. I’d promised my wife I’d be home for dinner. Can it be any day but Friday? I grabbed my legal pad and pen. What’s the charge? Seconds passed in silence. Hello?

His voice dropped to near inaudible. Touching the children in my fourth-grade class.

Plural? The pen I’d been rolling in my fingers flicked across the desk and hit the wall. Every jail has its snitches who take advantage of the just incarcerated for their own gain. Sexual assault on one child might get him beaten or killed. Don’t speak to anyone. I’ll be right over.

From my law office in downtown, it took me ten minutes to walk to the county jail. As I strode the few blocks to the red brick building, inhaling briny, fish-scented ocean air, I contemplated our brief conversation. Child molestation—a charge that taunts the success of even the most seasoned defense attorneys.

My wife and I had four girls and a fifth child on the way. We had just moved to a new house. Mundane drunk driving offenses dominated my caseload. This could be a welcome change.

The heels of my shoes rapped on pavement as the concrete jungle coughed up several transients passed out in darkened doorways. A lady dressed too scantily for legitimate business purposes ducked in to an alley and out of sight.

As I raced up the jail house steps, my toe caught a rise on the landing. My palm slammed against the door jamb just in time to save my face. Pushing open the glass doors of the lobby, I met a heavy mix of bleach and Pine-Sol that stung my nose and burned my eyes. I pitied the janitors who daily cleaned up vomit dumped from drunken mouths. No amount of mopping could erase the degradations of humanity from the linoleum floors.

I ducked a few more door jambs and walked into the interview room. Seafoam green walls and floor clashed with bright orange plastic chairs and faux mahogany wood tables. A short Plexiglas divider separated inmates from visitors. No windows and poor ventilation meant the antiseptic puke smell stayed.

When Mr. Kastner arrived, his five-foot-seven-inch, stocky frame stood rigid. He held his chin high and winced as the jailer unlocked the cuffs and raked them over his hands. Wilhelm sat down and rubbed the burn from his wrists. Thank you for getting here so fast.

His German accent intrigued me. Short blond-gray buzz cut, narrow hazel eyes and a hardcore demeanor did not create the impression of a Pied Piper who molested his students.

Though anxious to hear Kastner’s story, I wouldn’t do it at the jail. Phone calls and visitor contacts are often recorded. We exchanged no pleasantries as we discussed bailing him out. If that would be possible.

Conviction rates in these cases came in around ninety-five percent. I had my work cut out for me.

We need to find out if bail has been set, I said. I figured we’d be at the quarter million mark.

Wringing his hands, he asked, Will I be able to go home?

Let’s wait and see what the judge ordered. I held no hope that would happen.

Mr. Kastner waited in the interview room as I made my way to the clerk’s office. A Pepto-Bismol pink, funky-scented hallway further assaulted my senses. Peering from behind bulletproof glass, the woman at the desk flicked her eyes between me and the court documents. This can’t be right, she said.

Leaning into the speak-through, I asked, How much?

$25,000, she said as she grabbed for her glasses.

Holy cow. I kept my cool. Judge signed it?

Scanning the papers, she shrugged. Yes, sir.

We’ll take it, thank you. Exhaling a sigh of relief, I returned to the interview room.

When I broke the good news, Wilhelm pushed himself and his chair back, raking the metal feet on the floor. His body slumped forward as he rested his elbows on his knees and looked up at me. I can’t afford that, Mr. Kane. I don’t have that kind of money.

Having never been in trouble before, Wilhelm didn’t know how the system worked. Ten percent is all that is required.

You need only come up with $2,500, Mr. Kastner.

His mouth dropped open. That is our life savings.

Believing the jail had to be short staffed and over populated that day, I told Wilhelm, That’s incredibly low.

Concerned that any one in his situation could be suicidal, I suggested to the jail commander that he put Mr. Kastner on watch while he waited for bail. His wife showed up within an hour to take him home.

Meet me at my office tomorrow morning at nine, I said as I handed him my business card.

By the time I got back to my office, the sun had set and the street lights flickered as they warmed. My secretary prepared to lock up.

Don’t bother, Marcy. I’ll be here for a while.

Always willing to help, Marcy offered, Do you need me to stay, Mr. Kane?

No thanks. There will be plenty to do on Monday.

She nodded and closed the door behind her.

I sat down at my desk and gathered my thoughts. We had to work fast to glean information and interview witnesses before they decided that talking to the defense would be a bad idea. I also needed the police report. That would have to wait until Monday.

Two hours after my pen hit the paper, my wife called. You coming home Patrick? The roast is getting cold.

Yes, dear. You’re not going believe what fell in my lap today.

Meg laughed. You’re already late, she chided. You can tell me about it when you get home.

I looked at the clock and scribbled some final notes on my pad. A teacher arrested for touching kids made for big news. The story would appear in the local papers by morning and hit the national news shortly after that. Prosecution by the county district attorney would be swift.

UNLOCKING MY office door the next morning, I reached down to pick up the morning newspaper. I unfolded it and glanced at the headline. My heart sank. Tucking the rag under my arm, I headed inside.

Having finished six years clerking for a high-profile attorney, I had hung up my own shingle the year before on a house the size of a shoe box just blocks from city center. The hundred-year-old building stood solid encased with industrial brick and mortar. Only two rooms with a bathroom remained. The kitchen had been removed years ago to make way for office space. Wood paneling covered every wall, but the original hardwood floors endured.

Meg had taken one look at the place and deemed it unfit for habitation. With cleaning gloves and bucket, she scrubbed the inside from top to bottom. Fresh paint adorned the bathroom and hand-sewn curtains hung on the windows. Meg had the interior in top shape by the time I moved in furniture.

The reception room contained an eclectic mix of mismatched pieces collected from family hand-me-downs and garage sales. Just big enough for a couple of overstuffed brocade print chairs, a restored coffee table, and a halfway decent desk for Marcy. A simple, well-loved mahogany desk and rolling chair, a beat-up file cabinet, and two client seats left little room to move around my office. Meg gave the new digs her blessing.

Mr. Kastner arrived on time with his wife, Liesel. An unpretentious beauty, petite with short dark hair and crystal blue eyes, her classic look reminded me of Jackie O. She wore no makeup, a simple white shift dress with matching flats. A delicate gold chain with a cross pendant hung from her neck and a thin gold wedding band adorned her ring finger.

Hello, Mr. & Mrs. Kastner. Please come in. I ushered the Kastners to the back room. Pulling a chair from the corner to the front of my desk, I asked, Mrs. Kastner, would you like to have a seat?

Please call me Liesel. The young woman reached out her hand to shake mine. She, too, had an accent.

Mr. Kastner said, And you can call me Wilhelm.

We began by sorting the facts as Wilhelm knew them.

The day before, Wilhelm stood at the head of his class. Three men approached his classroom door. He smiled as they entered. Welcome, gentlemen. Please join us.

Wilhelm, please come to my office now. Principal Nelson’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. Let your assistant step in and see to your class.

Seeing the stricken look on Jeffrey Nelson’s face, Wilhelm’s smile wilted. A knot tightened in the pit of his stomach as they walked down the long corridor to the principal’s office. Footsteps echoed in his ears.

With the office door closed, the principal dropped into his chair. His hand kneaded his brow.

What is happening? Wilhelm paced the worn wood floor. What have I done?

Jeffrey’s dull eyes and grim mouth scared Wilhelm. He’d never seen his friend and mentor look so defeated. The man’s voice cracked as he tried to hold back his own fear. The worst thing that can happen to a teacher has happened to you.

The taller detective stepped toward Wilhelm and ordered him to turn around and put his hands behind his back. You are under arrest for molesting the children in your classroom, he said.

Wilhelm’s head whirled. What? Handcuffs tightened around his wrists. Bitter bile rose in the back of his throat. Clenched teeth helped keep the acid tang from evacuating his mouth as the small office closed in around him.

Pulling a card from his shirt pocket, the second detective read, You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. His voice trailed.

Wilhelm’s mind fogged as the detectives led him out of the building. Fellow teachers stepped outside their classroom doors, staring in disbelief. Children peeked through the windows. Wilhelm turned his head away from gawking parents who’d arrived to pick up their kids at the end of the school day.

What would he say to Liesel and the children?

Sitting in my office, Wilhelm put his face in his hands. I’m completely stunned, he wept. I love all my kids. My classroom is a place of joy and open learning. These kids are happy and flourishing. It doesn’t make sense.

Liesel leaned over and patted her husband’s shoulder. Sad, questioning eyes stared at me. Her comfort could not quell his distress.

Did deputies conduct an evidence search of your classroom? I asked.

He nodded. The detectives told me they would. One of them had the document in his pocket.

As deputies escorted Wilhelm to a waiting car, he saw several men milling around. Two more patrol cars arrived, just as they pulled away.

The detectives tried to talk to me in the car, Wilhelm said, But all I could think is I need a lawyer. I didn’t say a word.

Impressed my client had the presence of mind to keep his mouth shut during the drive to the county jail, I laid my pen down and said, Most people don’t know when to shut up. Makes my job that much harder.

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Wilhelm inhaled a deep breath. My childhood training taught me to show no fear and not to speak a word to the enemy.

Hmm. I wonder what that means.

Wilhelm listened to the drone of the car’s engine while miles of gray pavement passed in empty silence. The highway dividing line became the focus. Control emotion at all costs, he willed himself. Equally to Wilhelm’s credit, he refused to speak to any of the jailers, citing his right to an attorney, as he processed through the jail’s intake.

I felt humiliated, Wilhelm said. They took all my clothes. They made me stand there naked and looked at every part of my body. Why? I have nothing to hide. He described being strip-searched, fingerprinted, and given a jail issued uniform and slippers.

You might be here for quite a while, the jailer mocked as he spat on the cell floor inches from Wilhelm’s feet. You’re lucky you’re alone. Don’t go trying to kill yourself.

Liesel opened her clutch and took out a linen handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes and sniffed. While I felt compassion, that innocent sorrow could work favorably for our case.

Who could possibly betray me like this, Mr. Kane? Live, love, laugh, and learn are the cornerstones of my teaching philosophy. How could that be a crime?

While he waited in the jail cell, Wilhelm surveyed his surroundings. He considered a toilet and sink with running water a luxury compared to some hell holes he’d been in.

Liesel listened as her husband recounted the remaining details of his incarceration.

How did you get the news, Liesel? I asked.

She smoothed her skirt and took a deep breath. I had been standing in the kitchen when the phone rang. She glanced at the clock. 3:45 p.m. Wilhelm should be on his way home from school by now. Wilhelm told me I needed to stay calm. The tone in her husband’s voice placed Liesel on high alert. Each word that followed stung. I had no idea Wilhelm had an emergency box of cash hidden in the closet. I grabbed it.

Good thing he did, I said.

Liesel scooped up their two children, who had been playing in the living room, and sat them in the back seat of the car.

I can’t begin to describe the stressful drive. Liesel’s voice trembled. I only knew Wilhelm had been arrested for touching kids in his classroom. Wilhelm took Liesel’s hand in his and their shoulders touched as she continued. I had no idea how to find the jail. I took the wrong exit from the freeway and twice turned down one-way streets into oncoming traffic.

I chuckled. You didn’t get a ticket?

No. Liesel shook her head. A faint smile crossed her lips. I could not let on to the children how scared I felt.

Having my own small children, I thought of Meg and what she might have done.

Liesel could see Max and Karen’s wide eyes in the rearview mirror. The kids sat whimpering in the back seat. I’m sure they sensed my fear.

I shook my head. I can only imagine.

I didn’t even know what making bail meant, Liesel puzzled. But I went through with it and brought Wilhelm home.

Can you tell me what life is like in Sunnybrook?

It has been a dream come true for us, Liesel beamed, until yesterday.

She described the little suburb as idyllic, since they moved there four years earlier. The hills surrounding their new home provided the perfect backdrop for agriculture. Avocado, orange, and lemon groves prospered in the boulder-strewn landscape, while fruit and vegetable crops flourished in the mild winters and hot summers. They had found a simple and good life.

A sign at the main road entering Sunnybrook read, Welcome to Sunnybrook, a Friendly Town.

A perfect place to raise a family, the couple chimed.

The more I talked with them, the more I contemplated how this man could be accused of such heinous acts. Still, where there’s sexual smoke, there is sexual fire.

It wasn’t my job to believe in his innocence.

Most men in similar circumstances would plead guilty to be spared a life sentence. I figured I would charge Mr. Kastner $1,500 to hold his hand through the process: guilty pleas and relinquishment of his teaching credential in exchange for a three-to-four-year prison term.

Clutching her linen handkerchief, Liesel turned to Wilhelm and swallowed hard. "Liebchen, what are we going to do?"

"I don’t know Schatzi."

I sat back in my chair, Are those nicknames?

"Schatzi is German for ‘Treasure.’" Mrs. Kastner smiled as her cheeks turned pink.

Her husband followed, "Liebchen means ‘Darling.’"

My gut feeling proved right. World War II ended over two decades ago, and still many had a sore spot for the Nazis. I dared not ask if they had been in Germany during the war. They looked too young.

I pulled the morning newspaper from my desk drawer and handed it to Wilhelm.

What’s this? he asked.

The couple cocked their heads in the same direction. Their eyes locked on the headline. Sunnybrook teacher accused of molesting kids, they both read aloud. Wilhelm Kastner, forty years old… Their voices faltered. Liesel’s eyes filled with tears, and her husband’s mouth turned grim.

Our address and Wilhelm’s name are on the front page, she said. Everyone will know.

Turning and facing each other, the couple contemplated what it meant to their family to have this information broadcast to the public. Pale and despairing, Liesel’s mouth went dry, as she couldn’t find any words to describe how she felt.

With the same perseverance he’d shown in the jail, Wilhelm raised his head, steadied his gaze and leaned forward. I am innocent, Mr. Kane. My name must be cleared for me and my family.

That’s not going to be easy, I said. Standing up from my chair to escort them out, I took a deep breath. We have a lot to do. Head home and try to find some sense of normalcy with your kids. I’ll get to work.

Wilhelm turned to the door and grasped my hand. Thank you, Mr. Kane.

After the Kastners left, I perused the newspaper and took notes. The list of accusers had to be growing.

MY FATHER had been a reluctant policeman. Growing up during the Depression, he donned his uniform every day to keep the peace in the Bronx. Good for his gentle soul, he directed traffic. After a long day’s work, he’d come home, climb to the roof of our apartment building, and smoke a cigar. Then he’d come in, change from his uniform, and while our mother prepared dinner, he’d read the newspaper. We loved our father deeply

Reviews for Seeds of Hate

[spbooks_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Walters writes well. The problem I have with the book is the way the two "parts" of the story hang together -- or rather, don't hang together. I can't say too much without giving the plot away. But a part of the story is about the protagonists past; the other part, set in the present day, is the trial which follows the allegations of child sexual abuse consisting of inappropriate touching of the students he taught. The issue, for me, is the teacher's past has no impact on the trial. The jury never finds out about it. There is a personal impact, of course. But, without the jury finding out, there is no significant tension or suspense in the story. I knew pretty early on how the jury was going to vote. So, while the writing was done well, the story needed much more tension.

[liztipping · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a really interesting story. I have to admit, the idea of feeling empathy for a Nazi soldier has never really crossed my mind before. But I definitely felt Wilhelm Kastner’s pain and fear, not just in the “present day” of the story, but also as he was growing up and fighting in the war. His life was well written and presented by Robyn Walters.The ARC I read could benefit from another round of editing. It definitely had some homonym issues (principle vs. principal, for example) and lots of punctuation work to be done. While it may have just been the lawyer in me, I kept wondering how accurate certain aspects of the legal portrayal was for the time period it was set in. (If it had been set in the present day, I wouldn’t have questioned a thing.) For example, I am not sure how common the use of psychological experts in this type of lawsuit was back then. Or even the potential civil liability—would the exposure be that high for this type of issue at that time?But setting aside those questions (I guess it’s like when lawyers say they can’t watch Law and Order, or doctors say Gray’s Anatomy isn’t a particularly accurate portrayal of life at a hospital!), I loved the story and had trouble putting it down each night. I was dying to get to the end and find out how the jury would respond to the case. If you’re a sucker for legal fiction, like me, then I recommend this book, hands down!I received an advance reader copy of this book in exchange for my unbiased review.