Six Graves to Munich - Mario Cleri [23]
Hans Freisling was gagging, clawing pieces of broken teeth and bits of gum from his smashed mouth. He couldn’t speak. Eric asked the final question: “If we cooperate, what will you do to us?”
Rogan tried to sound as earnest and sincere as possible. “If you both write down the same information, I won’t kill you. I’ll accuse you as war criminals, however, and turn you in to the proper authorities. Then you’ll have to stand trial and take your chances.”
He was amused by the secret looks they gave each other and knew just what they were thinking. Even if arrested and tried, even if convicted, they could appeal and get out on bail. Then they figured they could defect to East Germany and thumb their noses at justice. Rogan, pretending not to notice the looks they exchanged, pulled Hans out of his chair and moved him to the other end of the coffee table so that neither one could see what his brother was writing down. “Get busy,” he said. “And it had better be good. Or you’ll both die here in this room, tonight.” He pointed the Walther pistol at Eric’s head while keeping Hans in full view. With the silencer, the pistol was a frightening-looking weapon.
The brothers began to write. Hampered by the drug, they wrote laboriously, and it seemed a long time before first Eric, then Hans, finished. Rosalie, who had sat on the coffee table between them to make certain they could not signal to each other, picked up their pads to hand them to Rogan. He shook his head. “Read them to me,” he said. He kept the pistol pointed at Eric’s head. He had already decided to kill him first.
Rosalie read Eric’s list aloud. “Our commanding officer was Klaus von Osteen. He is now chief justice in the Munich courts. The other two were observers. The man from the Hungarian army was Wenta Pajerski. He is now a Red party chief in Budapest. The third man was Genco Bari. He was an observer from the Italian army. He now lives in Sicily.”
Rosalie paused. She switched the pads to read what Hans had written. Rogan held his breath. “Klaus von Osteen was the commanding officer. He was the one who killed your wife.” Rosalie paused at the look of anguish that passed over Rogan’s face. Then she continued reading.
The information tallied—both brothers had put down essentially the same information, the same names, although only Hans had named Christine’s murderer. And as Rogan compared the two pads he realized that Eric had given the minimum of information, whereas Hans had included extra details such as Genco Bari being a Mafia member, probably a big man in the organization. Rogan, however, had the feeling that the brothers had held back something he should know about. They were exchanging sly, congratulatory looks.
Again Rogan pretended not to notice. “OK,” he said. “You did the smart thing, so I’m going to keep my part of the bargain. Now I must turn you over to the police. We’ll leave this room together and go down the back stairs. Remember, don’t try to run. I’ll be right behind you. If you recognize anyone when we get outside, don’t try to signal them.”
The two men looked unconcerned; Eric was smirking at Rogan quite openly. Rogan was a fool, they thought. Didn’t the Amerikaner realize the police would release them immediately?
Rogan played it very straight and very dumb. “One other thing,” he said. “Downstairs I’m going to put you in the trunk of my car.” He saw the fear in their faces. “Don’t be frightened and don’t make a fuss. How can I control you if I have to drive the car?” he asked reasonably. “How else can I conceal you from any friends who may be waiting for you outside when I drive out of the parking lot?”
Eric snarled, “We made the trunk