Six Graves to Munich - Mario Cleri [27]
They drove to von Osteen’s address, using a city map as a guide. Von Osteen’s house was in a fashionable suburb, and it was a mansion. Rogan parked the car and they went up the stone steps to the huge baronial doors. There was a wooden knocker in the shape of a wild boar’s head. Rogan slammed it twice against the wooden panel. In a moment the door was opened by an old-fashioned German butler, grossly fat, obsequious. Very coldly he said, “Bitte mein Herr.”
“We have come to see Klaus von Osteen,” Rogan said. “On confidential business. Just tell him that Eric Freisling sent us.”
The butler ’s voice was less cold. He evidently recognized the Freisling name. “It is regrettable,” he said. “Judge von Osteen and the family are on vacation in Switzerland, and then they plan to go to Sweden and Norway and finally England. They will not be back for nearly a month.”
“Damn,” Rogan said. “Can you tell me where they are staying right now—their address?”
The butler smiled, his face creasing into ridges of ruddy suet. “No,” he said. “Judge von Osteen is not following a schedule. He can be reached only through official channels. Do you wish to leave a message, sir?”
“No,” Rogan said. He and Rosalie returned to the car.
Back in their room, Rosalie asked, “What will you do now?”
“I’ll have to gamble,” he said. “I’ll go to Sicily and track down Genco Bari. If everything works out OK, I’ll fly to Budapest and see about Wenta Pajerski. Then I’ll come back to von Osteen here in Munich.”
Rosalie said, “What about your entry visa? Bailey will have that canceled.”
Rogan said drily, “I used to be in the spy business too. I’ll find a way to get a phony passport or a phony visa. And if Bailey gets too close, I’ll just have to forget he’s a fellow American.”
Rosalie said, “What about me?”
He didn’t answer her for a long time. “I’m making arrangements so that you’ll get enough money to live on every month. A trust fund that will go on, no matter what happens.”
“You’re not taking me with you?” Rosalie asked.
“I can’t,” Rogan said. “I’d have to get you papers. And I’d never be able to lose Bailey if I took you along.”
“Then I’ll wait for you here in Munich,” she said.
“OK. But you have to get used to the idea of my not being around some time. The chances are a million to one against my making it all the way. They’ll nail me for sure when I get von Osteen.”
Gratefully she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I don’t care,” she said. “Just let me wait for you; please let me wait for you.”
He stroked her blond hair. “Sure, sure,” he said. “Now will you do something for me?”
She nodded.
“I was looking at the map,” Rogan said. “We can drive to Bublingshausen in four hours. I think it would be good for you to see it again. Will you go back?”
He felt her whole body go tense, her back arch in terror. “Oh, no,” she said. “Oh, no!”
He held her quivering body close. “We’ll drive through very quickly,” he said. “You’ll see how it is. Now. Then maybe you won’t see so clearly how it was before. Maybe everything will blur. Try. I’ll drive through very fast, I promise. Remember, that’s the first thing you told the doctor—that you wanted to go back to Bublingshausen?”
Her body had stopped shaking. “All right,” she said. “I’ll go back. With you.”
CHAPTER 10
The next morning they loaded the Opel with Rogan’s things. They had decided that from Bublingshausen they would drive on to Frankfurt, where Rogan could catch a plane to Sicily and look for Genco Bari. Rosalie would take the train back to Munich and wait for Rogan there. Rogan had reassured her. “When I finish in Sicily and Budapest I’ll come back here for Osteen. And I’ll come straight to the pension, first thing.” In this he had lied. He planned to see her again only if he killed von Osteen and managed to stay free.
The Opel sped along the German roads. Rosalie sat as far away from Rogan as possible, huddled against