Six Graves to Munich - Mario Cleri [53]
When the door closed Rosalie came round the screen and found Rogan sitting up in bed. There was a grim smile on his face. “Who was that?” he asked, wanting to make sure.
“Judge von Osteen,” Rosalie said. “He came to ask how you were. I told you what a kind man he was. I always felt he couldn’t be the one you were looking for.”
Rogan said softly, “That’s what the brothers were smiling about, and Bailey too. They knew I would never recognize von Osteen, just as they hadn’t recognized me. But his power was all in his voice, and I’d never forget that.” He saw her look of dismay. “Is Judge von Osteen sitting this afternoon, after lunch?” he asked.
Rosalie sat down on the bed, with her back to him. “Yes.”
Rogan patted her shoulder, his fingers drawing strength from her young body. He could feel the exultant joy running through him. In a few hours it would all be over; he would never dream his terrible dreams again. But he would need all his strength. He told Rosalie what shots to give him from her drug supply in the clinic locker. As she prepared the needle he thought about the change in von Osteen’s appearance.
Remembering von Osteen’s proud features, Rogan knew the man would not have had voluntary facial surgery merely to escape danger. In the years since they had last seen each other von Osteen had gone through his own hell of suffering. But it didn’t matter; nothing mattered anymore, Rogan thought. Before the day was over both their worlds would end.
CHAPTER 20
Superior Federal Judge Klaus von Osteen sat on the high bench, two fellow judges flanking him. He saw the mouth of the prosecuting attorney move, but he could not make any sense out of the words. Haunted by his own guilt, his own fear of punishment, he could not concentrate on the case before him. He would have to agree with the verdict of his two fellow judges.
A flash of movement in the rear of the courtroom caught his eye, and his heart contracted painfully. But it was just a couple taking their seats. He tried to see the man’s face, but the head was bent down and away. Now the defense attorney was listing excuses for his client. Von Osteen tried to focus his attention on what the man was saying. He concentrated. Suddenly there was a commotion in the rear of the courtroom. By a great effort of will von Osteen kept himself from standing up. He saw a woman in white and one of the bailiffs half carry a slumping man out through the doorway. It was not an uncommon occurrence in these courtrooms where people were subjected to such cruel stress.
The incident disturbed him. With a crook of his finger he summoned one of the clerks to the bench and whispered instructions. When the clerk returned and told him that a friend of the nurse employed by the court had fainted and had been taken to the emergency room, von Osteen sighed with released tension. And yet there was something strange about such a thing happening at just this time.
When the court recessed for lunch, von Osteen decided to go down to the emergency room and inquire after the man’s condition. He could have sent a clerk, but he wanted to see for himself.
The nurse was a very pretty girl and fine-mannered. He noted with approval that she was far superior to the usual type employed in such government positions. She motioned to a screen around one of the hospital beds and told him that the man was recovering; it had been a mild fainting spell, nothing serious. Von Osteen stared at the screen. He was almost overcome by the urge to walk behind that screen and look into the man’s face, to resolve all his fears. But such an act would be extraordinary, and besides, the nurse was in his way. She would have to move aside. He said a few words to her with mechanical politeness and left the room. For the first time since he had become a judge in