The Day After Tomorrow_ A Novel - Allan Folsom [185]
Von Holden put out his hand, and the black fur ball struggled up on its feet and licked his fingers. In reaction, Von Holden rubbed its head and tousled its ears, smiling the same warm, loving smile that had melted her heart the first day she’d seen him. In that moment Joanna decided that everything he’d told her was true and that under the circumstances his request was not all that unreasonable.
“I’ll go with you to Berlin,” she said with a sad, shy smile.
Leaning forward, Von Holden brushed his lips against her forehead and thanked her for her understanding.
“Joanna, I must return to Berlin today for last-minute preparations. I apologize, but I have no other choice. You will come tomorrow, with Mr. Lybarger and the others?”
Joanna hesitated, and for a moment he thought she was going to change her mind, then she relented. “I’ll see you there, won’t I?”
“Of course.” Von Holden grinned.
Joanna felt herself smile. And for the first time since she’d seen the video, she relaxed. Roughing the puppy’s ears playfully one more time, Von Holden stood, then took Joanna’s hand and helped her up. As he did, he slid an envelope from his pocket and laid it on the desk beside her.
“A corporate way of helping ease your embarrassment and soothe your wounds. Not very personal I’m afraid, but decidedly useful. See you in Berlin,” he whispered and left.
Joanna stared at the envelope while the puppy whimpered at her feet. Finally, she picked it up and opened it. When she saw what was inside, she gasped. A cashier’s check was made out in her name for five hundred thousand dollars.
93
* * *
REMMER TURNED the Mercedes off Hardenbergstrasse into the underground garage of a glass-and-concrete municipal building at number 15. One of the gray unmarked federal police escort cars followed them in and backed into a space across from theirs. Osborn could see the faces of the detectives as he got out and walked with the others toward the elevators. They were younger than he expected, probably not even thirty. For some reason that surprised him and he flashed on a whole vanguard of people younger than he was coming up behind him as professionals. It didn’t make him feel old as much as it put things out of balance. Policemen had always been older than he was and he was always in the front line of young men coming up, the others were still kids in school. But suddenly they weren’t anymore. Why he thought about it now he didn’t know except that maybe he was trying to keep from thinking about where they were going and what could conceivably happen when they got here.
They’d stayed in the private room in the restaurant for more than two hours eating lunch and drinking coffee and waiting. Then Honig had sent word that criminal court judge Otto Gravenitz would see them in his chambers at three.
On the way over, McVey had counseled him on what to say in his deposition. Merriman’s words immediately before his death were all that were important and Osborn was to give only the bare essentials of what had happened. In other words, he was to make no mention of the hired private detective, Jean Packard. No mention of the syringes. No mention of the drug Osborn had administered. What McVey was doing was finding a way to ease Osborn’s unstated but undoubtedly very real fear of going into a situation where he might be forced to incriminate himself into a charge of attempted murder.
McVey’s gesture was intended to be generous and Osborn was supposed to appreciate it and he did, except that he knew it had a second edge. McVey’s concern wasn’t that Osborn might put himself on the spot, it was that he didn’t want a complication jeopardizing his chance for a murder-for-hire writ against Scholl. That meant the hearing had to be kept simple and pointed at Scholl, both for the judge and for Honig, whose opinion obviously carried a great deal of weight If Osborn went too far with what he said, they’d get into a whole different matter, one that could shift the focus