The Day After Tomorrow_ A Novel - Allan Folsom [289]
“Remmer—” Osborn remembered asking carefully as memories of the last night on the Jungfrau came back. “Do you know where she called the Swiss police from? Which station. Kleine Scheidegg or Jungfraujoch?”
Remmer turned from the wheel to look at him. “You’re talking about Vera Monneray.”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t she who called the Swiss police.”
“What do you mean?” Osborn was startled.
“The call was made by another American. A woman. She was a tourist. . . . Connie something, I think. . . .”
Connie?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re saying Vera knew where I was out there? That she told them where to find me?”
“The dogs found you,” Remmer wrinkled his brow. “Why would you think it was Ms. Monneray?”
“She was at Jungfraujoch station when they brought me in . . . ,” Osborn said, uncertainly.
“So were a number of other people.”
Osborn looked off. Dogs. All right, let it go at that. Let his image of Vera standing on the trail just after Von Holden fell, an enormous bloody icicle in her hands, remain only that, an illusion. Part of his hallucinatory dreams. Nothing else.
“You’re really asking if she’s innocent. You want to believe she is, but you’re still not sure.”
Osborn looked back. “I am sure.”
“Well, you’re right. We found the printing equipment used to make Von Holden’s false BKA I.D. It was in the apartment of the mole the Organization had working as a supervisor in the jail, the one who released her in Von Holden’s custody. She did believe he was taking her to you. He knew too much for her to expect otherwise until just before the end.”
Osborn didn’t need the confirmation. If he hadn’t believed it on the mountain, he certainly had by the time Vera left Berlin for Paris.
“What about Joanna Marsh?” he asked. “Did she give any indication why Salettl sent us after her?”
Remmer was silent for a long moment, then shook his head. “Maybe one day we will find out, yes?” There was something about Remmer’s manner that suggested he knew more than he was telling. And he had to remember that no matter how much they’d been through together, Remmer was still police. Look what they had done to Vera even when they knew, probably within a few hours, maybe even right away, that she’d had nothing to do with the Organization and that she was not Avril Rocard. It was a frightening power to have because it was so easy to misuse.
“What about McVey?” Osborn said.
“I told you. He escorted Ms. Marsh back home.”
“He sent me my passport.”
“You couldn’t leave Germany without it.” Remmer smiled.
“He never talked to me. Even when he came to the hospital in Grindelwald, he never said a word.”
‘Bern.”
“What?”
‘You were brought to the hospital in Bern.”
Osborn’ expression went blank. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. We were with the Bern police when the call came in they’d found you up on the mountain.”
“You were in Bern? How—?”
“McVey had your track.” Remmer smiled. “You bought a Eurail pass in Bern. You paid for it with a credit card. McVey had an eye on all your accounts, just in case. When you used it it told him where you were and what time you’d been there.”
Osborn was astonished. “That can’t be legal.”
“You took his gun, his personal papers, his badge.” Remmer hardened. “You were not authorized to impersonate a police officer.”
“Where would Von Holden be now if I didn’t?” Osborn pushed back. Remmer said nothing. “What happens now?”
“It’s not for me to say. It’s not my case. It’s McVey’s.”
157
* * *
“IT’S NOT my case. It’s McVey’s.” A day hadn’t passed that Remmer’s words didn’t ring in Osborn’s ears. What was the penalty for doing what he had done? Not only had he taken a police officer’s gun and identification, he’d used them to cross an international border. He could be ried in L.A. and then extradited to Germany or Switzerland to face charges there. Maybe even France if Interpol wanted to get involved. Or maybe, God forbid, those would be secondary