The trial was wrapping up, so the curious were here to find out the verdict. Luckily it was less full than the Kürten trial I’d recently covered in Düsseldorf. For that one, people overflowed into the halls outside.
I put the box on my lap and automatically got my sketchbook ready, paging through sketches of the suspected rapist I’d drawn at the beginning of the trial. Round and fat like a ball, he seemed more pathetic than sinister, but I’d tried to find a menacing angle for him. He looked like a self indulgent old shopkeeper. Nothing worth running at the paper. I wiped sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, careful not to smudge charcoal on myself. All the people packed into the courtroom kept it warm and comfortable during the winter, but in summer the heat was oppressive.
I scanned the spectators, looking for Boris and his daughter Trudi. I had met them at the courthouse last Friday, when my life still traveled on familiar tracks. The next day, Boris and I had gone out on a date. He’d given me a small but electrifying kiss after delivering me to my doorstep. Hard to believe that kiss had been only two days ago. It seemed like part of a different lifetime now.
As if he sensed my gaze, Boris turned to look at me. His eyes narrowed, and he shot me a look of such venom that I rocked back in my seat. It was the same furious expression he’d had when the rapist was brought into the courtroom Friday.
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