“Someone cut it.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know,” Gage said.
Thomas was quiet for a moment. “May I be frank?”
“I hope you will.”
“I find it a bit peculiar—more than a bit peculiar—that Frau Vogel hired you, and spent all that money on a security system, if she didn’t think a crime had already occurred.”
Gage was silent.
“What happened?” Thomas asked.
“I can’t say.”
“Was something stolen?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Does she think something happened to Herr Vogel that caused him to die?”
“Do you?”
“Until now, I didn’t. But this has my mind spinning in all directions.”
“We’ll talk later, Thomas. Thanks for your help.” Gage hung up the phone.
Despite the short amount of time he’d been at the north fence, the Mercedes was covered in snow, even on the warm hood. Taking his time, Gage drove back to the main entrance, estimating that there were now four or five inches of accumulation on the ground—and now it was beginning to stick to the roads, too. The Mercedes displayed an outside temperature of minus 2 degrees Celsius.
But Gage didn’t really care about the snow or temperature—his mind was awash in who might have cut the rebar grates on that pipe. Whoever had done it would have been able to access the estate without detection.
Could that person have crossed the estate, gotten inside the manor and killed Karl Vogel? Because, at the time of his murder, the manor house didn’t have the elaborate security system. Or, was Gage’s discovery of the cut grate much less nefarious? Perhaps someone had wanted estate access for some other reason?
Regardless, Gage now had concrete evidence that someone could have gotten onto the estate without anyone’s knowledge. This, combined with the autopsy results—assuming the results indicated such—lent more credence to Claudia’s theory that her husband had been murdered.
But, in Gage’s mind, it also detracted from her theory that one of her daughters was overcome by a patricidal impulse.
* * *
Once he’d changed into dry clothes, Gage checked on Claudia. She was napping. He took Sheriff outside to do his business before both of them went to the kitchen. Before eating, Gage phoned Colonel Hunter and told him the latest news.
“So, knowing all this, it’s now confirmed that someone could have accessed the estate.”
“So?” Hunter asked.
“Why’d you fire back that quickly?”
“Didn’t you tell me it’s a huge estate?”
“Yes.”
“You know how difficult it is to safeguard large places, especially with a limited guard force. If someone wants in, they’re getting in. Right?”
“I guess.”
“Ain’t no guessing about it. What I’m getting at is you’ve proven nothing. Fine, someone could have gotten in. You still don’t know for sure the man was murdered, right?”
“I believe Claudia.”
“Good. I’d hope you believe your employer. But I’d start there.”
“Where?”
“Have you seen the autopsy results?”
“No,” Gage admitted.
“I’d want to see them. And, if I was investigating—which I wouldn’t be, by the way—then I’d want to see the body.”
“He was cremated.”
“See, that alone throws doubt into my mind. When you’ve got a body that expired due to murder, and no other evidence, you sure as hell don’t cremate it.”
Gage rubbed his eyes. “I know, but she didn’t hire me to solve the murder.”
“Then why are you?”
“I told you all this. She cut her daughters out of her will.”
“Family stuff, son. I’d stay way the hell outta that,” Hunter warned.
“Then what do you suggest I do?”
“Protect her. Draw your paycheck. Enjoy your time there.”
“I’m not sure I can do just that.”
“Well, if you’re dead set, then I’d look into that autopsy. And if you don’t have the old man’s body, maybe you can dig into the old man a bit more.”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you say one of the workers told you he was a two-timer and dishonest?”
“Essentially, yes.”
“Then I’d try to determine exactly what, and who, he was involved with. What about that article?”
“The smear piece?”
“Yeah…the smear piece, from when he died. Start there.”
After the phone call, Gage reread the Die Wahrheit article, in translated English as well as in German. The article repeatedly focused on Vogel’s rumored affiliation with organized crime, in Europe and beyond. Gage fired off a quick email to the reporter and closed his iPad.
He fed Sheriff and prepared Claudia’s meal, his mind overflowing the entire time with the mystery of Herr Karl Vogel and the circumstances around his alleged murder.
* * *
As he did on most evenings, Gage spent a bit of time with Claudia before she went to sleep. Tonight she’d gotten out of bed and sat in the recliner in the sitting area of her bedroom. Gage sat on the sofa. Sheriff lay on the floor between them. Together, they watched a Netflix series in English. This particular series, Narcos, centered around Pablo Escobar’s murderous reign in Colombia. It was especially gruesome, often graphic, but quite enjoyable. In his nearly six weeks of employment, Gage had learned that very little fazed Claudia Vogel.
“He was a butcher,” she said as the episode’s credits ran. “Killing all those innocents just to further his cause.”
“No argument from me,” Gage replied. “I was still in school when most of this stuff went down. I remember hearing about it, but I didn’t pay all that much attention back then.”
“I read an article about the series. The writers did their best to recreate the truth,” Claudia mentioned.
Gage waited until the tech-savvy Claudia stopped the show on her phone app. This was it—his moment.
“How are you feeling tonight, Claudia?”
“Not bad, actually,” she said, sipping her lemon water. “I slept longer than normal today—I think it boosted me a bit. My strength fades so quickly now, especially if I don’t get enough sleep.”
“But you’re not
