“And be completely open about why?”
“No,” Marcel answered, inclining his head. “I’d simply inform him that Karl Vogel has passed away. I’d tell him that you’re helping settle the Vogel estate and ask if there was any business outstanding. He’ll understand.”
“Would your friend be able to put me in touch with him?”
“No. He’s in hiding from Il Magnifico, among others,” Marcel replied. “But I can make a few calls. Are you available to travel soon?”
“It can be arranged.”
“Bien. I’ll go to work on this for you.”
“Thank you, Marcel.” Gage flattened his palms on the table. “But I do have a question.”
“Please.”
“Would your source be lying about this, since he’s in hiding from Il Magnifico?”
Marcel seemed satisfied with the question. “When I called him, I didn’t use Karl Vogel’s name. I spoke of a German businessman who’d recently passed and Vogel’s name was instantly offered up.”
Gage sat back. “That certainly says something.”
“I trust my source. He had much to gain by helping me.” Marcel leaned forward and gave Gage’s shoulder a tight squeeze. “We must spend more time together while you are so close by. I think you’ll be happy at the direction of my organization.”
“Oh?” Gage asked. “Are you legitimizing your businesses?”
“Slowly, Gage…slowly. It’s not something that can be done overnight, I assure you. But there are no more Nickys…no more Brunos…no more savage killings.”
“Good for you, Marcel. Is that why you don’t deal with this Il Magnifico?”
“Oh, no,” Marcel said. “In fact, his line of work is exactly the type of business we’re trending toward. Gray business.”
“Dealing drugs is gray?” Gage asked with a curled lip.
Marcel frowned before his face brightened. “Oh…”
“What is it?” Gage asked.
“I believe we’re speaking of two different things.” Marcel leaned forward, chuckling. “Il Magnifico doesn’t deal in heroin and cocaine. He sells legitimate, packaged prescription drugs via the Internet. His is a pharmaceutical business.”
Gage leaned back as the realization hit him. “That’s why Vogel sourced out of Germany.”
“And Switzerland, and France, and the Netherlands,” Marcel answered. “In places like your home country, one can go to the pharmacy and pay thirty dollars for a pill. Or, they can log onto their computer and buy the exact same pill, emanating from the Ukraine or Poland or Uzbekistan, for fifty cents.”
“How does Il Magnifico get away with that?”
“Oh, he gets away with it. Do some Google searches. You can find everything from pills for erectile dysfunction to chemotherapy via these shady websites. The items are sealed and exactly what you’d buy at a pharmacy. As I said, we’ve dabbled in it, and found it easy to obtain expired medicine. Someday, we will figure out the sales end.”
Gage nodded his understanding, pondering the things he would need to learn—such as whether or not this Il Magnifico could have profited with Vogel out of the way.
Before he departed, Gage had one more query. “The lady I’m working for, Vogel’s wife, had a lover—he was a French businessman. She ended it long ago. She said he was murdered years later.”
Marcel stared.
“She said he was killed by Nicky Arnaud, in Paris.”
“Do you recall his name?”
“Yves. He was in real estate and discovered money being laundered through his business.”
Closing his eyes, Marcel nodded. “I remember it well. That was a contract killing, and Nicky handled it personally.”
“A contract killing originating with whom?” Gage asked.
“A German.”
The two men eyed each other for a moment as they grasped what had happened. Such realizations stack up as a person grows older and more jaded. It’s such world-weariness that forces people to stop believing in coincidences. It’s a realization of corruption running rampant through the world—a disease cast upon mankind.
“Was there anything more to it?” Gage asked.
Marcel shrugged. “I don’t think so. Just a man who wanted another man gone. Happens pretty regularly.”
They navigated the last few bits of conversation to friendlier pastures. Laughter was enjoyed as Marcel had a final cigarette.
Gage Hartline considered Marcel more than just an associate—he was now a friend.
Following a dusky half-hour walk around blustery Metz, Gage settled in for the long drive back to Friedberg. Although he still had more questions than answers, he felt today had been a rousing success, especially after making the Karl Vogel-pharmaceutical connection.
As Gage hurtled northeast on the autobahn, he recalled the names of numerous German-based global pharmaceutical companies from rote memory. There certainly was no shortage. Vogel must have made a fortune.
Most important was how he would introduce this scandalous news to Claudia. In Gage’s estimation, this was the proof he needed to convince her that her daughters weren’t the prime suspects in their father’s murder. Plenty of other people might have had a reason to see Karl Vogel dead.
The kilometers ticked away as Gage rehearsed what he would say.
* * *
An hour outside of Metz, Gage received a phone call from the executive editor of Die Warheit. She formally stated that she was calling due to his interest in the article on Karl Vogel.
“I’d like to speak to the writer, if I may,” Gage replied politely.
“May I ask why?”
“Yes. I’m working for Karl Vogel’s widow and attempting to learn more about her deceased husband.”
“Well, honestly, Herr Hartline, I’m afraid to comment.”
“Pardon?” Gage asked.
“Yes,” the woman said, her voice steely. “If I speak poorly of Karl Vogel, I might end up dead.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The journalist who wrote the article…the one you emailed…he’s dead.”
“How?”
“Suicide, according to the authorities.” Pause. “No one who knew him believes he killed himself.”
“When did he die?”
“Eight days after the article ran.”
“How?”
“Pills and alcohol. Eight days,” she repeated.
“Was there a note?”
“An email.”
The only sound for the next few
