“If you went to see someone in Nice,” Winter said, “they might have orchestrated the attack on you.”
“Attack?” Gage asked. “I thought it was just an accident and the driver panicked.”
“Yeah, right,” Bräden snapped. “That’s why you got a pistol from your car.”
“You said that, not me,” Gage replied, sipping his coffee.
“You don’t have a concussion,” Bräden hissed.
Winter gently touched her partner’s arm, then queried Gage in a calming voice. “Why are you here in Germany on a work visa?”
“I don’t have a visa, yet,” Gage replied.
“You will this week, maybe,” she answered. “When we called the consulate, we were told it was approved yesterday.”
“Thanks for letting me know. I’m here working for the Vogel family.”
“Doing what?” Bräden asked.
“A number of things for the estate of the two parents who recently passed.”
“Your visa is for a security position,” Bräden replied, still unable to control her pissed-off tone.
Gage nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell us that?”
“It’s not the only work I’m doing.”
“What else?” Winter asked.
Gage gestured around the house. “I do maintenance, odd jobs, all sorts of things.”
“They brought you here to do odd jobs?” Winter asked. “C’mon Herr Hartline.”
“It’s true.”
“What’s your job in the U.S.?” Bräden asked.
“I’m a contractor. I wasn’t working when I was contacted by the Vogels about this job. The timing was excellent.”
Winter put down her pen. “You’re ex-military?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Did you tell anyone you were traveling to Nice?” Bräden asked, ignoring his question.
“Other than the airline, no, not that I recall.”
“What about the person you were going to see?” she persisted.
“I went down for some sun and a day of relaxation.”
The two detectives slumped. “May we look inside the Audi?” Winter asked.
“Of course.”
Their search bore no fruit. And no pistols. The only mildly humorous benefit of the search was Gage Hartline limping around the car, babbling and acting concussed.
Five minutes later, after more dead end questions, the two exasperated polizei detectives drove away from the Vogel estate. They didn’t charge Gage with a crime. They didn’t take him in for questioning. And though he desperately wanted more sleep, it evaded him.
Someone had tried to kill him tonight. Someone…
But who?
* * *
The subsequent hours were miserable. By sunrise, the back of Gage’s leg was purple, ringed by blue and green. The pooled blood made it extremely painful to walk. He did some research on such injuries, learning that he should wait 72 hours before using a roller or hard object to break up the bruise and disperse the blood. In the near term, his best medicine was rest, light stretching, ibuprofen and ice.
One of the many fine features of the manor was an industrial strength icemaker. At 8 A.M., just after Thomas brought Sheriff home, Gage turned up the heat in the manor. Then he loaded the kitchen cart with ice and wheeled it to the nearest bathtub, filling it halfway with cold water. He dumped the cartload of ice into the bath and climbed in. The icy cold water took his breath but he forced himself to settle in, calling himself several unflattering names in the process. Within a minute of sitting in the frigid water, his body from the stomach down was blissfully numb.
Gage leaned back in the tub as he started the timer on his Timex Expedition. If he could withstand 15 minutes, he’d repeat the process this evening before bed—which would happen to be very early since he hadn’t slept last night save for the brief nap before the detectives visited.
He’d only been in the tub for a few minutes when his cellphone rang. He looked at the caller ID: Ina Vogel.
“We need to talk,” Ina said without preamble.
“Fine, go ahead.”
“In person.”
“Okay, when?”
“Now.”
“I can’t talk right now.”
“Why not?”
“I’m in the bathroom.”
“Doing what?”
“I’m in the bathroom.”
“What are you doing?”
“If you must know, I hurt my leg. I’m soaking in an ice bath.”
“You’re on the main floor?”
“Yeah, so?”
“We’re coming in.”
“Wait, don’t do that. I’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”
“Just cover yourself with your towel. I’ll get you another one. We’re on our way.”
“Who’s on your way, and—”
She hung up.
Because Claudia had passed away, Gage had quit locking the doors. Stupidly. By the time he touched ‘LOCK ALL’ on his security app, they were already inside.
Hearing them, Sheriff jumped to his feet.
Gage snatched the thick juniper bath towel from the rack and laid it over the ice. It floated on the surface, providing good cover. Regardless, he was irritated over such an obnoxious interruption. Even though this wasn’t his house, he deserved privacy, especially in moments such as this one.
But there was no privacy on this day. In they came, the two Vogel sisters. Despite their approach speed, Katja appeared sheepish. She gave Gage an “I’m sorry” expression and began petting Sheriff.
The first question was from Ina, decked out in her typical athletic attire. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded.
“Uh, I’m in an ice bath,” Gage answered. “I might ask you the same thing.”
“We didn’t want to wait,” Ina replied.
“Sorry to intrude,” Katja added, “but we heard the polizei were here last night.”
“Correct.”
Ina crossed her arms. “Why?”
“I had an accident in Frankfurt.”
Ina again. “What happened?”
“I got sideswiped by a car. That’s why I’m in the ice bath.” He checked his watch: five more minutes. His lower body was no longer numb. Now it tingled, painfully.
“How did you manage to get hit by a car?” Katja asked.
Gage stared straight ahead. “It was deliberate. Someone tried to run me over.”
“Are you okay?” Katja asked, concerned.
“Just a bruise—a big one—but I’m fine, thank you.”
Ina brusquely changed the subject. “Do you have any
