“You two had a falling out?”
“Who told you that?”
“Several people.”
Again, Schulz looked outside. After a moment, he nodded. “It was his young female chef he was sleeping with.”
Gage didn’t reply, but made a mental note to speak to Ursula about Schulz.
“It’s true, my business relationship with Karl ended badly, years ago.”
“Why, sir? Why did it end badly?”
“It’s none of your business. And you’re not worth my time.”
“Pardon me?”
“You heard me.” Schulz abruptly stood, leaning down and speaking very close to Gage’s ear. “Herr Hartline, I could have killed Karl Vogel ten thousand times since I last spoke to him. So, why would I wait years to do it, when he was already so close to dying?”
The German walked briskly to the stairs. Gage turned, watching as the bodyguard wagged Gage’s phone and placed it on the table. He held Schulz’s rain jacket for him and handed him his hat. The two men descended and exited into the gray and rainy plaza.
Gage watched them go, feeling something welling up inside himself.
What the hell was that?
Despite Schulz’s calm, he had emitted tremendous energy and controlled rage, especially when he felt he’d been accused.
There’s more to be learned here.
Trying to zone out the pain in his leg, Gage negotiated the stairs as quickly as he could manage. He exited into the stiff rain and yelled Rainer Schulz’s name. Though they were 50 meters ahead, the two men stopped. When Gage hurried toward them, the bodyguard moved to meet Gage but was halted by Schulz.
The bodyguard moved back beside his charge and stood at a ready posture.
“What do you want?” Schulz asked, rain cascading from his hat.
“Two more questions, sir.” Gage caught his breath and attempted to stand straight, despite his leg. “Please.”
Schulz stared.
“Tell me why you had a falling out with Karl Vogel.”
“Money.”
“Thank you. May I ask what sort of venture you two were in together?”
“No.” Schulz began to walk.
“Wait, sir, please…one more thing.”
Schulz turned, clearly out of patience.
Gage rushed his question. “I know you said Karl Vogel had a number of enemies, but I wonder if you have any idea which of them might have wanted him dead?”
Schulz jammed his hands deep into the pockets of his raincoat.
“Please, sir. Just point me in a direction.”
The German looked away for a moment before taking a step closer to Gage.
“Perhaps you’d do well to stop looking for someone who was settling a score with the man.”
“What do you mean?”
“Find the person who had the most to gain from Vogel’s death. Who is benefitting now?” Schulz looked at his bodyguard and hitched his head. “We’re done here.”
The bodyguard motioned Gage away. Showing his palms, Gage took a few steps back.
Out on the street, a large Mercedes appeared as if from nowhere. The bodyguard helped his boss into the rear before hurrying around to the passenger side and entering the front. The Mercedes eased into the heavy afternoon traffic before fading into the heavy afternoon rain.
Gage turned and walked to the underground station, burning Rainer Schulz’s words into his mind.
Who is benefitting now? Who?…
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Gage awaited his train in the cavernous Berlin Hauptbahnhof. He had nearly a half-hour remaining before his departure, so he purchased a simple meal, eating as he replayed the Schulz meeting in his mind. Gage’s phone buzzed—a French telephone number. He answered.
It was Marcel.
Marcel had big news.
Gage listened, his eyes widening as Marcel spoke.
Il Magnifico was dead.
When Gage didn’t respond, Marcel explained all he knew. The Italian drug baron had been discovered this morning, floating in the Mediterranean, a kilometer from his yacht.
The Gendarmerie Maritime had preliminarily listed his cause of death as drowning as a probable result of intoxication. None of Il Magnifico’s crew had seen or heard a thing from their employer after midnight. There were no indications of foul play. From what Marcel had learned, the investigators had found the remains of a smoked cigar as well as an empty Baccarat decanter of Remy Martin Louis Xiii cognac.
“Do you believe he drowned on his own?” Gage asked.
“No.”
“What do you think happened?”
Marcel didn’t respond for several seconds. “My first guess is someone boarded the yacht and killed him, somehow making it look like a drowning. However, I don’t think that’s possible without alerting the crew. That brings me to what I believe is more likely.”
“Yes?”
“One, or more, of his own men killed him. It’s always a don’s greatest fear.”
“Are you aware of any infighting in his organization?” Gage asked.
“No, but I wouldn’t know.”
Gage pushed his food away. “I find the timing of my visit and his death rather coincidental.”
“Agreed.”
Gage told Marcel about what happened at the Frankfurt Airport. Marcel was silent for a moment before he spoke. “This is rather unnerving.”
“Tell me about it,” Gage said. Then something occurred to him. “His men wouldn’t think I had anything to do with his death, would they?”
“Well, you did just meet with him.”
“Marcel, I need you to intervene. I had nothing to do with it. I would think the BMW trying to run me down bolsters my case.”
“I’ll make some calls.”
“The polizei can corroborate.”
Next, Gage told Marcel about Rainer Schulz, and his advice that Gage learn who had the most to gain by Vogel’s death.
“And now Vogel is out of the way, along with Il Magnifico,” Marcel said. “Your man Schulz very well might be correct, but it certainly seems he may be the one who can benefit.”
“But from what I’ve learned, Vogel and Schulz haven’t done business together in
