Michael Boden, along with his security man, Stephan, sat alone in two chairs at the foot of the coffin. Stephan stared straight ahead while Boden, reading glasses perched low on his nose, studied the order of service that had been handed out at the funeral. On the back, it had included the obituary with a perfunctory biography. Gage turned his gaze to Katja—it seemed she was doing everything in her power not to look Boden’s way.
Next to Katja was Ina, wearing a tasteful black dress. It was the first time Gage had ever seen her not wearing athletic attire. Ina was the only mourner not wearing a coat of some sort—probably hoping to demonstrate that she was too tough for the cold. She stared at the coffin, emotionless. The cousins and nieces and nephews all seemed stoic, a few of them checking their watches, no doubt hoping the minister would speed things along.
Gage stood opposite the family, behind a row of non-family mourners. He surveyed the assemblage and witnessed no tears from anyone other than the person standing next to him: Thomas, the caretaker. Though Thomas didn’t openly cry, his eyes glistened several times during the minister’s brief eulogy. He was the only estate worker who’d been invited to the graveside service.
Despite his discomfort over attending a funeral, Gage did his best to listen to the minister’s spoken words about Claudia. The man had obviously known Claudia, and didn’t mince words as he spoke about her peculiar ways.
Gage dipped his head, clasping his hands in front of him, viewing his foreign clothing. Yesterday, while he’d traveled to Berlin, Katja had somehow managed to produce a dark gray suit for him, along with black split toe shoes. The suit fit remarkably well, but the shoes were a half size too small.
At least the pain in my feet makes me forget how much my ass and leg still hurt.
Above the cemetery, dark clouds threatened rain. The temperature was a few degrees above freezing, and a wet snow was forecast for the evening. Several drops of rain eventually fell. The minister began wrapping things up. Following a lengthy prayer, the service ended. Gage lingered, not knowing the German custom. He was surprised when the mourners simply walked away. There was no throwing the ceremonial first handfuls of dirt onto the coffin, and no viewing of the coffin as it was lowered.
The ending seemed abrupt and chilly. Apropos for the Vogels.
As the minister spoke to the ladies from the public relations firm, and as the mourners made their way back to their automobiles, Gage walked to the coffin and placed his hand near the head on the shiny, cold aluminum.
“I’m trying, Claudia,” he whispered. “I’m no closer than I was before, but I’m trying.”
He shut his eyes for a moment before walking away. As Gage neared the line of cars, he watched as Michael Boden and his driver stopped by the family limousine. The Ministerpräsident tapped on the window, which barely opened for just a moment. When the window slid shut, Boden straightened and opened his hands in a questioning manner. The limousine stayed there, idling, breaths of white vapor trailing from the exhaust. After tilting his face to the sky, Boden walked away.
“They didn’t want to talk?” Gage asked.
Upon seeing Gage, Stephan handed Boden the large umbrella and, in his modified manner of speaking, told the Ministerpräsident he’d bring the car up. As he walked past, the former KSK commando eyed Gage somewhat malevolently. Not noticing the glare from his subordinate, Boden offered Gage a spot under the umbrella, which Gage declined. It wasn’t raining all that hard.
“I don’t think Katja cares for me all that much,” Boden said, twisting his lips. “Ina, neither, for that matter.”
“Katja told me you two were involved at one point.”
The Ministerpräsident cut his eyes away briefly. “We were, but it wasn’t a good time for me. My wife and I separated for nearly two years. Toward the end, I began seeing Katja and then decided to go back to my wife.” It looked as if Boden might go on, but he halted.
Some things were obviously better left unsaid.
“So, how was Rainer Schulz?” Boden asked.
“Intense.”
The Ministerpräsident chuckled. “I assume you read up on him beforehand?”
“I did.”
“He wears a great deal of armor due to all the persecution.”
“Do you think he’s dirty?”
“I do, but not nearly as dirty as he’s been made out to be.” Boden eyed Gage. “He’s not the type to have people killed, and what not. He’s board-room-dirty. Make sense?”
“Yes, it does.” Gage clasped his hands behind his back. “On another subject, would you mind giving me the name and address of the pathologist who did Herr Vogel’s autopsy?”
“Not at all. May I ask why?”
“I’d just like to meet with him or her and—”
“Him.”
“Him…and see if there was anything else that I might not know.”
“Keep in mind, I leaned on him pretty hard about not talking to anyone.”
“Right. Maybe you could let him know it’s okay to speak to me?”
“I can do that. His name and address are at the chancellery. I’m heading back there now. I’ll send the information and give him a ring before the end of the
