Despite the hotel’s presidential charm, Gage felt springs of sweat emerging on his body due to his nervousness. He turned his eyes back to Katja, watching her still twirling her black American Express credit card. This time she winked.
What have I gotten myself into?
Needing a distraction, Gage phoned Thomas and asked if he could keep Sheriff again tonight.
“Certainly,” Thomas said. “You’re with Katja?”
Gage winced, knowing the caretaker had probably seen them leave together. “Yes. Just taking care of some estate business that might run late.”
“Sure, I’ll get him,” Thomas replied. “And be careful.”
Realizing Thomas’ glib warning probably had more than one meaning, Gage politely hung up before returning Doctor Kudlak’s call. The American doctor picked up on the first ring.
“Doctor Kudlak, this is Gage. I’m sorry I couldn’t answer before.”
“No prob. Now it’s me who’s in a hurry. Here’s the deal: I cracked a few skulls and got the full battery of blood tests back.”
“Anything?”
“Yeah, a couple of things, actually. First, I concur with your pathologist there. The level of potassium chloride in the man’s blood was far too high to have occurred naturally.”
“Meaning, Karl Vogel was murdered?”
“I can’t draw that conclusion for you. He definitely had a fatal level in his blood, and I see no possible way he could have produced such a high level on his own. Good enough?”
“Yes,” Gage breathed. “That tells me everything I needed to know. Thanks for—”
“Wait. There’s more.”
“More?”
“You ever hear of catecholamines?”
“Cata-what?”
“Exactly. They’re hormones that occur naturally in your body, produced by your brain, adrenal glands, nerve tissue…that type of thing. You with me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Long story short, catecholamines are associated with adrenaline, high heart rate, that type of thing. Your body produces those hormones in fight-or-flight moments. I had an exhaustive spectrum run on this blood, and the results showed abnormally high catecholamines. Really high.”
“Do you think they were high because he was given the lethal injection?”
“Maybe,” Doctor Kudlak replied. “But probably not.”
“Why do you say that?” Gage asked.
“Did you see the cadaver?”
“No, he was cremated, rather quickly.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.” Doctor Kudlak rhythmically clucked his tongue afterward, as if he were in deep thought.
“Why were you afraid of the body being already cremated?”
“The reason I didn’t call you last night is because I consulted with a forensic pathologist here and let her read the blood tests. I didn’t say anything ahead of time—just gave her the results. She picked up on the catecholamines and suggested a grave wound of some sort.”
“In addition to the potassium?”
“Yes. She said the level of catecholamines was indicative of what you might find in a person who’d suffered a nonfatal wound, or a wound that might cause an agonizing death, like a bad open fracture. Make sense?”
“So, excruciating pain?”
“Absolutely. Pain. Fear. That type of thing.” Doctor Kudlak paused for a moment. “Just something for you to consider.”
“Are those hormones produced quickly?”
“Depends what you define as quickly. To build up those levels might take a minute or two.”
“So, you’re suggesting he might have been wounded first, then given the fatal injection?”
“Again, not my specialty, but that seems plausible to me.”
Gage frowned, pondering this new development. “Thanks, doc. How much did the blood test cost?”
“No money. I’ll take a favor, instead.”
“You’ve got to let me pay you.”
“I’d rather have the favor.”
“Name it.”
“I’ll bank it. I’m sure there’ll come a time when I need you.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m very serious. Don’t forget, I am from the panhandle of West Virginia.”
Gage laughed. “Okay…will you do me a favor and text me the basics of what we talked about?”
“Done. After this next procedure. Gotta go.”
When they hung up, Gage turned to find Katja Vogel clutching her small handbag with both hands, tapping her high black heel on the shiny floor.
“Keeping me waiting?” she asked.
“Sorry.”
She held out her hand. When Gage accepted it, Katja led him along through the hotel.
To the restaurant.
* * *
Once seated, Katja took charge with the server and ordered a bottle of Pellegrino for the table along with a glass of Altesino Brunello for herself. She then studied her menu quietly. Gage was still rather unnerved by this entire affair but attempted to focus on what he might eat. Several minutes passed. Another server brought fresh bread and a plate of olive oil and spice.
Katja remained quiet, her eyes gliding over the menu.
The server reappeared with their drinks and Katja told him they would go ahead and order. She ordered the turbot dish, asking it to be grilled and unseasoned. Now, on the spot, Gage hurriedly ordered the spaghetti with seafood—a sampler dish. The server politely asked if Katja would prefer a glass of wine that “might pair more smoothly” with her grilled turbot.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. The server took his leave.
“So, Gage Hartline, how is your leg?” Katja asked, settling back into her chair.
“Better. Still hurts, but better.”
“Have you been stretching?”
“Trying.”
“Come to my studio and use the barre. I have some stretches you might try.”
“Perhaps I’ll do that.”
“Any idea who tried to run you down?”
“Idea? Yeah, I have a few ideas.”
“Who?”
“I shouldn’t get into specifics.”
Katja sipped her wine. “Maybe I should be worried.”
“Worried about what?”
“Perhaps you think it was me?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps I should be concerned being in your presence,” she looked over both shoulders, her actions playful. “If someone wants you dead, they could take you out at any time. They might even kill me in the process.”
Gage tore a piece of bread from the loaf. “Maybe,” he said, eating the bread without soaking it in the oil.
“Tell me
