What followed was a long, lonely, depressing night.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Friday was equally depressing. A cold, steady rain fell for the duration of the day. After lifting weights in the basement, Gage attempted a short run. The distance from the manor house to the front gate, via the main driveway, was a tick under a kilometer. Gage planned to jog down and back two times for a total of approximately 3.6 kilometers. He managed the short run, but the injury in his buttocks and leg flared up near the end and now left him with another limp. Like he’d done with a lifetime of injuries, he’d rushed things and probably extended his healing time.
Que sera sera…
The remainder of the day was spent working on the case. Yesterday, when he’d first learned about the mutilation of Karl Vogel, things had come clear to Gage—the murderer was almost certainly someone Karl Vogel had sexually abused. And the only two people with easy access to Karl Vogel, who had both been sexually abused, were Katja and Ina. Perhaps Claudia had been correct all along.
But Katja’s denial seemed so damned genuine. Plus, she’d been convincing when she said Ina couldn’t have done it, either.
Focus, Gage. Think beyond relationships and how you read people. Be clinical…
Are you so easily swayed because you slept with her? Is she playing you? Don’t forget how spiteful she was when you first arrived. Why did she warm up so quickly? Was it because she knew you were getting close to the truth? And is her current demeanor all an act to keep her inheritance and stay out of prison?
Then, as Gage made furious notes about his investigation, he recalled the drainage pipe on the north side of the estate. That potentially opened up the list of suspects to a wide array of people. And according to Thomas the caretaker, Karl Vogel had slept with a slew of women during his time.
Could the same be true for the people he molested?
Gage reminded himself not to be completely thrown off by the severed penis. It could’ve been done as a smokescreen to obscure the real killer.
Or could it?
If one of Karl’s business associates, such as Rainer Schulz, knew Karl possessed a demented sexual nature, that person could have orchestrated the killing in such a way as to make it appear to be revenge for abuse.
Gage had to allow this as a possibility.
And what of Il Magnifico, and his untimely drowning?
There were more questions than answers.
So, in essence, Gage was still at square one.
Over the course of the dreary day, Gage looked out the window at Katja’s house no less than ten times. The tension was palpable, even across the courtyard. In the early evening, he saw the lights in her dance studio, along with the movement of shadows. He never once saw her. After eating a simple dinner, Gage heard the sounds of a car. He peered out the window in time to see Katja driving away in her distinctive ghost-silver AMG Mercedes at a quarter to eight.
She did not turn her head in Gage’s direction.
Frustrated, Gage performed another ice bath. He knew, by this stage of his injury, that heat would be better. He didn’t care. He wanted to torture himself with the ice.
Afterward, Gage showered and donned some old jeans, boots and a dark gray sweatshirt. Wearing his black leather jacket, he headed out around 9:15 P.M. The rain had slowed to mist, adding a bit of intrigue to the evening. Gage asked Heinrich at the gate if he knew where Katja had gone. Heinrich said he didn’t know, but she did tell him she should be back in two or three hours. With a nod and a wave, Gage made his way to Autobahn 5 and drove south to Frankfurt.
He was not excited about his “date.”
* * *
The Nachtleben is a Frankfurt nightclub specializing in dance and live music. It’s not far from the center of the city, just south of the sprawling Konstablerwache plaza. Gage struggled to find a parking spot, eventually paying 10 euros to park in a parking deck behind the Westin Hotel. Visions of being struck by the speeding BMW flashed through his mind as he crossed the top deck—safely, thankfully.
Gage walked through the rectangular Konstablerwache, picking up on the familiar smell of roasting bratwursts and fresh bread. In his frustration, he’d picked at his dinner and now regretted not eating. He was famished. Rather than focus on his hunger, he eyed the dormant plane trees planted in a grid pattern that surrounded the broad plaza. Gage halted, looking back at the Zeil, Frankfurt’s premier shopping promenade that led to another primary inner-city plaza, Hauptwache.
Monika…
A memory of his lovely Monika came to him…a light snow falling…shopping bags in her hands…laughter…anticipation…warmth…
Gage violently shook his head and resumed his pace.
“It’s over, dammit,” he whispered to himself. “You’ve more than moved on. Focus on what you’re doing.”
But what are you doing? Meeting an aggressive woman because she gave you a few shards of useless information?
“Shut up and get it over with.”
Still…picture Monika for just a moment…indulge yourself in her memory, in her warmth.
No. She’d tell me such thoughts are a sign of weakness. She’d tell me to get on with things now.
With a tight smile, Gage uttered his thanks to his dead girlfriend.
He approached Nachtleben, queuing for a few minutes with a dozen revelers, nearly all of them furiously smoking before they entered the smoke-free club. Thankfully, they weren’t teenagers. In fact, several were older than Gage. Many of them wore what Gage would describe as “rocker attire.” Coming from inside the club, he could
