by Gary Gregor
Adalhard watched her chest rise and fall with every shallow breath as she struggled to fill her lungs with life-giving air. When blood began to bubble from her mouth, gurgling with every laboured exhalation, he knew the end was near. He could have finished it there and then with a merciful shot to the head, taking her quickly from the horror of knowing she was dying. But she had hit him twice and for that she had to suffer for as long as it took for her to die. “You should not have hit me,” he muttered again.
Samantha never heard his last words to her.
25
The Jaeger estate gardener, Hermann Schmidt, discovered the bodies of Gerhard and Heidemarie Jaeger face-down in the large man-made lake at the bottom of the sprawling Jaeger estate, some 500 metres from the back door of the family mansion. The pond, almost an acre in size, was built at the same time as the homestead was constructed and was filled with seasonal blooming water lilies and stocked with Japanese Koi.
At first, long before Adalhard was born, Gerhard and Heidemarie visited the lake regularly and, on top of a slight rise overlooking the lake, they sat on a purpose-built bench and drank ice-cold Badstube Riesling Beerrenauslese, a Bernkastel wine from the prominent Moselle wine producing region in Germany; it was Heidemarie’s favorite white wine, and probably Gerhard’s least favorite.
Gerhard kept at least three bottles chilled and ready to drink at any time from his large and lavish well-stocked wine cellar and tasting room deep beneath the homestead kitchen. At approximately 45 euros per bottle, he thought it was an expensive way to drink something he preferred not to drink but Heidemarie liked it and, as she credited it with the particularly enjoyable and successful consummation of their only child Adalhard, Gerhard was only too happy to repeat the weekly lake-side dalliance as long as his work schedule allowed.
Hermann Schmidt was a part-time employee at the Jaeger estate and had been since the first foundation stone was laid. He came three days a week, was paid for five, and considered it the best job in the world. He could choose which three days he chose to work at the estate and was free for two days a week to work on someone else’s garden and get paid for that as well, or, if he chose, he could take a four-day weekend. He worked hard and it was a job he did not want to lose. He had the grounds looking quite beautiful and he particularly enjoyed working around the lake, especially when the lilies were in full bloom.
He sensed there was something wrong when he arrived at the lake and found a picnic basket, an open bottle of white wine, and a partially filled glass on the bench in front of the lake. Another wine glass lay spilled on the manicured grass at the foot of the bench.
This had never happened before. Hermann knew that Gerhard and Heidemarie visited the lake occasionally because he had, over the years, seen them either sitting close together on the bench or walking arm-in-arm back to their home, carrying a small picnic basket, the exact same picnic basket that now sat on the bench. He always kept a respectful distance from his employers whenever they were by the lake and the Jaegers often smiled and waved as they saw him working in the vicinity.
He approached the lake, then turned and looked back toward the homestead. He could see the imposing building half a kilometre away. There was no one between where he stood and the distant house. On the opposite side of the lake, some 100 feet from the lake’s edge, there was a small thicket of trees marking the western border of the estate. Hermann focused on the copse of trees, looking for any signs that the Jaegers might have decided on an afternoon stroll in the woods. It was difficult from where he stood, but he did not believe there was anyone lingering in the trees. He decided to go about his work and undertook to return the picnic basket and its contents to the house when his workday was finished.
He was about to turn the little, hard-working, twin-seat farm buggy around and make for another part of the estate when something on the lake caught his eye.
Hermann paused, the small farm buggy engine idling gently beneath him as he focused on the flash of colour. As he leaned forward in his seat and stared at the object, he realised it was not on the lake, it was in the lake! Just below the waterline, and it was waving gently with the natural, tranquil motion of the surface water.
“What is that?” he wondered aloud. It seemed incongruous amidst the otherwise pristine vista that only ever changed with the passing of the sun overhead. It was green and yellow, so it could not be a large Japanese Koi; there were no green and yellow Koi in the lake. Whatever it was, it did not belong there. Maybe a large piece of coloured paper had blown into the lake on the end of a stiff breeze? Not likely, he thought; he maintained the grounds in immaculate condition, clean of discarded rubbish and there was simply no explanation for a large piece of paper, of any colour, to be drifting around the estate on any breeze that might be on offer. There were no neighbors within sight of the estate from which it could have drifted, and he knew both Mr and Mrs Jaeger well enough to know neither would carelessly discard a large piece of unwanted wrapping paper and allow it to drift aimlessly across the estate to end up who knew where? It was something foreign and out of sync with what he had, over many years, come to expect whenever he looked at the lake.
Hermann climbed out of the buggy; he preferred not to drive too close to the lake with the buggy, lest it leave tyre tracks imprinted on the neat, manicured apron of grass surrounding the outer edge. He approached on foot.
The State Police—Landespolizei—attended the Jaeger estate headed by no less than three highly senior members of the division, members who would not normally attend crime scenes on a day-to-day basis but would delegate experienced junior officers to oversee the investigation. The small group of three highly ranked officers—Polizeidirektor—stood back a few metres from the water’s edge and chatted about what their next step might be. Occasionally, one of the small groups would look up and check on how things were going before once again resuming his chat with his two colleagues.
Beyond the lake, a line of at least a dozen uniformed officers, each approximately two metres from the man next to him, moved slowly forward, towards the tree line in the near distance. With their heads bowed and eyes focused on the ground, within their own allotted two-square-metre search area, they combed the ground slowly and meticulously, searching for evidence. A similar line emanated from the lake’s edge on the house-side of the lake and these officers moved slowly towards the distant manor building. Following close behind the two lines of searchers were a small number of plain clothes detectives, documenting and preserving anything found that did not fit in the otherwise pristine surrounds. At one end of the lake, approximately 50 metres from the surface, the gardener, Hermann Schmidt, was transfixed by the scene unfolding before him as he sat in the garden buggy, watched closely by two detectives.
On the edge of the lake, at the base of the small rise on which stood the lake-side bench, the bodies of Gerhard and his wife Heidemarie were laid out side-by-side, their ashen faces to the sun. Clustered around the bodies, a small team of four Forensics experts, all dressed in white, disposable Hazmat suits, including overshoes, photographed, took notes, photographed some more, and talked in hushed tones with their heads close together out of quiet respect for the dead.
At one point in the very near future, a full autopsy would be carried out on both bodies to determine the exact cause of death. It would be a procedure no doubt carried out by the head of Forensic Medicine at University Medical Centre Hamburg-Eppendorf, befitting the status and public profile of both Gerhard Jaeger and Heidemarie.
The initial, and unofficial, speculation as to cause of death was cautiously and tentatively determined by the Forensics examiners to be a single gunshot to the back of the head for both the unfortunate Jaegers. There was no blood on the ground, all having drained from the bodies while they lay in the lake. On close examination, two faint, blood-red smear-tracks, thinning as they approached the water, led down to the very edge of the lake.
Time of death was another thing altogether. Typically, considering
water temperature, the amount and type of clothing the deceased was wearing, and climatic conditions in general, a body could take three days up to three weeks to resurface, if at all.
The Jaeger estate lake was not deep in the true sense of the word, a couple of metres perhaps at the deepest part, but the water was cold and very cold water would always slow the decomposition process and, hence, delay the natural tendency for body decomposition to begin and the subsequent slow rise to the surface. Add to that, it appeared that both the bodies had been weighed down in an attempt to keep them from surfacing and that was going to make determining even an approximate time of death difficult.
Polizeidirektor Claus Meier stepped away from the small group of upper echelon officers and approached the cluster of Forensics specialists examining the bodies. His focus was on the most senior of the Forensics team, Hauptwachtmeisterin Sergeant Gottfried Weber.
“You have an update, Sergeant? A murder weapon perhaps?” Meier asked hopefully.
“No, sir,” Weber answered solemnly. “It could still be in the lake, or the killer took it with him.”
“We have a water team on the way to search the lake,” Meier announced. He looked towards the lake. “If it is in there, they will find it.” He turned his attention back to the bodies of Gerhard and Heidemarie Jaeger on the ground. “Your best guess at time of death?”
“It’s too soon to tell, sir,” Weber replied. “There are too many variants that will affect the time of death, especially the water temperature. The medical examiner will be able to give a more accurate estimate during autopsy.”
“They look like they have been in the lake for just a few hours,” Meier observed.
“The water is very cold, sir,” Weber explained. “And, therefore, decomposition is much slower than if the bodies were in the open air, exposed to the elements. The skin does not appear to have broken open anywhere on either body, apart from the head wounds, so I don’t think it has been weeks, sir.”
“What is that?” Meier indicated a piece of thin rope, yellow and green in colour, the loose end a little frayed and ragged looking. The rope was wrapped around Heidemarie Jaeger’s ankle.
“It looks like common garden twine, sir,” Weber replied. “Mostly used for tying back climbing plants. I think it was used for tying some sort of weight to the bodies so they wouldn’t come quickly to the surface.”
“Weight?”
“Yes, sir. Obviously, whatever the killer used to weigh the bodies down is still in the lake. He did not do a very good job, it seems.”
Meier looked towards the distant house. “Is there a garden shed?”
“I believe there is a garden greenhouse and equipment shed on the other side of the main house,” Weber gestured the gardener sitting in his buggy some distance from the lakeside.
Meier nodded, glanced again at the bodies, then turned away and strode purposely towards the gardener. He stopped just a metre from the buggy and looked at the gardener.
“Herr Schmidt, right?” Meier asked.
“Hermann Schmidt, yes,” the gardener responded.
“You have a shed here? For garden equipment?”
Schmidt looked towards the house. “There is a shed. On the other side of the house.” He patted the steering wheel of the buggy. “This buggy is kept there. Also, many garden tools. Like shovels, rakes, a ride-on mower.”
“You have rope there?”
“Rope?”
“Yes, rope. Thin rope. Like twine.”
“Yes, there is a large roll of garden twine. I use it often in the garden to tie shrubs and rose bushes to their holding stakes.”
“What colour?”
“Colour?”
“You do not understand the question?” Meier asked arrogantly.
“Green. Green and yellow,” Schmidt announced with a creased brow.
“Come, you will show me this shed,” Meier ordered.
“Yes, I will show you.” He reached for the ignition of the buggy.
“No. We will walk.” He nodded to the two detectives standing close by. “We will all walk together.”
Schmidt hesitated for a second and then climbed from the buggy. Immediately, the two detectives closed in behind him. “I did not hurt those people?” he declared hurriedly.
“I am not accusing you,” Meier countered.
“I feel like a suspect.” Schmidt’s eyes darted from detective to detective and then back to Meier. “I am just the gardener.”
“Of course,” Meier said casually. “Just the gardener. The gardener who will take me to the shed and show me the green and yellow rope. Please.” He waved his hand in the direction of the house, indicating for Schmidt to lead the way.
“It is not rope, it is garden twine,” Schmidt mumbled softly as he began walking towards the house, followed closely by Meier and the two detectives.
26
Set to one side, approximately 40 metres behind the main house, stood a large greenhouse laden with all manner of seasonal vegetables destined for the Jaeger dining table. The Jaegers loved to host dinner parties as often as Gerhard’s work schedule would allow and Heidemarie, when not in the house, could almost always be found in the greenhouse tending to her garden. She took great pride in regaling their dinner guests with how she and Gerhard were almost totally self-sufficient regarding their supply of fresh, home-grown vegetables.
Polizeidirektor Claus Meier had never seen a greenhouse as large. As the small group of three police officers accompanying Hermann Schmidt and led by Claus Meier walked past the structure, Meier gave a slight shake of his head, not even prepared to guess at what such a blatant display of wealth might have cost the Jaegers. Meier knew there were three members of the Jaeger family, Gerhard, his wife Heidemarie, and a son. Why would a family of only three want such a large greenhouse?
Some 50 metres beyond the greenhouse, and partly hidden by a small copse of trees, was the shed. Even bigger than the greenhouse, Claus Meier was again astounded by the size of the building. The footprint of the shed was bigger, almost by half, than the floorplan of his own home. The front of the shed housed four roller-doors, one of which stood open. Longer and wider than the greenhouse, Meier was certain it had to cost more to construct than he earned in a year.
Alongside the shed was a car which Meier assumed belonged to the gardener. It was an old model, complete with a few minor dents and several rust spots. It looked out of place amidst the Jaeger buildings.
“Your car?” Meier asked.
“Yes,” Schmidt answered.
Meier shook his head and looked away.
“It’s old but it goes.”
Hermann Schmidt walked a few paces ahead of the three police officers and led them into the shed. The two uniformed officers took up a position just inside the building while Claus Meier followed Schmidt and stopped a few metres from the open roller-door.
Meier looked up at the twin bank of fluorescent lights suspended from the roof by individual lengths of chain and running the full length of the interior. Just throwing a switch and turning them all on had to get the electricity meter spinning furiously, he thought.
Immediately in front of where they stood was a German manufactured Brill ride-on lawnmower. Clean, tidy and obviously well kept, the overhead lights reflected off the highly buffed engine cover. Next to it, behind the door of the four roller-door building, was a John Deere tractor that looked like it had not seen a field since it was imported from the factory in Mannheim, Germany.
He was eyeing a display of wealth that had to be reserved for a select few of Germany’s elite business tycoons. From the manmade lake to the huge and magnificent family mansion, to the greenhouse and the outrageously large equipment shed, Clause Meier felt mildly insignificant by comparison at his own status in life. Meier mowed his own lawns and kept his lawnmower in a tiny backyard garden shed.
“Get the rope,” Meier ordered.
“The twine?”
“Rope, twine, string, whatever,” Meier
replied, his tone indicating his frustration.
“Of course.” Schmidt moved forward, stepped around the ride-on mower and made his way deep into the shed. “I keep it in the back with all the garden fertilizers,” he said over his shoulder.
Claus Meier moved forward, stopped next to the ride-on mower, and watched as the gardener moved deep into the shed. When Schmidt returned, he carried a large roll of green and yellow garden twine. He held it out, offering it to Meier.
He turned around and beckoned to one of the officers standing just inside the door. “Come here, take this,” he indicated the roll of twine and turned back to Schmidt. “There is more?”
“No, no more,” he answered. “I keep only one roll on hand. It is enough.” He handed the roll to the uniformed officer. “Will I get this back?”
“It is evidence,” Meier stated brusquely. “When any subsequent court proceedings have ended, it will be returned to you.”
“Court proceedings? I never thought about court proceedings. I shall purchase a new roll.”
“Hardly necessary, don’t you think?” Meier asked. “You might be better served looking for a new job.”
“New job?”
“Your employers are laying on the grass out there by the lake.” Meier shrugged. “I suppose you could stay on, but I don’t like the chances of you getting paid for your work.”
“Oh, I never thought of that either,” Schmidt murmured.
“Come, we will go back to the lake,” Meier said. “One of the officers will take a statement from you.”
“A statement?”
“Yes. You discovered the bodies. We need to get a statement.”
“Okay,” Schmidt said tentatively.
He followed Meier as they left the shed, the two uniformed officers falling in behind. It felt to Schmidt like he was being led like they might escort a suspect. “Am I a suspect?” he asked Meier anxiously.
Meier looked at the gardener. “Is there any reason why we should consider you a suspect?”
