The Zurich Conspiracy (30 page)

The Gasthaus Trittlibach smelled of cheese and kirschwasser and garlic because the innkeepers made their living off the guests in wintertime who came for the fondue specialties. “Fondue Specialties” was even on the menu. But Josefa had no yen for Vacherin-Gruyere-fondue or Emmental-Raclette-Tomme-fondue with nutmeg. She didn’t have the slightest urge to have melted cheese that evening.

She ordered a glass of Saint Saphorin even though she knew she’d regret it later when she couldn’t get to sleep.

“You’re not having anything to eat?” the waitress asked, a stocky, elderly lady with bushy eyebrows.

“No, not today,” Josefa answered, wracked with guilt.

“But this table is reserved in one hour,” the waitress said.

“No problem,” Josefa replied and looked around. The room was just half full, and it was going on nine. Josefa had chosen the Trittlibach only because it was so near her place, and she was rather tired. “Someone’s coming who won’t be eating either,” she called after the waitress, just to bug her.

“How exactly do you know?” an amused voice behind her said. Josefa turned around in surprise. Sebastian Sauter had caught her once again in a less than edifying moment.

“It figures—cops always come in the back way,” she remarked.

“That’s not true today. For one thing, I am off the job sometimes, like now, for instance.” He was standing before her in a pullover of an indeterminate dark color and a rusty-red winter jacket (so Esther was right about the jacket she’d seen him in at the rink), and had a pair of skis in one hand and ski poles in the other.

“So here they are,” Josefa said, her heart beating faster. “They look great, really high tech. Sali will certainly like them.”

Sauter leaned the skis and the poles against the wall and took a seat. “My Kevin is happy he got a hockey stick instead.” He looked frozen stiff.

The waitress reappeared, and Sauter ordered. “A salami platter for two and a glass of Sonnenberger.”

“You’re a man with feminine intuition,” she teased him. “I actually do want salami.”

“You’re half Italian; you’ve got to love salami. Polenta’s the only thing you can’t get here.” He looked at her with his own peculiar blend of concern and curiosity so familiar to her by now. And there was something else in his eyes, but she’d rather not say exactly. She was keyed up enough as it was.

“And what’s up in your life at the moment?” Sauter asked. Many of his questions came out of the blue like this.

“Well, I’ve been reading a book—that is, no, I’ve read
about
a book, by an American writer whose divorced husband stalks her wherever she goes and hassles her with all sorts of tricks. He has masses of items delivered to her that she never ordered, sends people dirty letters under her name, and things like that. He was a computer expert. He did this for years and made her life a never-ending nightmare. In the end she had to assume a new identity and literally go into hiding.”

Sauter listened intently. The waitress brought bread and cutlery. He offered Josefa the breadbasket but she waved it away.

“He traced her anyhow, I think through her credit card or the bank—I’m not exactly sure. No, I believe he hacked into a computer in a government agency; of course, it would have to be something electronic. She was terribly desperate, at the end of her rope; all she could think of was to kill him.”

The salami platter arrived. Sauter pushed it into the middle of the table, over to her. “It’s best to eat it with your fingers,” he told her, passing the bread again, and this time she took some. They both ate in silence, their eyes on their plates or on other customers. It was pleasantly quiet in the restaurant. Sauter picked up his wine glass; he had powerful hands with prominent veins. Hands of a man who liked to work with wood.

“I know you’re not telling me this story so that I’ll say I’m not stalking my ex-wife. So what are you trying to tell me anyway?”

“The moral of the story? I’m glad I wasn’t in her shoes, I mean, in the position the American woman was. Not only because her husband was a stalker. I think I’d have made the same decision she did. I think I would have killed him too. I wouldn’t want to be a victim my whole life, living in fear of death. Horrible.”

She was toying absentmindedly with a slice of salami. “You’ve got to protect yourself. You owe it to yourself. Why should that guy get away with it? The difference between me and her is simply luck. Lucky I don’t have to decide. That’s the sole reason I’m a good person—a good person in the eyes of the law—because I’ve never been in a desperate situation like hers.”

She looked up at him. He put a slice of salami into his mouth, looked back at her, broke off a piece of bread, chewed it, took a sip of wine, and looked at her again. For a long time.

“And who can define ‘desperate situation’?” he asked. “Where do you begin?”

“Fear of dying, for example. Fear of dying, every day.”

He stopped chewing. “You’re not in any danger, Frau Rehmer—I ought not to have told you about Sali’s parents. I don’t want to upset you.”

He pressed his lips together, and his gray, almost transparent eyes turned very dark. The ceiling light over the table was so low that his forehead was in shadow.

Josefa shook her head. “I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about that American woman.”

He didn’t believe her, she could see that. She felt trapped. Why was she telling him these things?

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She shifted around in her seat. “What I meant to say is that you’re all by yourself in the most decisive moments of your life, at birth or death, in fear or anger.”

She thought this summary was awfully awkward and out of place, especially here in the Trittlibach, with its red-and-white tablecloths, sheep horns on the wall, and an off-duty cop bedecking the table with bread crumbs.

“I think I’m too tired to carry on a reasonable conversation,” she said quickly. “Since I’ve been working at home alone, I yak away like mad the first chance I get.”

That wasn’t the least bit true, and Josefa was unhappier about it than she was about what she’d said before. She was so befuddled that her strongest desire was to get up and run out of the room.
My life’s coming apart at the seams.

But since she couldn’t do that—and she absolutely wanted to take Sali’s skis with her—she propped her elbows up on the table and put her hands over her face. She looked at the almost empty salami platter and felt Sauter’s eyes on her. She was sure to have dark rings under her eyes and her hair, which she’d rather carelessly tied up, was sticking out in all directions.

A few customers at the next table were playfully squabbling over the cheese crust on the bottom of the empty fondue dish. “That’ll cost you the next bottle of wine, Peter!” someone shouted. It sounded like an echo from a distant world. People who have a fondue, get worked up over a badly chosen Christmas present, take their dog to the vet to be dewormed, write letters to the editor, have an allergic reaction to nuts or strawberries or milk, buy a Loyn bag for their fortieth birthday. People who’d never run over a child by accident, who’d never get cancer, who’d never lose all their money in the market, who’d never hate a person from the bottom of their heart.

“I’ve heard there are people who never look in the mirror in the morning and don’t recognize themselves anymore,” Josefa said.

Sauter cleared his throat, as always when about to say something personal. “I’m not a great talker, Frau Rehmer, but I understand what you’re saying perfectly well. I…When I discovered that my wife, my ex-wife, had a lover for months, I hardly recognized myself anymore. Certain thoughts go through your head, and you get feelings you’d like to forget later. I don’t want to go there again, but maybe it was a good thing I was there once. I understand a lot of things better now.” He mashed a bread crust with his strong fingers.

“As a police officer you’ve got to learn, in the middle of everything…of all those enormities you’re confronted with, how to keep your world separate and in one piece. And that’s usually through the family. In my case it definitely was. When that fell apart—it was bad. At times I really lost it. But I still have good, close contact with Kevin, I have my work, and I did not turn into a drunk.”

“Something else? Dessert? Coffee?” the waitress interrupted. Josefa raised her head, and to her surprise ordered the lemon sorbet she’d seen on the menu.

“A double espresso,” Sauter said.

Josefa moved her hand back and forth on the checkered tablecloth, like seagrass pushed by the waves. She was composed now and covered up her embarrassment with some mockery. “So there’s a chance you’ll get to heaven in spite of everything?”

Sauter grinned. “Absolutely. And you too, Frau Rehmer. You too.”

She returned his smile and added, ritually establishing the familiar form of address between them, “My name is Josefa.” And before he could respond, “I like the name Sebastian. So cool.” Then she began to laugh at herself.

The black delivery van had been standing for half an hour in front of the abandoned factory. The compound was deserted; railway tracks led from the cavernous, dismantled hall into nothingness. An old tow truck was tipped over on its side on the icy ground. The lettering on the outside factory walls was barely decipherable. The air was filled with the screaming of gulls drifting past on their way to the lake.

The fingers of the man in blue overalls drummed on the steering wheel. When he yawned, his breath came out of his mouth in white puffs. It was ice cold in the truck, but he didn’t dare turn on the motor. He wanted to be able to hear the slightest sound. He had come here in a company truck. The furniture moving business he worked for was well known. Their customers included companies like Loyn. His presence in this place could be easily explained if need be.

His supplier was reliable but cautious. They knew each other, but nevertheless there was always a little distrust in the air. Neither party wanted to put himself in a dangerous position.

Some gulls were trying to break up the frozen earth with their bills, but suddenly they flew off in all directions. The foreman saw a midsized truck approaching. That had to be him. The truck went past and disappeared behind the factory. The man in blue overalls got out and went over to it on foot. When he reached the vehicle, the door opened and he swung up inside. A brief greeting, a quick exchange of glances with the man in the driver’s seat.

“The goods are first class.”

“Can I see them?” The man in overalls tried to conceal his excitement. The less interest he showed, the better. He’d only be able to check afterward to see whether the articles the supplier was unpacking in front of him were really worth the money. But he had to take the risk. No guarantee of an exchange in this case.

“So, as agreed?” the man in blue overalls asked.

The supplier nodded.

The man took a bundle of bills from the pocket of his overalls; the supplier counted them and tucked them away in his pocket. When the man jumped out of the truck with his package, the supplier called after him, “Good thing the guy can’t talk anymore!”

The man in overalls went back to his truck without saying a word.