The Zurich Conspiracy (33 page)

It was dark. The air seemed colder and damper than in the morning. But Josefa could still feel how hot her face was. Her skin was taut; she didn’t make any effort to put on her gloves but ran down Seestrasse as if she were being followed. A streetcar stopped a few steps in front of her, but Josefa ran blindly on. She turned near the Stadelhofen Station and went in the direction of Lake Zurich.

She came to a stop in front of the opera house. She had a stitch in her side and had trouble catching her breath. Groups of chattering people were streaming into the high, brightly lit doorways. There was a roaring in Josefa’s ears, blood was pounding in her temples, and a milky wave was swimming before her eyes.
She felt the metal chain in her hands and started spinning the steel ball, haltingly at first, then faster and faster and more and more powerfully and menacingly. Now the ball hit, blow after blow, crushing walls and pillars, cutting through buildings, mercilessly mowing down everything within its radius. People fled screaming out of its murderous path. But something was still standing, a pitiful little figure, a boy with big ears and eyes wide open. Sali, Josefa screamed, go away! Run. Fast! She couldn’t stop the ball; it was flying at breakneck speed, higher and higher. The little boy ducked, the ball just missed him by a few inches, took off, and shot up into the sky.

Josefa looked at the child on the ground. It lifted its head—but it wasn’t Sali, it was a girl! Her black hair was in ringlets, and dark lashes framed her terrified eyes. She said something that Josefa didn’t understand.

A cold shudder ran through her body. She shut her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them again, the girl was still standing there. She looked at her, bug-eyed, and said something again. The brightly lit opera house was in the background; a few people were running for the door. Josefa noticed a young woman in a yellow anorak, looking at her expectantly. Then she heard the girl’s voice, “You lost your gloves.” The little one held out something dark blue to her. She must in fact have dropped her gloves.

Josefa regained her composure enough to be able to stammer in her friendliest voice, “But that’s very kind of you.” She said to the girl’s mother, “Such a bright, considerate little girl.”

“Yes, she was always like that. She’s always helping somebody or other. I don’t know who she gets it from.” The woman laughed and Josefa smiled. She waved to the girl, who was now walking away holding her mother’s hand and repeatedly turning around to look at her. Josefa didn’t notice until now that the girl’s hair was hidden beneath a furry cap. Maybe she didn’t have dark hair. Or long, black eyelashes.

Josefa took deep breaths, the cold evening air filling her lungs; her head suddenly felt light as a feather. The glow on her face was gone, her mouth and her temples were no longer tense. She pulled on her blue gloves and hiked home with a firm step under the glow of the street lights.

The morning meeting in Zurich’s Criminal Investigation headquarters was drawing to a close. The mood was both subdued and slightly edgy. Two murders and still no suspects. Or too many suspects. Franz Kündig had one of the Zurich newspapers before him. “Murders In Zurich Finance World Still Unsolved,” a headline read. “Westek Accident Was Murder. Porsche Sabotaged. Police Investigating Persons Unknown.”

Kündig had already read the newspaper article in his office at seven that morning. He wanted to go to the conference prepared; it was always good to know what the media were speculating. And they weren’t shy about it. “Was Thüring’s Tenerife Drowning Really Accidental?” “Did Feller-Stähli Get Lost All By Himself?” “Did Henry Salzinger Actually Fire Shot From His Rifle?”

Kündig also wanted to check that the few facts he could give to the press had not been misquoted. “We have no evidence that Beat Thüring, Henry Salzinger, and Urs Feller-Stähli were murdered”; “Based on our investigations until now, Van Duisen is not a suspect”; “We know where Van Duisen is. He is cooperating with investigators but does not want to comment publicly on the events.”

Kündig drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk. Too many suspects and still no concrete evidence, no really hot clue. The tapes from Schulmann’s place hadn’t turned up anything useful. The media were applying pressure. The police chief in the canton administration was turning up the heat too. And Kündig’s own ambition was starting to get the best of him.

“Anything else?” Kündig asked, looking at his watch and then around the table. Heinz Zwicker said, “We’ve got transcripts of the phone calls.”

Ah, yes, the transcripts, Kündig sighed to himself. The judge had given them permission to tap Loyn’s phones. It was an act of desperation. All other leads had gone nowhere. Schulmann certainly had enemies, but what careerist clawing his way up today does not? Jealousy and egomania are two of the most common emotions in a world where feelings officially have no place.

“Anything special?” he asked. He was under stress because he was heading the Schulmann case and two others. And now the Westek case was his as well. He had two little kids at home and a newborn that wasn’t sleeping through the night. His wife complained he was working too hard; she wanted him to cut back, but that was impossible now. It would have cost him his career, and this was the chance of a lifetime.

Kündig realized he hadn’t heard a word his colleague was saying. “Sorry, Heinz, I didn’t catch that.” Zwicker looked at him in surprise but patiently repeated himself.

“Josefa Rehmer phoned Marlene Dombrinski about an earring that was found in the party tent. At Loyn’s golf tournament.”

“So?” Kündig asked impatiently. The meeting had run ten minutes over already.

“She told Frau Dombrinski that the earring belonged to the wife of the famous golfer, Colin Hartwell. Frau Rehmer had put the earring aside at the time, in the office, because nobody knew whose it was. Frau Dombrinski said she could hardly imagine that was the case because she had just met Pamela Hartwell recently at some event. Frau Hartwell would certainly have inquired about the earring.”

Kündig looked at his watch again. “Heinz, I should have left long ago. Please get to the point.”

Heinz Zwicker was as ponderous as he was insistent. “Frau Rehmer said to Frau Dombrinski that she’d seen photos of Pamela Hartwell crawling under the table in the tent—during the ominous photo shoots with the golfer.” Zwicker paused for effect to see if everybody had grasped the import of his words. “Frau Rehmer said Pamela Hartwell was definitely looking for her earring because in pictures taken earlier she was still wearing both earrings.”

“And so?” Kündig stared at his colleague. Who stared right back.

“Have you ever seen photos of Pamela Hartwell crawling under a table?”

Kündig pushed his chair back. “Can’t remember. There are photos by the ton. Follow it up.”

Zwicker remained seated, unfazed. “But I’m off for three days to Germany because of Westek’s Porsche.”

Kündig closed his briefcase. “OK, then do it when you’re back. Meeting adjourned.”

After an atypical end-of-January thaw, the beginning of February witnessed freezing temperatures. A thick layer of ice lay on the pond in Irchel Park, where ducks waddled clumsily around, sometimes skidding over the ice to pick up the dry bread crusts that children and old women tossed to them. Josefa watched them for a while before walking over to the low university buildings. She didn’t have a clue which entrance was the right one, so she asked and asked until she wound up at Ethology. Yes, a friendly woman in a green apron said, you’ve come to the right place for behavioral research, but we don’t know a Helene Meyer. She directed her to the administration building. A young secretary there entered Helene’s name in her computer and did in fact find her. “Here, that must be her. She’s on a research project for alpine swifts, right?” She picked up the phone.

“I’m sorry. Helene Meyer is out on her forestry program for school kids,” she said, hanging the receiver up. Josefa looked so crestfallen that the secretary added that Frau Meyer would surely end her open-air lesson at the Kohlerwald Woodland School Center where the school kids usually left their bags. She described the location of the school lodge, which was fortunately within the city limits, and Josefa thanked the young woman for her trouble. She returned to her car as quickly as the icy ground permitted and turned the heater on high because her hands felt ice cold in spite of her wool gloves.

Luckily she located the forest road more easily than she’d expected. A large sign clearly identified the wooden school building in the clearing. A small pickup truck with the tailgate down was parked in front of the rustic building. The lodge door was unlocked, and Josefa went into a room that looked like the kitchen. A pot of steaming water was on a stove, but there was nobody to be seen.

“Hello!” she called, but received no answer. She called again, louder. Nothing. The door to the adjacent room was unlocked. Paper towels, stuffed animals, bird nesting boxes, and orange tarps were piled on trestle tables. Bright yellow raincoats made of heavy synthetic material hung on the wall. Lockers took up what space was left.

“Hello!” Still no reply. Josefa went back to the kitchen, sat down on a wooden bench, and deliberated. At least it was more or less warm in here. Somebody must have turned on the heat. The truck by the door, the unlocked building, the steaming water—that was reassuring. She saw a wooden shelf on the wall and found some cups, a can of instant coffee, some condensed milk, and a box of sugar cubes. Josefa shook some coffee into a cup, added sugar, hot water from the pot, and milk, and then searched for a spoon. The rough-hewn wooden drawer was hard to pull out and even harder to shut. Josefa pushed with all her might until the drawer suddenly gave way and slammed shut.

She stirred her coffee and warmed her hands on the hot cup. All of a sudden she heard a noise. She pricked up her ears and listened. There it was again, coming from a corner somewhere. She ran into the next room. “Hello!” she shouted. “Hello!” Now she heard footsteps, as if someone was climbing a staircase. They came nearer. A door was banged open and slammed shut. Somebody was in the room, she could sense it. But she didn’t see anyone. There must be a pathway hidden by the lockers.

“Good God, you scared the hell out of me!” Helene exclaimed, staring at Josefa dumbfounded. “What are
you
doing here?”

“At the university…they told me that…you…were here,” Josefa stammered as if in apology. Helene walked past her into the kitchen. “Man, I was thinking it was something else! I heard noises up here, a loud bang.”

“The door was open. Anybody could just waltz in.”

“Nobody, but nobody just walks into this place. Nobody comes out here.” Helene looked around the room.

“Now
I
am here, and you can go ahead and say hello,” Josefa complained.

“First I have to wash my hands; I’d rather not touch you like this. Where’s that soap?” She glanced at Josefa’s cup. “Can you make me a coffee too? Black, blacker, and blacker still.”

Josefa filled the pot with cold water again and put it on the stove. Then she washed her spoon and piled a huge amount of coffee into a second cup. Meanwhile Helene was drying her hands that were red from the cold water. Josefa noticed that her friend had a bandana on, which made her look like a guerilla fighter. Helene gave Josefa a quick hug and said, “Happy New Year, my dear. What were you up to on New Year’s Eve?”

“Oh, that was so long ago I don’t remember anymore,” Josefa said honestly. She poured Helene’s coffee and handed it to her. She wanted to sit down again, but Helene shook her head. “I’ve got something I have to do. Bring your cup.”

“Helene, I must have a talk with you. You didn’t answer my messages on your answering machine or your cell phone. That’s why I’m here.”

Helene was already at the door. “Sorry, but I didn’t get back until Sunday and had to get ready for this nature hike on Monday. I was simply too tired to call back. I didn’t have the impression that it was urgent, forgive me. But let’s talk downstairs.”

Josefa picked up her cup and followed her through the concealed door in the next room that led to a small, dark back room. Helene went ahead; a large animal hanging from the ceiling came into view. She didn’t know immediately what it was, since a piece of its skin was already stripped off. Then she made out the animal’s head; it was hung by the hind legs, its dark, dead eyes staring into nothingness.