The Zurich Conspiracy (35 page)

Josefa dropped back down onto the bench. “How did you know about the sharpshooter thing?”

Helene laughed and put a hand on Josefa’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Look, you won’t find the answers to all your questions. And when you think you’ve got one, another one will pop up.”

They could hear the sound of a vehicle outside.

“That’ll be Erwin, I’ve got to run and help him.” Helene was at the door in a bound.

Josefa washed up the cups. She was glad to be busy. She’d have happily washed the dishes for the whole class, scratched off the dirt with her bare hands. She held the spoon and the two cups under the ice-cold water until her hands hurt.

Heinz Zwicker put on the Dixieland CD his son had given him for Christmas. He’d spread the contact sheets out on a table in the room that used to be his son’s, before he’d moved out years ago. Zwicker looked upon this room as his refuge now. His wife must have wondered what he did for hours on end in there. But she never asked questions, hadn’t asked questions, and that was something he was secretly thankful for. That, and for so much else.

That evening he went one more time through the enlargements of the pictures he had checked off on the contacts for the police lab. He’d already spent countless hours studying hundreds of photographs—incredible, how much film photographers shot. If he took that many pictures, Zwicker thought, he too would’ve come up with one good shot eventually. He turned the music up a little; his wife was out at a course on reflexology and foot massage.

He picked up his magnifying glass once again to search the background in the pictures, one by one, writing notes on a pad of paper, the number of the photo, and remarks like “upper right,” “standing together,” and “before the swing.” His foot beat time to the music. He would report his observations to Franz Kündig tomorrow.

The instincts of a long-serving criminal investigator told him that the case was finally off and running.

The mattress was spotted and well worn but would do its job. Esther was standing on it with both feet and looking up. “I’m ready!” she called, raising her arms as if she was at an Evangelical revival meeting.

Josefa was ten feet above her at the balustrade, on the highest stairwell landing on the top floor. She held Sali with both hands; his back was toward her as he sat on the balustrade, ready to take the plunge. Ropes were firmly tied to the metal railing of the landing, left and right. Sali was strapped into his climbing harness and looking like a well-wrapped Christmas present. The gear was Helene’s and really much too big for him. Josefa unhooked the karabiner. “You can go now, slowly,” she told him.

“Slowly” was a word that Sali apparently didn’t like to hear. He pushed away like a bungee jumper off a bridge, something he’d evidently seen on TV.

“Easy, easy,” Josefa cautioned. Fortunately the rope he was hanging from was securely fastened, and she only reeled it out a little at a time. “Toes up, always pointing up.”

“Josefa’s letting you down on the rope, Josefa’s letting you down on the rope,” Esther chanted from below.

“Stop that right now!” Josefa’s voice was so shrill that Sali looked up at her in alarm.

“But he doesn’t understand a word anyhow,” Esther said to placate her.

“Maybe he doesn’t understand, but he can sense it. Children can sense that.” She stroked Sali’s slender shoulders to calm him down. “Only silly adults let someone down on a rope. What we’re doing is called rappelling.”

“Rappelling,” Sali repeated.

He swung down like a pendulum and plopped onto the mattress—ignoring Esther’s outstretched arms.

“Bravo, Sali,” Esther complimented him. Josefa knew her neighbor found all this climbing in the stairwell somewhat hazardous but didn’t want to be a killjoy. Esther would also never climb into an underground cavern with this gear, as Josefa planned to do. She just had no idea how much fun a venture like that could be.

Sali looked up at Josefa, beaming. Her heart skipped a beat. How happy the kid could be! She was about to shout some words of congratulation when her cell phone rang.

“Josefa, how are you?” It was Claire.

“Hello, Claire. Right now I’m standing in a stairwell and practicing rappelling.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m playing with the boy who lives downstairs.” She had no urge to start on a long explanation.

Claire didn’t pursue it anyway. “Josefa, you can’t conceive of how everything’s changed here. Positive changes, really positive.” She sounded a little frantic but self-assured.

“Positive?” Josefa was looking at Sali and Esther standing impatiently on the landing. “I heard Joan cancelled her contract because of the big scandal.”

“Oh.” Claire hesitated slightly, as if caught off guard by the fact that Josefa already knew. “Joan was lured away by Prada, but she’d been planning it for a long time. Anyhow, we want a younger, fresher image-maker. You’ll be amazed at the people we’re negotiating with, Josefa, but I can’t breathe a word yet.”

As a matter of fact Josefa
was
amazed. Who was this “we”? These decisions were discussed at the top management level, not with employees like Claire.

Josefa continued, her curiosity piqued. “But Walther must be shaken up after all the things that have happened. And now Karl Westek as well. That’s red meat for the media.”

Josefa was watching Sali and Esther tussling on the mattress. Good thing his uncle and aunt weren’t looking, she thought.

“Westek is of no interest to us, Josefa. That has nothing to do with Loyn. Walther isn’t exactly overjoyed with any of this, of course, that’s obvious. But I told him, Herr Walther, people have short memories. In a year it will be all forgotten. That’s how it goes with the worst—”

Her words were drowned out by the penetrating laughter from below.

“Claire, we’ll have to talk next week,” she shouted. “I’m away for five days. We’ve finally got to get together.”

“I’m always very busy. But we should at least try. Let me know when you’re back.”

Josefa snapped her phone shut. Sali’s uncle was on the landing.

“He wants to rappel too,” Sali announced gleefully. Everybody laughed, and Josefa joined in, though she really wasn’t in the mood.

“Well?” Heinz Zwicker asked. Franz Kündig was examining the two rows of photographic prints spread out on the table.

“So she’s looking around under the table while her husband is posing for the press.” Kündig traced his index finger over the bridge of his nose. “He swings his club, and Francis Bourdin tries to get past him. The blow stops him. Where is Francis Bourdin trying to go so fast that he doesn’t see that club? He sees somebody disappearing under the table, maybe only a leg or some movement. But he wants to check it out right away and see what’s going on.” Kündig made a dramatic pause. “See if somebody is looking for his bug or has found it already or what do I know.”

The only sound in the conference room was the drumming of his fingers on the table.

“I wonder if that wouldn’t be on tape,” Zwicker says at last.

“It isn’t,” Kündig replied.

“Yes, we know that. The question is whether there are more tapes of the goings-on under the table.”

“If they exist, we don’t know anything about them,” Kündig said, wondering what Zwicker was getting at and whether this was the right moment to tell him about another of his observations. “Then we must find them and—”

Zwicker pointed impatiently to three pictures. “Look very carefully in the background.”

Kündig was not very pleased by the interruption but did take a closer look. A woman, a man. He clicked his tongue. “They seem to be deep in conversation.”

“Yes, exactly,” Zwicker said excitedly. “They’re together during the whole press event and before it as well. And always a little off to the side. Westek has a definite conspiratorial look on his face. What’s the connection between them, I’d like to know.”

“Hmm. We ought to speak with the lady, definitely.” Kündig snapped his fingers. “Where was I? Oh, yes. Where can we reach her?”

Zwicker gathered up the pictures. “You’re asking me, seriously?”

Kündig looked startled, then corrected himself quickly. “I mean the golfer’s wife, Pamela Hartwell. You’ve got to interview her as soon as possible wherever she is.”

“Done,” Zwicker replied, a bit disappointed. “And the other woman?”

“Her, too. But she won’t get away from us.”

A profound silence lay over the white landscape opening up before them. The sun was hidden behind thick clouds, but that didn’t spoil the view of the gentle hills dotted with snow-covered stands of trees. It all seemed frozen in a majestic calm, as if lava had been poured over everything and had captured the moment for all eternity. The only thing moving was their car slowly heading, curve after curve, for the highest point on the pass.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Josefa exclaimed, having never seen this part of the Jura landscape; she was pleasantly surprised that there were still such wonderful discoveries left in Switzerland.

“This is only a foretaste of what’s to come,” Pius said in his deep, pleasing voice. Josefa felt a blissful, exhilarating frisson. Three days of skiing had relaxed her and brought out her sense of adventure. She looked forward to discovering a new world, one only revealed to a few. It would be a therapeutic change from her work in Zurich.

Pius had come to Crans the previous evening. He arrived late, and Josefa had already finished dinner. They had a nightcap in the hotel bar, then retired to their rooms knowing they’d be getting up very early.

Pius was eager for Josefa to describe her experiences in the cave for his book, a challenging prospect that made her anxious, though Josefa felt honored that he was willing to share this corner of his life with her.

“I’m completely euphoric every time I climb down in. I’m addicted to the feeling,” Pius confessed. Josefa observed him in profile: He was wearing light mountain-climbing clothes in fluorescent colors; his slim, sinewy fingers skillfully navigated the SUV like a ship over the ocean. He returned her gaze. She knew she looked good in spite of the short night; her face was lightly tanned, and she was elated.

“I’m proud of the picture I took of you. It’s one of my best,” he said.