The Zurich Conspiracy (39 page)

“Tschuor and Hartwell thought his explanation did not hold water. She said they thought about strategies for resolving the situation. First, they would simply deny everything in case they were discovered because it was easy to fake a tape recording. But Pamela Hartwell was afraid of a scandal, primarily because her marriage was already on the rocks and she assumed her husband would exploit this incident in any divorce proceedings.

“Frau Hartwell and Pius Tschuor could not agree on where to go from there. Then Schulmann was murdered. When Frau Hartwell found out about it a few days later, she phoned Herr Tschuor. He said that they had nothing to fear even if the police found the tape at Schulmann’s. He said Schulmann had apparently secretly taped other people who would be of more interest to the police than the previously mentioned sequence on the tape. She said Tschuor sounded very confident and at ease.

“Frau Hartwell did not know what to think of that, but she could only sit and wait. When asked if she was afraid Tschuor might blackmail her, she stated that he would never make the tape public because Hans-Rudolf Walther, Loyn’s owner, wanted to subsidize a book of his photographs. She said Tschuor would never want to scuttle the project because of a scandal.”

Zwicker paused. “Any questions?”

The young woman spoke up, “Does this mean we suspect Tschuor killed Herr Schulmann to gain possession of the tape?”

Zwicker moved a hand to his right. “Peter, will you explain that?”

A corpulent man took the floor. “We have discovered that Tschuor began training to become a nurse after high school. He did not begin a career as a photographer until later. We are now trying to ascertain whether Tschuor obtained the substance that knocked Schulmann out.”

Zwicker took over. “If that turns out to be the case, then it strongly points to a means and a motive—that Tschuor could have actually panicked because of the tape.”

“And the Westek case?” another officer asked.

“We’re still on it, but it looks very promising—excuse me a moment.” Zwicker retrieved his cell phone from his pocket, answered it, said a few words, and then put it away.

“They found Tschuor’s car at the cave.”

“And Frau Rehmer?”

“Still no trace of Rehmer or Tschuor. There’s some hope that they will both be found in the cave.”

“How do things stand between Rehmer and Tschuor? Is she in peril?” The question came from their female colleague.

Zwicker rolled his ballpoint pen thoughtfully back and forth between his hands before he answered.

“We assume she suspects nothing, or else she wouldn’t have gone into the cave with him. The question is whether Tschuor is counting on the fact that she is not suspicious, or whether he’ll panic again.”

He’s trying to kill me. He’s planned it all. He took off before the water came in.
Josefa was quivering. The warm blanket she was clutching with stiff fingers crackled.
I’m going to die here, and nobody will know what really happened
.

She felt something warm running down her legs. She’d urinated. Out of fear.

The light from the carbide lamp grew dimmer and dimmer. Josefa thought about Sali.
How would they explain it to him? And who would tell him? He won’t understand. He’ll just think that another person has gone from his life forever. That’s how he’ll see it. People aren’t reliable. Their promises are lies. People turn away without a word of explanation. They’re all traitors, Sali, hypocrites leaving you high and dry
.

She began to cry. Her whole body was racked with cramps. She was overcome by a longing for her mother that rolled over her like a storm-tossed wave. She couldn’t stop crying. And this time nobody would say, Josefa, you mustn’t cry or we’ll all fall apart.

The tears gradually ebbed away. She was completely exhausted. And then the cold came back!

Will I freeze to death? Will my body slowly stop functioning
? She stared into the light, her eyes burning.

She tried to keep herself awake. But fatigue was stronger.

Feb. 10, 2 p.m.

Call from Sebastian Sauter (Pol. Crimes). Asks whereabouts of J.R. Had information from E. Ardelius, R.’s neighbor. Sauter knows A. and R. from Pol. Dept. investigation. A. asked Sauter if something happened to R. Sauter told by A. about cave. Sauter very interested in case. Will keep him informed.

She gave a start. It was dark all around her. She felt beside her, everywhere. Cold stone. The lamp. It must have gone out when she was asleep.

Don’t be afraid, Josefa. It’s only the dark.

They must be starting to search for me now.

So much time’s gone by. They must be searching by now.

It’s so cold. So bitterly cold. Move your hands, Josefa. Fingers. Feet. Rub your face until it hurts. Pull the protective blanket tighter.

Think about Tenerife. The sun. The heat. Feel that warmth?

I’m still alive. The water hasn’t got to me yet.

Think about Helene. I can trust Helene. After all, she’s my best friend.

Think about Sebastian Sauter. You’re sure to go to heaven, Frau Rehmer. My name’s Josefa. I think the name “Sebastian’s” cool. We might go to the opera together, Josefa.
Rigoletto. Rigoletto!
I’d love to, Sebastian. As soon as I’m back from my skiing holiday.

Don’t be sad.

Don’t drift off. Keep your mind busy. Recite a poem.
Es reitet der Vater durch Nacht und Wind.
The father?
Er reitet durch Nebel und Nacht und Wind
…She heard a horse’s hoof beats, rattling harness
. In seinen Armen hält er das Kind…Er hält das Kind…das tote Kind.

I must blow the whistle so the rider can hear me. The whistle, where’s my whistle?

The horse, it’s coming closer. Rattling, and now voices. Light, a glaring light! “Shosefa.”

Somebody was forcing her to sit up straight, holding her tight. “
Buvez, Shosefa. Tout est bien. Vous êtes sauvée.”

A man was handing her a plastic cup. It was steaming.
That smells good. That’s warm.

“
Buvez
,” the man repeated. “
Ça vous fait chaud. Ça donne de la force
.”

Hands were picking her up, arms supporting her. “Can you stand up?” a woman asked. She had very short hair. Her face was sunburned, but two rings around her eyes were all white. Her lips were white. She had an orange jacket on and yellow pants
. A clown
, Josefa thought to herself.

“We’ll take it very slowly.”

Josefa felt her legs give way. Two men held her firmly under her arms.

“
Ça va aller
,” one of them said. It’s going to be all right.

Helene spread a nightie out on the bedcovers—it was white, with red-and-black ladybugs on it. “I couldn’t find anything more elegant in your size in this godforsaken place. But I thought the green nightgowns with the slit down the back were far worse.”

Josefa was touched, and she laughed, trying to fight back her tears, but then gave in. She was too weak to stop them. “It’s so nice to see you,” she said in an unsteady voice.

“You weren’t so nice to look at when they brought you out of that cave. You were the picture of misery,” she replied in a gruff voice. It was her way of keeping strong emotions under control, as Josefa knew all too well. “But Valérie and the boys did a good job. They found you in two hours.”

“Going through the first entrance?”

“Yes, the second passage was flooded in spots. There must have been a fast inflow of water sometime earlier.”

“Did they find…Pius?” Josefa had to struggle to get his name out.

“No, not yet. Kündig from Criminal Investigation will be dropping by in a minute to ask you a few questions before going back to Zurich.”

“I’d like to go back to Zurich too.”

“That will take a while yet. Doctor says you’re suffering from shock; you were completely dehydrated and had hypothermia.”

Josefa took Helene’s hand. “I was so afraid they wouldn’t find me,” she cried.

“Bull.” Helene played with her hand. “I would never let you go into a cave and not check to see if you got back in one piece. That would be the last thing I’d do. But the cops were much faster.”

“How long was I down there?”

“A little more than fifty hours.”

“Where’s my suitcase?”

“The cops confiscated everything in the car. But you’ll get your things back. They must—”

There was a knock at the door. Franz Kündig stuck his head in. Helene withdrew discreetly, promising to come back.

“He tried to kill me, didn’t he?” Josefa asked the investigating officer as soon as Helene closed the door.

“That’s something we still have to clear up, Frau Rehmer. Can you tell me what happened?”

First she told him she suspected Pius might have been involved with Schulmann’s murder. Kündig watched her closely as he made notes. Then she began to recount the events in the cave.

“Why did he want to kill me?” she asked. “Why did he think I posed a threat?” The question was burned into her brain.

Kündig gazed out the window onto the wintry scene before him. He resisted the temptation to tell her about the CI’s most recent discoveries, replying instead, “We still know too little. His car was found at the cave entrance. We don’t know if he really wanted to kill you. What we know from the woman who rescued you, Valérie Mabillard—a researcher on caves—was that he left you in the safest place in the cave, an area that’s never flooded. Maybe he got lost and a surge of water caught him unawares so that he couldn’t turn back. Until we find him, dead or alive, we won’t know for sure. But one way or the other he put your life in peril.”

There was no way that Josefa wanted to hear that Pius did
not
plan to kill her or that he—or his dead body—was trapped somewhere in the icy water of the cave. “And Westek? Did Pius kill Westek too?” She was persistent although shivering. She wanted an explanation. She needed to hear something that would make sense of the fear she’d felt down there.

“No, as far as we know he had nothing to do with it.” Kündig cleared his throat. “We hope to make an arrest in the Westek case soon. Maybe you can help us there, Frau Rehmer.”

She felt all along the cool metal, caressing its curves and edges. Her hands were on the small side, fingers slender, elegant, nails polished in a pale pink. They were hands that disclosed nothing—
that
she knew.

Before returning to her workplace she’d get a manicure at the friendly Vietnamese lady’s around the corner who never asked tedious questions.

She huddled in front of the stove and put on more wood. The fir branches outside were bending low, heavy with snow, and gentle flakes danced before the windows. She made coffee in an old-fashioned metal pot and sat down on an old sofa covered in a colorful patchwork quilt. She tucked her legs under and began to unwind.

At last she had time to dwell on her thoughts. Sweet thoughts of revenge.

Nobody would make the mistake of underestimating her and not be punished. Not even a man like Werner Schulmann. How could all the tearful scenes she made have sucked him in so? He thought she was a helpless, passive, silly creature. How dumb was that?