The Zurich Conspiracy (32 page)

Paul took her tacit agreement as a sign that he might still calm her down. He thought for a second.

“I’ve got it. Let’s go to the Fraumünster.”

“To a church?”

“There’s a whole gang of tourists going there to see the Chagall glass windows. Nobody will even notice us.”

He took her arm, and she offered no resistance.

Paul Klingler was right: A large tour bus was parked only a few steps away from the front of the Fraumünster. A guide was telling tourists inside about the history and significance of the windows, including the rose window that Marc Chagall had made in the seventies, but Josefa already knew all about it.

She took a pew right at the front, and Paul sat down beside her. The two of them said nothing for a while; Josefa was organizing her thoughts while Paul waited patiently, something that didn’t come easily for him. But she didn’t want to make any allowances—the whole thing was so damn unfair! The police trusted her, Van Duisen trusted her, Sali trusted her, Sali’s aunt and uncle trusted her—but who could
she
trust?

“We have to distrust each other. It’s our only defense against betrayal,” she finally said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s the quotation you sent me. From Tennessee Williams.”

“Ah, yes.” Paul was trying to get his long legs under the pew. “You’ve every reason not to trust me, Josefa, after all that’s happened. But you’ve also good reason
to
trust me.”

“Who says?”

“Your instinct. Or else you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

Josefa shrugged. “What’s that supposed to mean? You trusted Schulmann, at the beginning, and then he double-crossed you.”

“And now he’s dead as a doornail,” Paul added. “What’s with that mole at Loyn?”

She decided to tell him what came up in her talk with Curt Van Duisen. Didn’t she have a mission? Paul would be her first victim.

He listened intently, and when she told him about Thüring’s insinuation that he could force Walther to sell, he whistled softly. After she was through, he said, “I’m not much surprised…not very surprised at all. Thought that’s what the gang of four might have been cooking up. You know what I think of Van Duisen. I think the old fox thought hard about joining in. Loyn’s a jewel, enough to make a lot of mouths water. But he also figured out that the deal wouldn’t pay. The risks were too great.” He was wiggling back and forth next to her, apparently finding it difficult to sit comfortably. Or Paul might have been suffering from gambler’s fever and hoping to hit the jackpot.

“Maybe Van Duisen was genuinely convinced that public opinion would kill the deal, one way or another.” He coughed, then took out his handkerchief. “Or that the other three couldn’t be trusted, that they’d quarrel among themselves. The fact remains that he did sit at the same table with them in St. Moritz. And sat with Westek at Lake Geneva. The tapes will reveal what they actually discussed. Apart from that, Van Duisen can say whatever he wants. Thüring’s evidently drowned, and the other two are dead for sure.”

“You might as well say it: ‘murdered,’” Josefa shot back.

“Well, that hasn’t been proven yet. As far as I know, the police are only treating Westek’s accident as a possible murder.”

“And Feller-Stähli, the lawyer?”

“He certainly had a hand in it, that’s perfectly obvious.”

Josefa mulled it over. “I don’t think Van Duisen had anything to do with Westek’s murder.”

“Why?”

“The police would be treating him as a suspect if they thought he did. And the poor dear wouldn’t be so afraid of becoming a murder victim himself.”

The flock of tourists had wandered over to their side of the church, the guide’s voice interrupting their conversation. When they’d gone on, Paul picked up from where they’d left off.

“I find Schulmann’s demise more interesting. What did Werner Schulmann have up his sleeve, and what did Francis Bourdin have up his? Why did they bug those guys? It strikes me as obvious that Bourdin brought Schulmann into Loyn, probably to expand his power base. And then things worked out quite differently from the way he imagined they would.”

Josefa wrinkled her brow. “I somehow can’t conceive of Schulmann knowing about the bugs
before
he discovered the tapes in Bourdin’s room. Our cunning little Francis wouldn’t take that risk.”

“I have to agree with you there; after all, Schulmann hadn’t been with the company for long. Why would Bourdin make himself vulnerable by having an accomplice? But the way I see it, Bourdin and Schulmann both wanted the same thing: control of Loyn. Schulmann as manager, Bourdin as creative genius. But Bourdin was wrong about Schulmann; the guy was only after power and didn’t give two hoots about the company or its products.”

Josefa shoved her hands into her coat pockets and pressed her arms to her body. It was cold in the church. “Nevertheless, it still doesn’t make any sense,” she said pensively.

“What?”

“That Bourdin would kill Schulmann. Schulmann left a note saying that if he were found dead his cause of death was to be investigated. Not a word about Bourdin. If Schulmann had even the merest suspicion about him, he’d have acted accordingly.” She was shivering. “No, Schulmann must have felt very secure, very superior as far as Bourdin was concerned.”

Paul wrapped his scarf more tightly around his neck. “The fact he didn’t name names is a method psychopaths use to victimize someone by casting suspicion on innocent people and—”

Josefa interrupted him. “So let’s say Bourdin and Schulmann wanted to take over Loyn. Thüring, Westek, and Salzinger wanted to as well. But the company was not to be had!”

There was a sudden silence in the church; the tourists had disappeared. The two of them were lost in thought, until Paul said, “That brings us to the mole. What information did Thüring and Westek get that led them to believe they could force Walther to sell?”

“That’s what Westek said, not Thüring. But…who gave him that information?”

“Nobody in top management, certainly, nobody who had access to top-secret data, Walther’s CFO, for example. People like that could only lose, I mean, lose a lot of money. Besides…you can hide a lot of things in a family business; they don’t have to release the numbers the way a public company does,” Paul stated.

Josefa nodded. “Maybe Schulmann found a way to access important data; he was a good hacker. He certainly tried to steal computer data. There’s still a question as to how far he got with it?”

“But Schulmann definitely did not give any data to Westek,” Paul objected, almost whispering; the church had grown so quiet.

Josefa had to smile. “We’re acting as if we know something. But we’re just playing cops.”

Then a thought crossed her mind. “Maybe the gang of four was blackmailing Walther.”

“Why?”

“Look at it this way.” Josefa hesitated, uncertain how far to get into it. “A friend of a friend said he saw a certain prominent Zurich businessman in a gay bar in London.”

“Wow! That puts a whole new light on things. But who’d give up his life’s work because of a blackmailer? That doesn’t save him from being blackmailed later. But still…that sure is an interesting angle.” He moved his legs around again. “But of course…if it had been blackmail, why would Thüring and company need a mole?”

“We’re none the wiser.” She heaved a sigh.

Paul clicked his tongue. “Six crooks are dead, but the world isn’t one iota safer.” He laughed hoarsely. “Only a few bears in Canada and a few deer in Vals can breathe easier.”

“Why in Vals?”

“Because Salzinger can’t go hunting there anymore.”

Josefa looked at him in surprise. “You told me he was in the Canton of Wallis. Vals is in Graubünden.”

Paul shook his head. “You see how good my geography is. But it was in Vals; I’m dead sure. He was seen at a thermal spa in Vals shortly before his death.”

“How do you know that?” Josefa felt as if the pew were catching on fire beneath her.
Vals. Where Helene always used to go hunting with her father.

“I read the papers, my dear.”

How did I miss it?
She just couldn’t sit still any longer. She tugged at Paul’s sleeve in irritation. “Come on, they’re about to lock up. We’ll have to admire the Chagall windows another time.” She took the opportunity to deliver a short prayer up to heaven. A prayer for Helene.

“Dreaming up murder scenarios in a church, that’s not exactly pious,” she whispered to Paul on the way out.

He waved his hand. “We went in fighting and came out in peace. If
that
doesn’t please him up there!”

Sometimes it was maddeningly difficult to prove Paul wrong.

“I cannot give you any personal information about Sali Emini,” Dr. Derungs said, resolutely. “You are not a relative, so therefore you have no right to any data on him.”

Josefa leaned back in her chair, annoyed. Duri Derungs, acting director of Zurich’s Medical and Psychological Services for Schools, was a strikingly handsome man with a mellifluous voice. But what he was spouting at the moment did not soothe her in any way. It only took a few minutes for her to label him arrogant, but Josefa suppressed her annoyance because he had made the time to talk to her.

“Perhaps you misunderstand. I only want to be able to help Sali more,” she began.

Derungs cut her off at once. “I don’t know what kind of help you mean, Frau Rehmer, but Sali receives psychological, therapeutic help from our trained experts.”

It cost Josefa some effort to remain patient. “Sali is obviously a traumatized child. What I don’t understand—and you can generalize about war-damaged children if you like—what I don’t understand is why Sali presents no aggressiveness or other striking behavioral patterns. What’s going on inside? How can I help him overcome his war trauma?”

The psychologist frowned. His answer came very slowly, as if he were addressing a schoolgirl. “These children react in quite different ways. Some become depressed, others conform too readily, many display destructive behavior or constantly rebel. But many withdraw completely, emotionally.”

Josefa did not relent. “That’s precisely what worries me, that Sali is outwardly so completely normal. But he’s experienced war, and his parents were killed. He never talks about them. I don’t know if I should even mention his parents.”

Dr. Derungs leaned forward and folded his slender hands. “May I ask you something, Frau Rehmer? Why are you interested in the lad?”

Josefa blinked in annoyance.
What sort of a question was that?
“We live in the same building, and his uncle has asked me several times for help filling out forms for the school or with Sali’s new glasses. I often take him on outings—with his family’s permission of course.”

“Do you have any children? Are you married?”

“No to both. Why do you ask?” Her voice became a touch sharper.

“You like the boy, do you not?”

“Of course. But…What are you trying to say, Herr Derungs?”

“Simply give the child some attention, let him feel that you like to be with him. But do not attempt any therapy with him. We’ll take care of that.”

Josefa, now incensed, shook her head, “No, you’ve got the totally wrong idea, that’s not my point at all—”

“Sali has been fortunate in the midst of misfortune,” Dr. Derungs continued. “He has an uncle and aunt who lost two sons in the war and are giving him loving care. And he has a large clan that still exists to some extent. Your assistance, Frau Rehmer, is certainly valuable and welcome to his family. But you should prepare for the time”—now the psychologist was looking her straight in the eye—“when Sali will vanish from your sight, sooner or later.”

“What
ever
is that supposed to mean?” Josefa no longer made any effort to be polite.

“His family could be sent back to Kosovo after the war, for example, or return of their own free will.”

Now Josefa leaned forward as well. “Herr Derungs, I must tell you frankly that I do not see where you’re going with this. Do you have to deal all the time with people who question your work with these children?” She could smell his aftershave: Givenchy pour Homme. Bourdin had used it too.

“No, it’s not that. I would just like to point out that one day you will have to leave Sali, and that the separation is not always easy—for either party.”

Josefa stared at the man before her. She’d come to find out something about Sali, and now suddenly it was all about her.
This paper-pusher has a screw loose,
she thought.

“Sali is not filling some vacuum for me,” she managed to get out. “He came into my life, I was asked for help, and I like the kid; I help him with his homework. I don’t want to put him in therapy or adopt him or alienate him from his family.”

She had risen from her chair in her anger. “You probably think I’m some kind of rich bitch who’s suddenly discovered her heart over an orphan from the Balkans and is going to use this poor kid to solve her own problems!” She shoved the chair away quickly and put both her arms on his desk, making the psychologist pull back reflexively. “But you know what: He does help me in fact—this little boy helps me see the world differently. No, he helps me see a different world—a more diverse, brightly colored world than you can probably ever conceive of,” she snarled. “Thank you for this helpful conversation, Herr Derungs.” She turned around, opened the door, and stormed out.