The Zurich Conspiracy (38 page)

“Me too.” Pius stood up. “I’ll go around the corner and take the flashlight. Then you won’t be disturbed.”

Josefa waited until he was out of sight. Her numb fingers made it hard to undo the many layers of clothing and then get them back in order. She had just finished when Pius returned.

“Josefa, what would you think if I go off for a little while to look for a fork? I was here last winter with a guide, and he showed me a second way in. If I can find it, that would shorten the way back. Are you OK with that?”

“I’d rather you not.” As long as Pius was with her she felt safe. But she didn’t want to sit and wait down here alone.

“No need to be afraid. It’s only ten minutes out and ten minutes back. Nothing can happen. But it would save us the two hours it took us to crawl in here.”

A tempting prospect. The last few hours were really very strenuous. And even continual movement didn’t generate enough body heat for her to feel comfortable.

“So, twenty minutes?”

“Yes, not a minute more. Either I find the way out or I don’t. Can you do it? What do you think?” Pius regarded her almost pleadingly.

“OK,” she gave in. “But I’m taking you at your word!”

“You’ve got the whistle too, don’t forget that.” Pius started off. “Be right back.”

Josefa heard knocking and rattling noises for a few moments. Then it went quiet.

Sunday, February 9

Photographer Klaus Winiker says former colleague of P.T., Joseph Müller called “Joe,” works in Internet café in CentStn. Müller does not know where P.T. is. Not seen him for quite a long time. Says he can phone an acquaintance. But will not give me tel. Joe phones acquaintance. Says she is not home. Cell phone number not known. Leave Internet café, have call traced immediately. Phone belongs to J. Rehmer.

J.R. cannot be reached, and not by cell phone. Call her father. Doesn’t know where she is. Gives Paul Klingler’s number, business consultant, J.R. sometimes works for. Klingler says she signed out for one week vacation. Skiing somewhere in west of Switzerland. Go to J.R.’s apartment. Neighbor Esther Ardelius says she looks after place while J.R. on vacation. Gives us name of Rehmer’s friend Helene Meyer, ornithologist, Zurich Uni. Find Meyer there. Says J.R. skiing in Crans. Then to tour dripstone cave not open to public with P.T. Police in Crans check all hotels. Meyer says she can find cave researcher, an expert.

Zwicker has approval for questioning in London. P.H. wants to make statement with lawyer present. Zwicker on way to airport.

Josefa looked at her watch again. Half an hour had already gone by. Ten minutes late, that was explainable. If only time didn’t pass so slowly down here. Pius must be in the vicinity by now. She picked up the whistle and blew it. The penetrating sound was deafening. Only an echo came back in response.

Maybe Pius answered when her ears were still buzzing. This time she plugged her ears with her fingers before blowing. Nothing. Just an echo. She stood up and stretched her legs as much as she was able to on that little ledge.
Perhaps I should go around the corner and whistle from there. Maybe the rock walls cut off the sound.

She whistled once, twice, three times. Nothing.
Did he even have a whistle on him?
She couldn’t remember.
How stupid
. She was annoyed with herself. Why did she let him go off against all the dictates of reason? Pius must know that she was worried now.
Why is he doing this to me? He’s got cave experience, and I don’t!

Josefa kept moving her legs so they wouldn’t go to sleep. She was cold.

Maybe Pius underestimated the distance. Or their watches weren’t synchronized.

There’s sure to be a simple explanation. He’ll pop up any minute now, apologize a hundred times, and beam at her as he announces he’s found the second exit
, Josefa told herself, packing up her rucksack.

Monday, February 10

J.R. left Hotel Des Anges in Crans Saturday morning five a.m. P.T. also. He spent one night there, she five. Separate rooms. P.T. registered in hotel with own car. Three dripstone caves in area. One open to public, second closed. Third only accessible to scientists. H. Meyer says she found out that P.T. went through third cave last year with Charles Favre, scientist at Lausanne Uni. Lausanne colleagues en route. Search party forming.

Waiting for transcript of P.H. questioning in London.

It was perfectly still. Deafeningly still. Only the spattering of drops could be heard. Then the terrifying silence again.

Josefa sat immobilized.
Just don’t make a sound. Just listen and see if you hear something. Somewhere
.

Her bones hurt. Or was it her muscles? Everything felt clammy. Clammy and cold. She tried to stand up, move around. But her body didn’t obey. She held her arms around her shivering legs. She felt cramped, all pressed together.

How cold it is!

She’d been waiting for Pius for two hours now. She didn’t believe there was some delay or misunderstanding anymore. She’d stopped thinking that something happened to Pius. She was too angry for that, too desperate. Pius had left her here intentionally. There was no other explanation.

Her carbide lamp was still burning, but for how long? And her water supply was limited. She wasn’t hungry, just miserable and scared.

The horrible feeling of being abysmally lost.

She’d experienced it once before. Way back when—on a hike in the mountains with her father. The mountain wasn’t very high. They’d almost reached the top when the weather abruptly changed. An ice-cold wind was blowing right through their clothes. It was even more unpleasant at the top. The wind was so biting that it was a struggle just to get food out of the rucksack in spite of her hunger. Josefa was overcome by a feeling of overwhelming hopelessness. When her father asked, “Something the matter, Josefa?” she began to cry bitterly. Herbert Rehmer, clueless as ever, could only reply, “You managed to do it; now it’s downhill all the way.”

It was exactly that feeling of absolute abandonment that was lurking in every crevice. Any moment now it would creep out and attack her. At any moment, as soon as her resistance—her last spark of confidence—was extinguished.

Josefa had quickly rejected the thought of going back by herself. She would get hopelessly lost in this labyrinth. She would wait here until…what?

Nobody knew where she was except Pius. She’d told Helene and Esther about this expedition to the cave, but how long before her friends would start to think something was wrong? When would they inform the police? And how would they know where to look?

It was the darkness she feared the most, though. How long would her lamp keep burning?

She rehearsed her last conversation with Pius again and again. She had the crazy idea that she could find a clue in their exchange of words—something that she’d missed. Maybe he’d communicated something to her that might mean her rescue. Or he’d let on that he wasn’t about to come back.

She reached for his rucksack—at least he hadn’t taken that with him. It had a water bottle, two energy bars, and a foil emergency blanket. She wrapped the warm blanket around her.

Had he told somebody he was going to this cave? Had he created a safety net? Had he told his friends? But who were “his friends” anyway? Who did he spend his free time with? She knew so little about him. He had his colleagues at Loyn, and he certainly had some photographer friends. And there was this scientist who showed him the cave…And Joe. Joe was an old buddy of his. Didn’t Pius say that he knew him from their training together?

That’s odd. Was Joe a photographer once? She couldn’t even conceive of it. He’d worked as a nurse, that’s how she met him…
Did Pius train as a nurse as well?
She tried to visualize Pius in a white smock. Pius emptying bedpans, washing human bodies, and telling kids they didn’t have to be afraid of needles. It just didn’t fit.

She saw her father’s syringe lying before her on the desk. Insulin that he had to inject daily.
Does he always do it himself or does Verena help him? Would my father miss me if I don’t come back?

It was Josefa’s body that reacted first. She had to catch her breath. Her pulse was racing. And then a terrifying image entered her consciousness.
Pius. The syringe. Schulmann.

Her thoughts were all a jumble. Somebody must have given Schulmann the injection, somebody who knew a thing or two about how to do it. About fatal poisons. About overdoses.

A nurse! Was it possible that Pius…?
Schulmann would have let him into his house without giving it a thought. After all, Pius would sometimes come and show him photographs, even late at night. But what motive would Pius have for poisoning Schulmann? Schulmann couldn’t hurt him. There were no indications or rumors that he was harassing the photographer.

Josefa’s ears were buzzing. Maybe the scream of the whistle had affected her eardrums. She closed her eyes.

The buzzing was more clearly audible now. More of a soft rustling sound. But it wasn’t her ears. It came from somewhere deep down there.
Water!

Josefa leapt to her feet. She tried to locate where the rustling was coming from.
How far away is it?
Suddenly she was overcome with panic the likes of which she’d never felt before.
Maybe I won’t freeze after all. Maybe I’ll drown instead.

At that moment the light in her lamp started to flicker.

It was one of the greatest moments in Heinz Zwicker’s life. He had taken the night flight back from London for the sole purpose of opening the morning meeting. Franz Kündig was already on his way to the Waadtländer Jura and had left the field to him.

“To summarize,” Zwicker said, his voice noticeably deeper than usual. The whole staff was gathered there, eight in all.

“Pamela Hartwell began her affair with Pius Tschuor in March of last year at the presentation of the new Loyn collection in London. For both of them it was apparently mainly about sex. Moreover Tschuor took art photographs of Frau Hartwell, who had acting ambitions. Everything took place in secret. During the golf event in September the two took advantage of the break after lunch to engage in sexual activities under one of the tables in the tent. Tschuor had given Frau Hartwell two earrings that day as a gift, apparently an heirloom from his great-aunt.

“The table under which the incriminating acts took place was outfitted with a microphone, about which the two people knew nothing at that point, according to Frau Hartwell’s statement. The sexual acts—involving mutual oral gratification—lasted roughly ten minutes. They were on the tape discovered in Tschuor’s apartment and confiscated by us. When Frau Hartwell went to her hotel room shortly after her rendezvous with Herr Tschuor, she discovered an earring had disappeared. This caused her to look for it under said table in the party tent, with negative results, however. Both she and Herr Tschuor were very worried about the situation. Frau Hartwell was afraid it could lead to troublesome questions because she said Pius Tschuor told her that the earrings were very valuable.”

Zwicker took a drink of water. You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

“Tschuor found out shortly afterward about the existence of the recording. He called Frau Hartwell at the end of September to tell her about it. He said that Schulmann had played the tape for him, but in the belief that the man under the table was Richard Auer. Tschuor said Schulmann regarded the matter as a huge joke. He told Tschuor he wanted to lure Auer out of his usual reserve.

“Pius Tschuor, so said Frau Hartwell, was afraid that Werner Schulmann would play the tape for Herr Auer, and then it would come out that it wasn’t Auer who was involved but Tschuor.

“Tschuor and Hartwell were both terrified that Schulmann might blackmail them with the tape, especially Frau Hartwell. She said they could not understand how Schulmann acquired the tape. She then said that Schulmann explained to Tschuor that a reporter just happened to forget his pocket recorder and left it lying around nearby; Schulmann had played the tape to find out whose it was and stumbled across that passage on the tape.