The Zurich Conspiracy (7 page)

Josefa pointed to an unoccupied table closer to the patio, farther ahead. “That one would be better.”

The waiter shook his head. “That one is for two only.”

Josefa felt the anger mounting inside her. But she was already attracting some curious glances, and she didn’t need this kind of attention.

“Then I’ll have breakfast in my room,” she declared and pushed off to the exit—where she spied the blonde from the bus standing. Josefa made a quick decision and headed over to her.

“I saw you on the bus yesterday,” she offered as her conversational gambit. “The bus from the airport.”

The blonde hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, I remember,” she said pleasantly. “How’s the breakfast?”

“I haven’t had any because they wanted to exile me to the darkest and most isolated table in the room,” Josefa explained. “Because I’m
by myself
.”

“That’s so typical,” the blonde replied, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Perhaps we can share a table?”

“Good idea,” Josefa replied, relieved that that went much more smoothly than she had expected. Turning to the waiter she said triumphantly, “There are two of us.”

Keeping a straight face, the waiter led the two women to the unoccupied table in the middle of the room.

“Good you speak Spanish,” the blonde remarked. She had an open face with clearly defined cheekbones and green eyes. Her silk chemise dress was green as well, an elegant dress for the time of day, Josefa mused. “The Swiss are very good at languages,” she continued. “We Germans find it harder.”

The blonde, who Josefa guessed was barely thirty, said she came from Mannheim and that this was her first trip to Tenerife.

“For me it was a snap decision,” Josefa confessed. “I had vacation time coming, but nobody else did. That’s the life of today’s professional for you.”

The German lady filled Josefa’s coffee cup before filling her own.

“May I ask what your profession is?”

Josefa gave out a few generalities without specifically naming her company. After all, she was not here on business.

“That sounds fascinating,” the blonde lady replied, impressed. “I work in a legal consulting office. That’s far less interesting than your job.”

“Perhaps, but maybe less nerve-racking,” Josefa sighed.

The two went their separate ways after breakfast without arranging to meet later, which was fine by Josefa. She wasn’t interested in any new commitments. Josefa was on her way back to her room when she heard a woman calling her name. She turned around and saw her German breakfast companion holding out the chip-card for her room.

“You dropped this, Frau Rehmer.”

Josefa thanked her politely and continued up to her room to change. As she opened the door with her card, a thought suddenly popped into her head:
How did that German lady know my name?
They hadn’t introduced themselves…
Maybe she’d heard it while I was checking in or she’d read my luggage tag?
she reasoned.

Josefa didn’t leave the beach the entire day except for a quick bite now and then. She would occasionally go for a swim far out into the ocean then go lie in the shade of her parasol. The gentle murmur of the waves and the sound of chattering tourists lulled her. Zurich seemed so far away. Toward evening she went for a stroll along the beach promenade. The sea had turned rougher. Three-foot waves were roaring in, then crashing onto the rocks on the shore. Intrepid young men and women were diving into the high water with their surfboards to wait for the next wave and then jumping to their feet quick as a wink when a good swell approached. The surge would toss them around, carry them over the crest, and throw them into the undertow. Josefa could barely tear herself away from this fascinating spectacle, and by the time she got back to the hotel it was already dark.

The blonde German lady was nowhere to be seen the next morning so Josefa had breakfast by herself at the table for two. Apparently, in the waiter’s eyes, she’d become part of a pair even though her “companion” did not appear in the days that followed. Josefa didn’t come across her on the patio or on the beach either. Maybe the blonde was on a trip around the island and had only booked one night at the hotel, she concluded. Josefa didn’t give the woman’s whereabouts much thought after that. Instead she read three books in six days and went through two large tubes of sunscreen. She managed two daiquiris a day, one after swimming and one in the evening on the patio.

She had successfully repressed Loyn. And then she discovered an Internet café while out shopping. The temptation was too great, and before she could stop herself she’d already accessed her e-mail. Her hands trembled slightly as she scanned her full inbox. There was a message from Stefan wishing her a nice vacation and asking her to call when she got back (it only now occurred to her that he hadn’t called even once since she’d been away). Another was from Claire, who asked her to phone next week when she got home. Then her secretary wanted to know whether the famous race-car driver was booked for the event in St. Moritz this coming winter (of course he was, six months ago. Obviously somebody had been waking up sleeping dogs—Schulmann?). Then there was a message from Paul Klingler.

“I’ve some news about one of your regulars. Feller-Stähli, that corporate lawyer in on the Swixan bankruptcy, got lost on a grizzly hunt in the wilds of Canada. He was found dead. You can take him off your VIP list.”

Paul. Josefa had known him for a long time. Their paths had kept crossing after high school. Back in their school days she’d help him bone up on French literature, and he’d return the favor by helping her with descriptive geometry, but they much preferred to talk about bigger things, like God and the world here below. She thought a lot of him; he had an imaginative, quick-witted head on his shoulders and he used to amaze her time and again with his weird ideas. He was from an old, established Zurich family and knew every Tom, Dick, and Harry. He’d been calling himself a business consultant for the last few years, and his business was said to be making money hand over fist. A lot of gossip was circulating about Paul, especially in regards to his private life.

After his divorce—he had a daughter from that marriage—he was very much a ladies’ man. Women liked his youthful charm and his undivided attention—for as long as his companion of the moment held his interest. Apart from that he was evidently a good lover, something his ex-girlfriends would offer without Josefa even asking. She had no interest in verifying that claim for herself, however. Josefa found Paul to be highly entertaining and valued his advice (even when she sometimes felt he was patronizing) because he usually turned out to be right. Still, she was not always clear about his intentions. Her gut feeling was always “Watch out!” whenever she’d go to meet him. Paul generally chose his acquaintances according to their usefulness, and she was not in any way useful to him. At least she didn’t think she was.

Josefa sent him a brief e-mail thanking him for the information, appending the usual vacation greetings and promising to call him when she was back. A new message came in just as she was logging off, and she knew right away who it was from. Her mouth went dry as she opened it:
We have to distrust each other. It’s the only defense against betrayal
.

English once again. Goosebumps ran up her arms. She shouldn’t have gone into the Internet café! The holiday had done her a world of good, and now disquieting reality had caught up with her. She quickly left the café; a merciless sun blazed down on the street outside.

On the last morning of her vacation Josefa heard someone calling her name from the patio. It was the German woman.

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,” Josefa said in surprise.

“Oh, I was traveling, on business, you know,” the woman answered amiably. “Unfortunately this isn’t a vacation for me.” Hence the stylish clothes, Josefa thought to herself.

“But I was going to suggest we have dinner this evening.”

Josefa agreed at once. “At eight on the patio?”

“That suits me perfectly,” the German lady replied, turning away with a smile and disappearing into the lobby.

When Josefa came down to meet her acquaintance that evening, the blonde lady was already at the table.

“I’ve ordered Sekt,” she said by way of a greeting. “I hope that’s all right with you.”

Josefa didn’t mind at all. When they clinked glasses, the German lady introduced herself. “I’m Ingrid, by the way.”

Josefa introduced herself and then got around to asking her what her business was on Tenerife.

“A lot of Germans live here, and they often need legal advice.”

“You work for the consulate?”

“Not directly,” Ingrid answered evasively. “Not everyone wants to handle things through the consulate.”

Josefa decided not to ask any more questions along those lines. Instead Ingrid asked her about her work. Josefa tried to give polite answers without being too concrete, but the Sekt had begun to go to her head.

“Who gets on your company’s VIP list? What are the criteria for selection?”

Josefa explained that she made suggestions but management had the final say.

“And do many of them lobby hard to participate in company events?” Ingrid persisted.

“That may well be, but I don’t hear anything about that.”

“Tell me, are there guests who are no longer invited because the company can no longer afford them?”

“Yes, that also happens. It’s handled very discreetly,” she replied, thinking that was an unusual question. In general she found the topic an uncomfortable one so she tried to change the subject, asking Ingrid about the beautiful necklace she was wearing, a chain of white coral.

“You have a fabulous purse,” Ingrid remarked, returning the compliment. “Does that come with the job, having to carry Loyn’s handbags when you’re not at work?”

Josefa stared at the woman across from her. She had not mentioned Loyn in their conversation. She was always very discreet as far as her work went, particularly with strangers; discretion was part of her job, after all.

“How do you know I work for Loyn?”

Ingrid seemed to flinch a bit—or did Josefa just imagine it?

“It’s so unmistakably Loyn…You’ve told me about handbags, so there was a high probability,” she replied confidently, pointing to Josefa’s handbag.

Josefa nodded, admitting that her explanation certainly seemed plausible.
Why didn’t I think of that myself?

Then they enjoyed their lobster, white wine, and the flan for dessert. Before leaving the restaurant, Josefa asked the waiter to take a photograph of them together as a souvenir. Ingrid offered to take a couple of pictures of Josefa in front of the magnificent hotel façade. They both giggled like teenagers at their touristy behavior, and as Ingrid, still chuckling, handed Josefa back her camera, she remarked, “I’m certainly not as good as Pius Tschuor, but that’s good enough for a snapshot.”

Late that night, wrapped up in the cool sheets, Josefa racked her brains to figure out what Ingrid had said about Pius.
Damn that Sekt
.

Arriving at the airport the next morning with a serious hangover, Josefa bought a strong coffee and a Swiss paper—the first one in ten days—and sat at the gate waiting for her flight. When she looked at the front-page headline, her heart began to race.

FINANCIER BEAT THÜRING MISSING OFF TENERIFE

Spanish police have reported that Swiss entrepreneur Beat Thüring, former CEO of the notorious bankrupt Swixan AG, fell off his yacht into the water on Tuesday under mysterious circumstances and is missing. Spanish police have begun an investigation. Thüring was apparently going with some friends for a night sail at the time. Some witnesses stated that Thüring was under the influence of alcohol and drugs when he boarded his yacht. They reported he suddenly fell overboard and did not resurface. Spanish police are not ruling out foul play.

Zurich was gray and wet. Josefa felt her heart grow heavy; her vacation was over.

“Feltenstrasse eighty-three?” the taxi driver asked as they turned into her street. He stopped a few yards from her house and turned toward her.

“There’s a cop car in front of your door.”

Josefa could see the car now too. She hurried to get her luggage from the driver and was panting by the time she’d dragged the suitcase up to the fifth floor.

A note was pinned to her door: “Josefa, come to my place as soon as you’re back. Esther.”

She pushed her luggage into her hallway and climbed up the flight of steps. Esther Ardelius lived right above her; they were good neighbors who watered each other’s plants and kept a sharp eye on the other’s apartment when one was away.

It didn’t take Josefa long to guess what had happened the minute she saw that the door had been forced and the jamb splintered. She found her neighbor in the middle of a chaotic pile of clothes, handbags, books, scattered documents, and slashed cushions. Esther rushed into Josefa’s arms in tears.

“Everything’s gone! It’s terrible,” she sobbed. Josefa rubbed her back to calm her down, but Esther’s wailing made her words virtually incomprehensible. “Jewelry, gold, my grandmother’s heirlooms, my sound system.”