The Zurich Conspiracy

and run off. And all it cost her was a ticket to Zurich on the Intercity Express.
    Nobody had better get in Claire Fendi’s way. You don’t stab her in the back just like that.
    Who would ever suspect that such a dainty, angelic woman was behind the sabotage on the brakes? Westek was only another link in the chain, along with the “accidents” involving Thüring, Salzinger, and Feller-Stähli. They’d be sure to look for the perp, or perps, among the victims of the Swixan bankruptcy.
    She warbled away to herself:
    For no one knows my little game,
    That Rumplestilt —I mean—
    That Death’s Angel is my name!

“No, she said a little lake.”
    Kündig’s voice echoed around the white tile walls. He was sitting on the rim of a bathtub. The head nurse had summarily shipped him off to this bathroom when he asked where he could use the phone undisturbed.
    He had his cell phone in his right hand, a piece of paper in his left with a sketch that Josefa Rehmer had made. It had occurred to her that Claire might have gone to that out-of-the-way mountain valley, the cirque where they’d gone skiing together. The sketch showed mountains, firs, and a road leading into a valley. “Frau Rehmer didn’t actually see the lake. It was frozen over and under a blanket of snow. A kind of small mountain chalet was somewhere near the lake, in the firs.”
    Kündig was dying for a cup of coffee, but his colleagues in Zurich were keeping him tied up.
    “It’s an isolated part of the woods, looks like a barrier forest against avalanches.” A barrier forest in an isolated valley? Why? For one lousy chalet? Kündig didn’t even want to think about it. He was a city man, body and soul.
    He squirmed on the hard edge of the tub that was digging into his behind. Lucky his colleagues couldn’t see him right now.
    “The chalet? It’s right in the middle. No, not the valley, the middle of the woods. So you don’t have her sketch in front of you; I made a point of faxing it, it’s all on there. What? You need more details? No, I can’t disturb her now, she’s sleeping. I can’t see her for an hour. What does the geographer say? So what if it’s a geographer or a mountain guide, the main thing is he knows the area!”
    Kündig adjusted his sitting position again.
    “Did Düsseldorf come up with anything yet? OK, getting the people in the hotel there is critical. The name Karl Westek assumed he lifted from his former tax adviser. Isn’t that a doozie? Well, thank God I don’t have an expensive divorce hanging around my neck like Westek did. Yeah, and no girlfriend twenty years younger than me if that makes you happy. Is the mountain guide getting somewhere? What’s he say? Yes, yes, I’ve got all the time in the world, I’m in a hospital, you know.” He gave a sigh of resignation.
    “What photos? Anonymous sender? Oh, those photos, the ones Westek’s wife got of his sexual escapades. No, that was another bed bunny; that wasn’t the woman in Düsseldorf. No, not Claire Fendi, that’s obvious. The man really couldn’t stop himself, one after the other; he had his brain between his legs. Well, drop it. Let him rest in peace. Too bad we haven’t any witnesses from the convention. Doesn’t matter. But Fendi’s home computer is a genuine gold mine. Wonderful documents, Zwicker says. Sounds good. Seems she wasn’t so clever after all. I’m curious to hear what the lady’s going to tell us.”
    He struggled to his feet. That was enough sitting for a while; his rear end was sore.
    “No, the sun was in her eyes. At one o’clock, when they were on the slope. So you figure out where south is. We could save ourselves a lot of trouble if we could ask Fendi’s parents. They’re somewhere in Spain, Heinz says. And Spain’s big. Her brother died five years ago, car accident. He was a speed fiend. And her father must have been a real tyrant, the genuine article. There was a court case a few years back because the guy’s supposed to have burned all his daughter’s belongings. And you know why? Because she wanted to move out! Yeah, burned them, tutti quanti —clothes, books, papers, even her skis, can you imagine? Must have been a royal asshole. And then he got off. Witness versus witness, and the mother claimed she didn’t see anything. Case dismissed, you know the drill. Those characters act like Mongolian chiefs in their own home. And you can never pin a thing on them. What? No, I’m not getting worked up, why should I,