The Zurich Conspiracy

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.”
    Josefa could feel Esther’s bony shoulders under her shirt.
    She almost felt guilty because she hadn’t been home to prevent the break-in; she felt as if she hadn’t done her neighborly duty. There had never been a burglary in their building, though break-ins were not uncommon in this part of the city. Esther pulled away, trembling, surveying the destruction in disbelief. It will take days to