The Zurich Conspiracy

fur-lined cap pulled down over his ears, an honest look in his eyes, and powerful teeth. Josefa was somewhat ashamed to catch herself imagining Greg and Helene kissing. It was a bit unpleasant; she didn’t want to think of her friend as a sexual creature.
    “Greg? He’s bushwhacking in Canada,” Helene said. “With some stupid tourists.”
    “Then he’d better watch out. A well-known Swiss lawyer has just died there, somewhere around Prince George. Name’s Feller-Stähli. He was on a guided tour and got lost.”
    Helene had disappeared behind the tarps, and Josefa could hear some rattling and scratching.
    “They were off hunting grizzlies. Have you ever heard of that? Or has Greg?”
    “What was that?” Helene asked after she reappeared.
    “Feller-Stähli, a well-known lawyer, lost his life on a bear hunt somewhere near Prince George. Greg lives there, doesn’t he?”
    “Do you know how huge the bush is around Prince George?” Helene shot back. “Bigger than Switzerland. And do you know how many tourists come and stay there every year? And Greg’s supposed to get wind of some Swiss lawyer, of all people?”
    “Feller-Stähli consulted with the top people at Swixan, got them to take their millions out before the company went belly-up.”
    “Then he got the fate he deserved,” Helene said, helping Josefa to her feet.
    Josefa didn’t answer. She could hardly complain about the fact that Helene showed no interest in her world of luxury travel bags and wealthy customers. Helene was wrapped up with other things—like the proper food for orphaned swifts, for instance (ground meat, crushed ants, mealworm pellets). Though these birds were no particular concern of Josefa’s, she couldn’t help but worry about them a little as she felt her way up the dark, narrow wooden staircase.
    “What is it with these swifts? Will they be able to nest here again? And what’s the score with Greg? Are you two still an item?”
    She could only see the bare outline of Helene’s figure in the dark, and her words mingled with the loud thumping of her boots.
    “That’s the trouble with you, Josefa. You ask so many questions, but I’m not sure you really want to hear the answers.”
    At that very moment Josefa’s cell phone rang. It was Stefan.
    “You got some time?” he asked.
    She was taken aback. His weekends were always for family. She glanced at Helene who’d figured it out right away.
    “So get moving,” she said. “He’s not going to be here for long.”
    A few hours later she was lying beside Stefan, exhausted and satisfied, her eyes shut. She felt his leg on hers, his arm on her breasts. Is he asleep? Suddenly her answering machine kicked in—she’d forgotten to turn down the volume, something she always did when expecting visitors. But she hadn’t heard it ring. Had she nodded off?
    She didn’t recognize the woman’s voice at first, but Stefan sat up at once.
    “This is Agnes. This is for Stefan, in case he’s there. Christian’s had an accident on his bicycle and has a head injury and is in the canton hospital. Get there as soon as you can.” A click, and the message ended.
    Stefan grabbed his clothes hastily. “Where’s my watch?” he asked . As if his watch means something when his son’s in the hospital, Josefa thought. Stefan, who was rushing to the john, slamming the door, having a pee, tearing open the door, grabbing his jacket, looking around for his car keys, hurrying out the door, and tossing off a “Sorry” on his way out the door.
    Josefa found his watch afterward, behind the bed. At two in the morning she was still awake, sitting on the sofa, rolled up in a duvet, staring off into nothingness.

There was no going through the kitchen: cables were lying every which way, tools were blocking the path. A white layer of powder lay over everything. There was a large, gaping hole between the refrigerator and the pan cupboard. A man in blue overalls was bent over and kneeling in the gap as if praying before a domestic altar. His drill was deafening.
    Josefa stood in the entranceway beside a washing machine covered with a plastic sheet and bellowed, “He needs glasses!” She made a ring with her thumbs and forefingers and put them up to her eyes. “Glasses!” she repeated. Sali’s father was standing across from her, trying to understand her words.
    “Glasses?” he asked. “Why glasses?”
    Josefa was holding the piece of paper from Sali’s teacher that his father had