The Zurich Conspiracy

man in blue overalls was standing in the front hall. He stared at her as if she were an alien. Josefa’s shoulders dropped.
    “Please excuse me,” she muttered. “My nerves are all shot. It’s been a bit too much lately. I…I didn’t want to be so…” She put her middle fingers between her eyes to calm herself down.
    The workman rubbed his rough hands nervously. “Just leave the key,” he said. “It’s what I do with all my customers. I’ll put it back in the mailbox afterward.”
    Josefa wasn’t comfortable with that idea at all. How could she check on how well he’d done his job or how long it took? But come to think of it, just about everything in her life had been beyond her control the past few weeks; a workman was the least of her troubles. She sighed and gave him a key. The door fell shut behind him.
    She stumbled into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa. What was the matter with her? Would these sudden temper tantrums never go away? She’d almost thrown the receiver at that poor man’s head! Her stomach was in a knot at the thought of it. Fortunately nothing like this had ever happened at the office.
    Josefa closed her eyes, exhausted. Like a mantra, she had to repeat these words to herself a hundred times: Calm and controlled. Calm and controlled. Calm and controlled .
    Her cell phone rang. Kelly again, she thought. But it was a man’s voice on the line.
    “Sebastian Sauter, Zurich Criminal Investigation Department.”
    The police detective.
    “I had a coffee at your place and must have left my cap behind.”
    “Ah, yes, I remember. Yes, your cap is still here.” Josefa could hear a flutter in her voice.
    “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to drop by and pick it up.”
    “Today? No, it doesn’t work today. There’s no way. I…uh…everything’s turned upside down here. The washing machine, you know…a new washing machine…And in the office…”
    She fell silent.
    “Frau Rehmer? Are you still there?”
    “Yes.” That was all she could bring herself to say.
    “I don’t want to be a bother, we can make it another day; can you hear me?”
    “I…I don’t know what’s the matter with me today,” she stammered, and then her voice broke and tears ran down her cheeks. “It’s been so hectic today, please excuse me.”
    “Frau Rehmer, you don’t have to apologize. We all have days like that. Can I do something for you?”
    “No, no, I’m better already. I’ll give you a call, OK?”
    “Sure, no problem.”
    Keep calm, Josefa. Sit down, take a deep breath. And now concentrate, think. How did Sebastian Sauter get your cell phone number?

She opened the door of the cabin, pushed down on the rusty door handle, and banged her shoulder against the wood as powerfully as she could. The old door yielded with a loud creak. Got lucky this time. In cold weather the lock often resisted every attempt to turn it. The only thing that worked in that case was the hot flame of a cigarette lighter she’d hold against the recalcitrant metal.
    It wasn’t very cold today, just soaking wet. She pushed the door closed, locked it again, and put the key in a hidden crack of a high beam over the door. Then she felt her way ahead by using her lighter until she found a candle. She’d left her flashlight in the car but didn’t want to go back in the rain and growing darkness. She was of course well acquainted with the narrow path—she knew every turn, every overhanging bough—but it was quite soggy by now. She’d almost slipped on a protruding root on the way here.
    She lit the oil lamp on a plain wooden table in the middle of the room. Then it occurred to her that she’d also forgotten the newspapers in the car that she wanted to light the fire with. How distracted she was today! She wiped her wet hands on a towel hanging over a string line. A whodunit was in her rucksack; the title fascinated her: The Inferno of Cold Calculation . She ripped out a few pages and threw them in the oven of the old-fashioned cook stove. She heaped on thin wood shavings; there was still enough kindling and split wood, but she’d have to bring in a load next time. She carefully lit the literary scraps, and after the shavings caught fire, she put a large log in through the oven door. Smoke blew into the little room whenever it wanted. No smoke, no fire.
    She waited until the warmth gradually spread around. The firs in front of the window were no longer recognizable. Only the crackling of the fire