The Zurich Conspiracy

informative photographs…”
    She stopped typing. Schulmann was dead. A whirlwind was raging in her head, but she had to get this draft plan to her clients by tomorrow morning.
    The telephone rang. Paul , for sure, she thought.
    The voice on the phone spoke in a whisper. “Frau Rehmer. It’s me, Bianca Schwegler. I don’t know if I ought to pass this on but…Werner Schulmann is dead.”
    “Frau Schwegler, I can barely hear you.”
    “I can’t talk any louder. It’s chaos in here. Herr Schulmann is dead.” Bianca sounded rushed, didn’t even wait for Josefa’s response. “He was supposed to go to Milan on Friday for the media presentation of our new collection, but he never got there. We called his home, but there was no answer. Then we called his mother, but she didn’t know where he was. She didn’t have a key to his apartment either. We eventually discovered that he hadn’t even gotten on the plane. Then the police had to break down his door…They found him dead—just a minute.”
    Josefa heard a babble of voices in the background, then Bianca Schwegler again.
    “I’m very sorry but it’s absolutely frantic here. What I really wanted to say was the police are investigating the cause of death because Schulmann left a note saying if he died somebody most certainly had killed him. Do you understand?”
    “The police are investigating? Who found the note?”
    “I’ve heard it was at his lawyer’s, and so was his will. But I don’t know exactly. In any case they’re examining the body.”
    “How are people taking it—Bourdin, Walther?”
    “Francis Bourdin is totally hysterical. I haven’t seen Herr Walther yet. Bourdin came back from Milan yesterday. It’s just total chaos. Marlene’s looking for Claire everywhere. She’s disappeared. And she’s supposed to take over some of Schulmann’s responsibilities. Frau Rehmer, I’ve got to go, Herr Walther just walked by. Take care.” And then, “Maybe you’ll come back now.”
    Josefa held the receiver in her hand for quite some time. It would take a mighty effort for her to concentrate on her work today—that much was obvious.
    The evening news used the term “suspected murder.” But that was obviously not what the police had said, and they weren’t giving out any further information. Swiss TV showed Walther making his way to his car, pursued by TV cameras. Why didn’t anybody tell him it was better to use the underground parking lot instead?
    Josefa tried to reach Verena, but her father said she wasn’t back from the clinic yet. Then she called Claire’s home number three times, but all she got was the answering machine. Josefa didn’t want to leave a message. She suddenly felt very wary.

Sali pointed a wooden spoon, as if it were a scepter, up at the ceiling in a grandiose gesture. “Look up there, star we were wanting for,” he blurted out excitedly.
    “Waiting for,” Josefa gently corrected him. Sali was playing King Balthazar from the East. He would have a crown and a scepter and bring the Baby Jesus precious gifts.
    “What will you give to the Christ Child?” Josefa asked.
    Sali wrinkled up his nose. “Ski.” That was what he wanted for Christmas because all his classmates had skis.
    “But there’s not any snow where the Baby Jesus lives,” she said, feeling rather silly. How were you supposed to explain the Christian Christmas to a Muslim kid? And to make it worse, she was clueless in religious matters. She’d read somewhere that Islam recognized Jesus as a prophet. Sali probably read the Koran. She’d seen kids studying the Koran in madrassas on TV.
    Sali was adamant: “Jesus want ski.” That closed the book on it.
    King Balthazar fell on his knees before the manger—a basket filled with newspapers reporting Schulmann’s mysterious death. Sali’s earnestness touched Josefa. How trusting children are, and how often their trust is shattered. What she wanted most of all was to take Sali in her arms and comfort him. That’s when the telephone rang.
    Paul . No, Verena . She’d heard nothing from either of them. Paul was in Vienna on business according to his secretary. And it was most certainly not Helene; she knew her friend was off on a lecture tour in the French part of Switzerland. Josefa was relieved to have a little time before seeing Helene again anyway.
    “Franz Kündig, Zurich Criminal Investigation Department,” she heard a man’s voice announce. Josefa’s heart skipped a beat.
    “Yes?”