The Zurich Conspiracy

recording equipment in Bourdin’s room.
    So had Schulmann removed the bugs in time, before the men came for the furniture? Maybe he’d been blackmailing Bourdin with them? And then Bourdin killed him? Josefa held her breath. Things were more and more baffling.
    One last question flashed through her mind: Is Schulmann’s murder in any way connected with Thüring, Salzinger, and Feller-Stähli’s extraordinary accidents ?

“I don’t know why I’m doing this—I really can’t stand the sight of blood,” Josefa said to the Red Cross nurse as she was taking off her bracelet. She was lying in one of the trailers parked for a few days on the Sechseläuten Wiese. The Red Cross had started a major blood-donation campaign, and Josefa thought it was high time for her to do a good deed, maybe her only one in the year that was nearing its end.
    “Your blood pressure’s very low,” the nurse said, looking worried. “I don’t know if it’s advisable to draw blood.”
    “I’ve always had low blood pressure,” Josefa assured her, fearing that she’d come for naught. “Donating blood has never hurt me.”
    The nurse looked at her with raised eyebrows. “But promise me that you’ll go to the breakfast area and have a really strong coffee and something to eat afterward.” Her face was stern. “And if you feel the least bit unwell come back immediately.”
    Josefa promised and walked out a little unsteadily ten minutes later. It was early on a Saturday morning in December and bitterly cold on the street. A cluster of men in dark coats was standing outside the trailer. Police! What are they doing here? It was a regular deployment, about eight men. She disappeared quickly into the breakfast trailer—only to find herself face-to-face with yet another police officer.
    “You here?” Sebastian Sauter exclaimed. He was holding a coffee cup in his hand.
    Josefa tried not to appear as surprised as she was. “I smelled blood and thought it might be worth dropping in and having a look,” she responded, more flippantly than she had intended.
    “You see, it’s worth it,” Sauter riposted. “So let’s go talk for a few minutes.” He radiated a certain authority in his sharp uniform. His hair appeared freshly washed and his face had a healthy glow. Everything about him seems fresh , Josefa thought to herself. She, on the other hand, was pale as death.
    A woman in a white nurse’s uniform brought her a steaming coffee and a roll with butter and marmalade. Sauter sat down beside her at a little bistro table. He smelled of herbal shampoo. A dozen blood donors were sitting around, chatting and noshing, half of them cops, she guessed.
    “Were all the detectives in Zurich detailed to give blood?”
    “Yes, it’s one of our noble duties,” Sauter said with a wink. “We’re role models for the rest of the population so you don’t have to be afraid of me.”
    What did he mean by that? Was she supposed to be afraid of anybody? He surely knew about Schulmann’s sudden death, maybe about her interrogation at the police station as well. Isn’t he in charge of murder cases? At least that’s what Esther said. Then why did he show up at a routine burglary? But she was careful not to broach the subject, and Sauter seemed in silent agreement.
    “I admit I’m hopelessly spoiled,” he said.
    “Spoiled?”
    He pointed to his cup. “You’ve spoiled me. Ever since I had your espresso, no other coffee makes me happy.”
    She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “ Herr Polizist , you cannot expect the Red Cross to grant itself the luxury of serving Italian espresso. That would be wasting cash donations.”
    “But I pay for it with my blood, isn’t that a fair exchange?”
    “Even Swiss blood isn’t compensation enough for Italian espresso, Herr Sauter.” Her eyes were flashing.
    “What’s Swiss blood got to do with it—my great-grandfather came from the Black Forest. We Swiss have all been ennobled by foreign genes anyway.”
    She laughed. “Yes, thanks for ‘ennobled.’ My mother came from Piedmont.”
    “Aha. Just as I thought.” He looked at her profile, which triggered a shudder in her. “Your eyes and complexion—there’s something Mediterranean about you. And where does the name Josefa come from?”
    The man was asking so many questions she couldn’t eat her breakfast! Once a cop, always a cop , she thought, though she admitted to enjoying his company. She told him how her mother had really wanted