The Zurich Conspiracy

and extraordinary accidents, away from dark suspicions and unpleasant questions.
    She climbed out of the tub, dried off, and slipped into her comfy housecoat.
    Every time she checked her e-mail, as she did now, she was afraid of finding one of those threatening messages, but there hadn’t been any for weeks. Instead she found a message from Claire.
    Dear Josefa,
    Sorry you haven’t heard from me. But you can imagine how fast things are moving here. With Schulmann out and Bourdin close to a nervous breakdown, I’ve had to fill in everywhere. I’m helping Bourdin with marketing and Walther with communications. Maybe it’s a good thing that Schulmann never filled your position. He always wanted to control everything himself anyway. Luckily he’s now in control of absolutely nothing. Walther is very pleased with me, and I get a kick out of that. I’ve always wanted to be really challenged. I’m doing all I can to keep our stars from flying the coop.
    I’ll be in touch soon as things have settled down here.
    Talk to you soon,
    Claire

The next day the biggest newspaper in town featured an in-depth article on Francis Bourdin, complete with a full-color picture of the man and a headline that read: “What Has This Man Got To Hide?”
    The reporter claimed that Bourdin had long planned to take over Loyn from Walther; she asserted that Bourdin had made inquiries of interested investors in financial circles and intimated to friends that he had “the means” to force the old gentleman to sell the company at a low price. Bourdin did not have an airtight alibi for the time of Schulmann’s murder, the reporter continued, giving late Thursday afternoon as the time of the crime, according to her “reliable sources.” The article alleged it was Bourdin and not Schulmann who did the eavesdropping; Schulmann found out about it later. The reporter had questioned the Filipino chambermaid who helped Schulmann clear out Bourdin’s room and had drawn the logical conclusions. She closed with an astonishing speculation: Had Francis Bourdin become too threatening for someone, and was Schulmann—who was brought into Loyn to strengthen Bourdin’s grip on the firm—the fall guy?
    Josefa pressed a hand to her mouth. Who was the reporter’s guesswork pointing to? Not Walther! He was a model entrepreneur, and Loyn a gem of the Zurich business world.
    Josefa read on. Schulmann apparently gave his lawyer the tapes for safekeeping. The reporter surmised that Schulmann or Bourdin could be up to no good with the tapes and asked, “Which of the guests was going to be blackmailed with those tapes?”
    Josefa thought this was hopelessly muddled. Moreover, she was astounded to see the guests list printed—including Thüring, Salzinger, Van Duisen, and of course Westek, though they weren’t singled out for special attention. The reporter only quoted two guests who had participated in the golf tournament. One was an old friend of Walther’s, who said, “I feel sorry for Hans-Rudolf Walther because his company’s making headlines that can hurt it. He doesn’t deserve this. And these kinds of crimes usually involve people who are close to each other anyway.”
    Josefa took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. The newspaper would achieve one thing with this story, that was for sure: Bourdin would have to break his silence and take a public stand.
    It was quiet in her apartment. Normally she would hear Esther practicing her dance steps at this time of day. The stillness was eerie. Why didn’t somebody phone to ask what she thought about the article? Why did none of her colleagues from Loyn call her? Was she already consigned to oblivion?
    She turned to the blue envelope that she’d picked up along with the newspaper. No sender was indicated. She tore it open and a picture fell out: a photograph of herself. Her face was bathed in soft light, her body at a slight angle forward. She was apparently leaning toward somebody. The gentle curve of the top of her breast was subtly visible in the décolletage of her suit jacket. Her lips were full and open in a mysterious smile. Her eyes had an almost seductive sparkle. Her hair had a shimmer to it and was swept up into a loose knot so that there were no curls on her neck, which appeared long and slender from this perspective. Was it really her?
    Josefa couldn’t recall when the picture was taken. She often wore the beige two-piece suit pictured in the photo. But she knew at once who had caught