The Zurich Conspiracy

those are just nasty rumors, the usual gossip around the scene,” she replied. “Walther’s been married twice.”
    “As if that means anything, Josefa, you can’t be that naïve!” Markus sounded crushed. “But you don’t have to believe it. I just thought it would amuse you.”
    “ We are not amused ,” Josefa said, imitating the Queen of England. And deep down, she did not think it funny at all. At the moment she didn’t want to hear another word about Loyn. Nothing that she couldn’t explain and pigeonhole. But Markus didn’t have a clue about the turmoil Josefa had been experiencing lately. He lived in a completely different world.
    After hanging up, she made some popcorn, adding butter and salt to the little white-and-yellow puffs before returning to the sofa. Walther in a gay bar. How interesting. Did the cops know? If it were all true, then he could be blackmailed; he’d be on the defensive. Then he’d come crawling to her: “Frau-Rehmer-I’ve-made-a-huge-mistake,” and she’d answer: “Unfortunately-this-comes-too-late-for-me-Herr-Walther.” His picture would be all over the newspapers: “Well-known Swiss Businessman Outed.” He might have to retire from Loyn’s management. Whipped, destroyed, crushed. Just what he’d done to others—
    The phone rang again. This time she let the answering machine take it.
    “Hi, Josefa, this is Claire. It looks like you’re not home. I wanted to let you know that I’m still alive before I go off for a few days. We close over the holidays, but you know that of course. I’ve been stressed out for seventeen hours a day, but things are going well. No sense in panicking. We’ve got everything under control. We’ve got to find Bourdin’s replacement as fast as possible, and I think we will. I hope you’ll have a quiet time over the holidays, and we’ll certainly have a talk soon. All the best for the New Year.”
    Josefa refused to pick up the receiver. She didn’t want Claire to think of her as a poor soul in a vale of tears. Besides, she couldn’t stand her busy, excited chatter at the moment. Claire had never asked her if she wanted to come back to Loyn, even out of pure politeness. Out of sight, out of mind, that’s how fast things move. But what did she expect? Claire didn’t need her anymore, and neither did Loyn.
    I’m a female pariah, outcast and alone. That’s how I’ll live, that’s my fate , Josefa thought, taking a certain satisfaction in her wretchedness.
    Josefa had just gotten back to the movie when she was interrupted yet again, this time by the doorbell. Josefa looked at her watch: half past nine. Who could it be? Hopefully not the Albanian family; they’d be shocked by her casual clothes. She tiptoed over to the door and peeked through the peephole.
    Josefa opened the door. Her neighbor had on her little black dress. A gold ring held her dark hair back. “I heard you come home and thought I might share this with you,” Esther said, holding a cake in her hand. Josefa saw whipped cream and vanilla sauce and cone-shaped biscuits and capitulated. A St. Honoré cake!
    “Come in,” Josefa exclaimed. “I’ve got a cold bottle of Sekt.”
    They sat down on the sofa with plates, forks, and glasses—two lonesome souls on Christmas Eve. Apparently Josefa wasn’t the only one with worries; Esther confided that her last dance gig had been eight months ago.
    “I’m getting older, and it’s harder and harder to get into a permanent troupe.”
    “Have you any savings?” Josefa asked.
    “Savings? What are you thinking! In my job you earn next to nothing.”
    “And what are you doing now?”
    “I’m living off unemployment insurance. And I keep looking.” Esther emptied her glass in two gulps. “And I do forbidden things. Things I’ve never dared to do before because I was afraid I’d get hurt.”
    “What kind of things?”
    “Skating, for example. This week I was on the rink at the Dolder.” She bit so hard into the piece of cake that cream spurted out the sides. “And who do you think I saw there?” She looked at Josefa in triumph. “The detective.”
    “What detective.”
    “The one you were with at the zoo.”
    Sebastian Sauter. The lone champion of the good cause. But of which cause? What crime was he investigating?

For three evenings she’d done laps around the Dolder ice rink, and there was still no sign of the rusty-red ski jacket Esther had described. Maybe Sebastian Sauter didn’t come here