I held my arm close around Therese’s shoulder, her head pillowed on my chest. Her body was warm where she laid against me and I could smell her fragrance. Anyone who’s unlucky enough to be murdered has a reason to be mad at fate, but as I sat in the back of that car holding Therese close to me, I knew that wherever John Dawson had ended up, he wouldn’t be mad, he’d be raging. At himself, at fate, at losing what I held now. Life, what a crazy ride.
The whole mood washed away in the next moment or so. We saw some heavy lights shining down from high silver poles. They were similar to stadium lights, the kind that have a bank of spotlights. They lit up the night, even penetrating the fog. It was still a bit indistinct at ground level, but not as bad as it had been. The airfield fence was visible as was the small guardhouse for the gate we were approaching. The windows of the guardhouse glowed a warm yellow, feeble but cheery. As we closed rank with the sedan visibility opened up even more, dispelling the last of the strange disconnected feeling. Beyond the large swing-out chain link gates, there was a dual carriageway with cars zipping along at highway speeds every few seconds. There were sodium lamps on the tops of the light poles along the highway burning away with a bright orangey-pink tinge. We’d just left the Twilight Zone behind.
Someone had been forewarned of our arrival, because there was no checkout from the guardhouse. We were waved straight through. The sedan had pulled off and stopped just outside the gates, and the driver stared at us without expression while we drove slowly by. As we passed him I could see his face, he was the one who had checked my guns.
After turning onto the main road, we picked up considerable speed, prompting me to finally wake Therese and allow both of us to buckle up our seatbelts. She was groggy, but she didn’t complain. The place where she’d lain against me was cool after she sat up, the body heat gone.
The further we traveled from the airport the lighter the fog became, until finally we left it behind almost completely. By this time, we were rolling along a local road leading into Dietikon, a town about twenty minutes outside of Zurich. Everywhere is somewhere in Switzerland. You couldn’t go for a serious run without leaving the town you started in, and sometimes the Canton as well. The Swiss had the country well populated and well planned-out. The only cities of any size by North American standards were Zurich itself and of course Geneva. Even they were only overgrown towns in comparison to Toronto, but they had the hustle and bustle of cities. Maybe more so than most Torontonians would admit given the opportunity to compare fairly. The day to day action that takes place in Geneva alone puts the country on the map, and Zurich is no country cousin. Geneva is famous for world politics, whereas Zurich is a money town. You could buy your own country with a ten percent cut on some of the deals going down there every day. A perfect home base for the Crassberg Group, AG. Well, we were here now, we’d see what we would see.
We drove in silence through the dark streets of Dietikon, following the lead car headed to a rendezvous with our hotel. The only places likely to be open at this hour were the late-night clubs, and they were all in Zurich. I’d been in Dietikon before, the last time maybe six years back, and I remembered it well. If our hotel was here, I probably knew the hotel, and the management, quite well. As far as I could recall, there was only the one full service hotel in town. If Francois was still the head chef, at least I could count on special meal service. That was more important than it sounds. The Swiss are wonderful people, but damn, they watch that clock and live by it. Dinner hour is from late afternoon until 7:00 PM. Then pal, you’re out of luck. The only way you feed yourself after that is by going to an outside restaurant or by knowing the cook. Francois had a share in the hotel, and he lived in an apartment on the main floor in the back. He’d sit up some nights with me, drinking kirsch and discussing politics, foreign trade, and the EEC dilemma. The European Economic Council was a constant source of angst for the Swiss. Mondays, they were for it, Tuesdays against, and so on. Francois had been firmly entrenched in the ‘against it forever’ camp until one night when I’d taken his side, and fervently exhorted the perils of Union right alongside of him. Just like that, he’d switched sides, and delivered to me an impassioned plea for the total sanity of the plan. In the end, I think that chefs are as temperamental as artists. Go figure.
While all of these thoughts of yesteryear were rolling around in my mind, we pulled up in front of the Sommerau Hotel. Seven floors of dark grey dedicated to travelers. I wondered whether or not I could get my old room again. The surprise was that there was someone waiting in the lobby for our arrival. The hotel closes and locks the main door at 11:00 PM, midnight on the weekend, and if you’re not home after that, you have to ring the late night bell and wake someone up to let you in. The sight of a sleepy, somewhat disgruntled hotel employee, in their PJ’s mind you, is always enough of a guilt maker that you do the ‘Expected North American Thing’. That is when you pull out whatever’s left over from your night on the town, and try to tip them, so as to alleviate the anguish you’ve caused. This immediately backfires. As any Swiss will tell you, twenty francs is not a replacement for a good night’s sleep ruined. The Swiss are pretty cool, all in all. They’ll drive day and night nonstop across the continent, and then get what sleep they can, standing up if necessary, just to get a good seat at one of the constant Grand Prix races, but ask them to work overtime, and they look at you like you just walked out of the dim dark past of the Industrial Revolution, and were a foreigner even then. It’s a healthy attitude.
Our spotter opened the door to greet us as soon as we pulled in to the curb but stayed where he was. Luggage at 1:00 AM wasn’t part of the deal, obviously.
Westwood and Godsen had passed a few comments between themselves during the drive, but they hadn’t been exactly chatty. Now we were here, and they both seemed relieved. I’d have to say they didn’t appear to be on the best of personal terms despite being team-mates. Maybe they’d just met recently. Therese had drifted into a light sleep again after I’d woken her, but as soon as the car rolled to a stop she was awake. We all piled out and milled about on the sidewalk for a few seconds stretching our legs. Not so much from the drive as from the flight. Godsen got out last. Taking hold of her briefcase and Therese she went directly to the lobby entrance motioning for the spotter to get off his duff, so to speak, and make him to give a hand with the luggage which he did grudgingly. Westwood and I started pulling cases out of the back of the wagon and laying them on the sidewalk while he carried them up the half dozen steps and through the front doors. A couple of them were heavier than they looked. Within five minutes we had everything inside the lobby, and the car was parked across the street in an available slot.
Inside the lobby, things were pretty much as I remembered them. The entire lobby was about the size of a living room of a two-bedroom apartment back home, or in other words, small. Small and dark. Not quite gloomy, but it was leaning that way. The walls had dark oak paneling laid in from about waist-high to the ceiling. Below, the carpet that was all through the front of the hotel, a dark burgundy paisley kind of thing, ran up the walls to meet the paneling. It even extended to the first floor on the stairs that were out of sight to the right of the front desk, just around the corner from the elevator, of which there was only one. Colour ink drawings of the local sights and historical events were framed on the walls all around the room, giving it the only real visual points of interest it had. They hadn’t changed a thing.
The paperwork was pre-filed and ready for us in a folder on the counter. The fellow who’d been waiting up was wearing day clothes, not his pajamas, so he’d obviously been resigned to doing a little overtime this evening. He processed the check-in quickly and with very little discussion. There was no request for passports, so I knew that the arrangements made in advance had been irregular. That’s the first thing they ask for normally. It was all going along on automatic, so I threw in my two cents worth.
“I’d like room seven oh seven please.”
Godsen loo
ked at me quizzically.
“I like that room. I’m comfortable there, it’s no big deal.”
The hotel fellow was dividing his gaze between us, probably trying to determine whether or not to process my request. Godsen pursed her lips in thought, then turned to the clerk.
“What floor were you going to put us on?”
“Madame has a suite on the fifth floor reserved. It has been prepared as your instructions have indicated. To change the reservation now… it would be possible… but…” He was searching for some way to say the hotel couldn’t do it, that was plain. I tried to help.
“Look, let’s simplify this, Okay?” The clerk nodded. Godsen waited to see what I had to say. “Is seven oh seven empty?”
“Yes, monsieur. But…”
“Good. Now, is seven oh six empty?”
The clerk gave a small shrug of defeat. “Yes, monsieur.” I think it was too late at night for him to put up a decent fight.
“That’s all I need to know.” I turned to Godsen. “Both of those are suites. They have two bedrooms, and that’s what I want. I have a guest to consider. Does a two-bedroom suite work for you guys?” What I was saying was ‘Therese stays with me’. I couldn’t expect her to share a room, but a suite would work fine. There were only two suites per floor in the hotel, and seven oh seven was one of the corner ones, the largest, with two bedrooms. Just what I wanted.
Godsen gave me a look that said ‘I’ll talk to you later’, and gestured at the clerk.
“Go ahead, that’s fine.”
The luggage was making its way into the lobby while we were debating the issue. Both my bag and Therese’s were sitting just a few feet away. Escape was imminent.
“You have check-in covered?” I asked Godsen.
“Yes, we do.”
I nodded.
“Fine, then.” I looked at the clerk, “And your name is…?”
“Jean-Claude, monsieur.”
“Very good, Jean-Claude. I’ll take the key to seven oh seven, please. Madame will complete the check-in.” He dutifully handed it over.
Before Godsen could protest, I alleviated her displeasure somewhat by indicating I would be over to see her in fifteen minutes. Then I grabbed both mine and Therese’s bags, and with her in tow, stepped around the corner and into the ancient elevator and pushed seven. The door creaked shut, making a peculiar rumbling sound, which I didn’t remember from the last time, and it jolted into motion. Throughout the entire dialogue, Therese had remained silent. We seemed to be developing a trust between each other. I hoped it would turn out to be justified on her part.
~
Chapter Thirteen
R
oom seven oh seven was as close to a penthouse suite as one could get at the Sommerau. It was comfortable, and fairly roomy, which the regular rooms weren’t. Roomy, I mean. I unlocked the door and motioned Therese in first following after her with our bags. I looked like one of those people checking into a hotel in the movies, loaded down with one bag in each hand, and my briefcase under my arm. I walked about five feet into the room before dropping my load in front of the closet.
The room was much as I recalled it. There was an open foyer-type area just inside the door, with a closet on the right, and a small washroom on the left. Then we had an open sitting-room about twenty feet deep by fifteen feet across. There was a four-cushion couch along the wall on the left, with two matching sofa chairs facing it across a low coffee table with a top made of small brightly coloured Italian tiles. Double-pane swing-out windows looked down on the street from behind floor length pale blue drapes on the far wall. The colour scheme in the room was the same as the rest of the hotels rooms, a soft blue-grey. The pile carpeting matched exactly. Along the right side of the room there were two doors, leading to the bedrooms, with an armoire sitting against the wall between them. That was where the television was hidden, in the armoire. Down at the furthest end of the room, in the far-right corner was a small desk and chair with a telephone, and all of the usual tourist paraphernalia. I knew without looking that the bedrooms were small, but the comfort level was high. The beds would be good, and like all hotels in Switzerland, the down filled Fischbacher’s quilts covering the beds assured one that the chill of the alpine nights wouldn’t intrude on their sleep. The one incongruous decor item was the same one as all hotels had trouble with. The lamps. I don’t know why this is, but in my experience all hotels have hired the same bad decorator for the floor and table lamps. The shades used are uniformly ugly, and the placement is always ineffective. The Sommerau was no exception to this rule. The lampshades were large, cream coloured, and covered in a tight plastic wrap. Each lamp was strategically placed to deliver a weak cone of light just where you’d most likely not need it. It’s hard to break with tradition I suppose.
Therese had draped herself on the couch and had her eyes closed again. I was beginning to wonder about her ‘tiredness’, but first things first. I ignored her for a few minutes while I set up shop.
Her bag went into the far bedroom, the larger of the two. It had a master bath attached, and windows on two sides, this suite being a corner one. It was nice, and I thought she’d like it. My bag and briefcase went into the first bedroom, which was smaller, and had a window only on the far wall from the door. I set the bag on the bed, and dug out a couple of items.
The Quorum Alert System consisted of an internal motion detector/RF transmitter unit about half the size of a Sony Walkman, which was easily attached to anything with the use of a self-glued plastic adhesion sticker. It worked fine for hotel doors, and I routinely used it when I traveled. Any movement of the door would trigger the alarm, which could also be set to ‘silent’, and would send out a Radio Frequency signal which would be picked up by the other half of the system, the receiver. The receiver was about the size of a normal pager, and acted the same way, letting off a series of short loud beeps when it was activated. This was intended to let you know that you were in the process of being burglarized, or whatever. The catch was you had to be within a maximum range of three hundred yards of the transmitter for the system to work. I usually found it effective only for letting me know when my hotel room was being invaded when I was asleep, but for this trip, it would be of greater use. I was going across the hall to see Godsen, but I didn’t want Therese to get any ideas about taking off on her own. I also knew that unless I put her under guard at all times, it wouldn’t be possible for me to ensure her compliance without trusting her. Putting on a ‘round the clock guard was more stress than I wanted to give her. I chose to trust her until I knew different. That meant that the Quorum could act as an added safeguard for me, letting me know if anyone opened the door while I was with Godsen. I figured the whole seventh floor was well within the three-hundred-yard maximum.
I walked out to the sitting room and checked on Therese. She was sprawled out on the couch, half-sitting, half-lying, right where she had landed when we came in. Her eyes were closed, but I could tell from her slight head movement as I entered the room that she wasn’t sleeping.
“Therese?”
“Umm?”
“Are you feeling ill, or are you just tired?”
She opened her eyes, and I could tell right away that there wasn’t anything physically wrong with her, her eyes were bright and clear. She wasn’t ill, she was grief-stricken. The shock of it all had been a barrier to the soul-wrenching sorrow, but now that the shock was wearing off, the uncensored anguish was growing. The tears had been hiding behind her tiredness, but now that I’d asked, they started to flow. Slowly, silently, the tears fell from her eyes to her cheeks, rolling down her face and dropping onto her blouse. Her chest gave little heaves, and she started to hiccup. It was pitiful to watch.
“Hang on a second Therese, I’ll be right back.”
The small bathroom near the front door to the suite had what I was looking for, clean glasses on the tray beside the sink. I ran the water until it felt cold and filled the glass. If it was as good as when
I was here last, the water was more than fit to drink. Unlike most countries, Switzerland had been advocating environmental stability for decades, and the people took it seriously. One of the end results was not just potable water, but water that was so clean it actually tasted good.
From the bathroom, I went back into the sitting room and placed the water on the coffee table in front of her. Reaching into my inside pocket, I pulled out a small medicine vial.
In it, I had about a dozen ten-milligram Valium tablets, among other things. Just the boy-scout in me I guess. I’d had a feeling that this would happen, and I feared that if it did, it might get bad, quick-like. Being logical about it, I wasn’t a psychologist, and I couldn’t say that I could handle it properly under the conditions of the mission we were on. Now was a bad time for Therese to go to pieces, it was as simple as that.
Sitting down beside her on the couch, I put one of the tablets into her hand, and picked up the glass of water, holding it out to her.
“Take this, Therese. It’ll help you to shut your mind off and get some sleep tonight.”
Her tears were still trickling slowly down her face, somehow making her look younger than her years, almost child-like in fact. Her voice was small when she responded to me.
“C'est quoi ça?” What is it?
“It’s just ten milligrams of Valium, kid. It’s all right to take it, you’ll just feel more relaxed afterwards.”
The Diamond Dust on Dragonfly Wings: A Jeffry Claxton Mystery Novel Page 28