The Beatrice Stubbs Series Boxset One

by JJ Marsh

  “Here is the site. The body was found like this.” Officer Müller arranged himself in the snow to give them the picture, for a second, before pushing himself to his feet. “Easy to imagine that he drank the alcohol, undressed and went to sleep.”

  Franchi chipped in. “But he sent a message on his mobile to his wife, knowing no one would be concerned until after the storm.”

  Beatrice thought aloud. “So if this was not suicide, or an accident, someone else wrote that message.”

  Kälin frowned. “I find that hard to believe. Possibly Thompson was forced to write it himself. How could this person plausibly write a message from husband to wife? Even with a certain amount of familiarity, can a stranger reproduce the tone, the terms of affection used between a couple, without in-depth knowledge of their relationship?”

  Beatrice wondered for an instant what terms of affection Kälin would use for his significant other, if he had one.

  Franchi nodded. “That’s an interesting point, Herr Kälin. Because the wife had no doubt it was from him. He referred to her as Hon. Our unit assumed Hon was the short form of Honorable. But it seems that is a foreshortened version of Honey, an endearment like Schätzli in Swiss German, or Darling in English.”

  “What I don’t understand, Herr Müller, is how someone could know that he would be here, at this precise time?” Beatrice asked.

  Müller and Franchi exchanged a look. Franchi spoke. “Nor do we, to be honest, Frau Stubbs. The only lead we have is the children’s ski instructor. Thompson told his wife that he was going to do a run recommended by one of the staff at the Skischule. After questioning the boy, it seems Thompson spent a lot of time talking to this particular woman, and had asked her to go with him on more than one occasion. It seems that on Sunday afternoon, she agreed. The son only knew her as Anni, but he mentioned that she understood Portuguese. Julia Thompson comes from Brazil and both children speak Portuguese as easily as English.”

  Müller agreed. “And when we uncovered this link, we checked with the Skischule on Thursday. Ana-Maria Lima, a Brazilian, had left their employment on the previous Friday. She only worked there a month. Seasonal workers, it happens a lot here. We weren’t able to trace her.”

  “And why do you think he was he carrying condoms?” asked Beatrice.

  The three men looked at the ground.

  Beatrice clapped her gloves together. “I see. So if someone set a honey-trap and lay in wait to kill him, how would that person escape?”

  Franchi’s slight smile indicated admiration. “Down the run. You can’t go back up. And this one is a real challenge, so whoever it was must have been an expert. Not only that, but the conditions on Sunday evening and Monday were horrible. I am skiing since two years old, and have done this run on many occasions. But I would never attempt it in bad weather.”

  Beatrice shivered as a breeze lifted her hair. Müller noticed. “Should we go down? Or is there anything else you would like to see?”

  “How are we getting down?” asked Kälin, with some concern.

  Frost decorated the ends of Müller’s moustache. “As I said, Herr Kälin, you can’t go back. The lifts are not insured for return journeys. We’ll take the snowmobiles across to the cable car.”

  Kälin blanched and Beatrice replaced her helmet. “Herr Franchi, I do envy you working in such a spectacular location.”

  “Thank you, Frau Stubbs, but like everything else, after a while, you get used to it.”

  He started up the machine and Beatrice looked back. No matter how many mountains she climbed, she doubted she’d ever get used to it. And, she smiled to herself, neither would Kälin.

  As the BMW rolled along Route 3 towards Chur, Beatrice sifted through the facts. A Portuguese speaker and an expert skier. Must also speak English to access Ryman and Edwards. Maybe van der Veld, too. Knowledge of pharmaceuticals and time to embed herself into the situation ahead of the event. Not to mention the detailed background information on each of these men. The woman had just too many advantages.

  Kälin’s growl drew her back to the present. “Frau Stubbs? Does anything strike you?”

  Beatrice spoke without hesitation. “She’s not alone. She has an accomplice who possibly performs the heavy stuff. Maybe she acts as a lure; she is most likely very attractive. Or one is the researcher and one the actor. The amount of information she has allows for intricate preparation. She knows so much, not just what these men did, but she is aware of their weaknesses. Remember what D’Arcy said about Belanov? A penchant for women with ginger hair. According to Xavier, he left the Brno arms fair with a redhead the day he died. One person to house all these skills? It’s too much for me.”

  “I agree. I support your theory the killer has been carefully briefed. She has enough time to gather a sample of DNA to leave at each scene. And a varied source of it. Saliva, hair. The preparation must be immense, so this is a full-time job. There must be some kind of back-up.”

  Beatrice looked across at his profile. “You can understand why Chris and Conceição lean towards a professional hit.”

  “They overlook the other link. D’Arcy Roth. The person who caused these deaths had a great deal of information on all these men, both personal and ...”

  The theme from The Godfather rose tinnily from Kälin’s jacket. He pulled over to the kerb before answering the call. His gruff tones indicated it was work related, so Beatrice studied his severe expression as he listened.

  “Scheisse!” He closed the phone, glanced in the mirror and wrenched the car around, facing the direction they had come. He accelerated, shaking his head.

  “This is getting ridiculous. That was Xavier Racine. The Ticinese police have found the body of Giuseppe Esposito on the Valle Verzasca dam.”

  “Esposito? He was the lawyer who defended that airline ...”

  “Hermair. Yes. He killed himself today. The police think his suicide looks suspicious. They found some skin underneath his fingernails. Not his.”

  Beatrice tucked her hands under her armpits, feeling unsettled and cold.

  “You think this is another one of hers? How did it happen?”

  “The man was infamous for defending a negligent airline. It seems he went bungee-jumping from the top of the dam, but rather than the rope being around his feet, it was around his neck.”

  Beatrice tensed. “How high is this dam?”

  “Two hundred and twenty metres. This is not going to be easy, Frau Stubbs. A bungee rope contains elastic, to ensure the impact is not too great. Esposito, or our vengeful friend, used normal rope. As a result, his head came off.”

  Beatrice pressed her palms to her eyes and swallowed.

  Chapter 28

  Lago di Vogorno 2012

  First sun hit the slopes above as he descended. The thrust and push of muscle thrilled less now, and weariness encouraged him to use his poles more as support than motivation. Yet a feeling of achievement transcended his fatigue. Seventeen days had transformed him. Taut buttocks, powerful thighs, cyclist’s calves; he had a body to admire. His breathing was calm and he felt a relaxation, the kind only physical exertion could deliver. He would sleep tonight, deep and dreamless. Lean body, clean mind. Lean. He loved that word. Fat dropping away, baggage left behind, and a cleaner, leaner Sepp emerged. Who could have known that divorce was a man’s best friend?

  The sun rose higher, turning the sky a fishmonger’s palette of red, silver and gold, and he watched an aircraft begin its descent to Locarno. He picked up his pace; experience had taught him when the sun hit the valley, it got hot and uncomfortable. Onto the straight now and he could move as fast as he liked. Freedom made him lean. While married, he was flabby, weighted down, hindered by responsibility and care for others. Divorcing Rosaria propelled him out into the world and he flew. Focused and free, he soared. He was a winner. The victor. Not only was his name recognised in Europe, but now the wider world had heard of Giuseppe Esposito. And his critics could go fuck themselves; he played the hard game and he
won.

  He caught his first sight of the dam as he emerged from the trees. In this light, if he didn’t look directly, he could imagine the thousands of tonnes of concrete as water, tumbling, rushing and roaring to the bottom. But he did look directly. His eyes were drawn to it, just as they always were. The scale of this edifice would always impress him. A shocking smooth expanse of white between the beard of the cliffs, a dramatic V to draw the eye down, the elegant man-made arch which stood in the way of nature. Not the time to stop and marvel at the engineering, he’d be back tomorrow. Yet he interrupted his rhythm to pull off his fleece and sip some water. It was getting warm.

  Pushing the car door shut, Beatrice caught Kälin’s impatient look. It wasn’t closed. She tried again. This time, the mechanics shut audibly and he walked away. She followed, her mood darkening as she spotted the thin crowd of ghouls standing behind the police tape. The late afternoon sun shone into her eyes, so that the individual moving down the slope towards them was a mere silhouette in uniform.

  “Herr Kälin! Es freut mich sehr Sie zu sehen.” The men shook hands.

  “Grüezi, Herr Valletta. Nice to see you too. This is Frau Stubbs, from Scotland Yard, London.”

  Herr Valletta turned sideways and she saw a genial pair of dark eyes light up. “Scotland Yard? It is me a pleasure, Frau Stubbs. Come please.”

  They threaded a path through police vehicles, TV crews and of particular interest to Beatrice, a catering van, before emerging next to the dam itself. She took a breath, amazed by the immense amount of concrete spanning the valley, and another as she looked down. The dam shot downwards, like the point of a colossal arrow, to a rocky riverbed below. As the light diminished, Beatrice looked up and watched the sun sinking slowly toward the mountain. She realised the urgency of making the most of the light. So did Kälin.

  “The body?”

  “In the morgue. We can go there later. But the site is more interesting. The bungee operators arrived just before nine today and noticed something wrong. We got a team down there by eleven hours. Freshly dead. The torso was found 420 metres from the head. Much damage. The coroner suggested to escalate this case. We searched the platform and found his poles. After testing, the team discovered this DNA. So we called you. Do you want to see the site?”

  Despite her unease, Beatrice nodded. The officer marched with confident familiarity down the path to the dam. Beatrice had an urge to hold Kälin’s hand. For his sake, naturally, not hers.

  Sepp thanked his mental discipline for getting him out of bed while it was still dark, so that he could arrive at Vogorno at this time in the morning. The sun lit the forest behind him, transforming it into a kaleidoscope of shivering jade, teal, emerald, lime, bottle and leaf. Across the valley, a blank dark-green mass promised shade and coolness, enticing him across, luring him in. He replaced his water bottle in the pocket of his rucksack, picked up his poles and headed down towards the dam. At the rate he was moving, he would escape the strengthening rays around halfway across, a moment of natural beauty.

  One could feel part of the planet here, sensing the history of earth, the dynamics of geography, the joy of rock formations, water reflecting sky. Yet the human influence stood out. Mastery of nature and its forces was one of the most striking things about the valley. The dam – its magnificence, its power, its strength against millions of tons of water – was a testament to the will of man. And he was part of it. Alone on this enormous edifice, staring into the abyss below, he felt a pride and nobility in his homeland, his people, himself. Emotion rose in him as he stared down the valley. There were people in this world who shot for the stars, who could achieve greatness. How many people had told Dr Lombardi that his beautiful concrete arch, holding back the whole of Lago di Vogorno, was an impossible dream? Yet, here it was. Lombardi ignored the disbelievers, and built something both fundamentally practical and aesthetically magnificent.

  Rosaria would always be a chicken, scratching at the ground, head down, pecking at scraps. She’d always dragged him down. He might remarry, it was imaginable, but this time he would choose a genuine partner. Someone who complemented his lifestyle and was as free with her admiration as his ex had been with her criticism. He wanted a woman who had vision, who could see his potential and help him reach the stars. At the centre point of the dam, he left the light, stepping into the shadow of the mountain.

  Kälin crossed the dam on Beatrice’s right, looking out at the lake, allowing her the dramatic view of the valley below. Had she not known about his vertigo, she would have presumed it a chivalrous gesture. Ahead there was some sort of structure, with a platform protruding over the edge. Something about it made Beatrice hesitate. Dusk bled colour from the scene.

  “The bungee-jumping station is the centre point of the dam. It is very popular; everyone wants to be James Bond. This is where Esposito jumped, or was pushed. Come, I show you.” Herr Valletta offered his hand to guide Beatrice beneath the various supports and up onto the platform.

  Kälin shook his head. “I wait here. I will be of no use up there.”

  Valletta shrugged. “You see, Frau Stubbs, the jumpers put on a harness, climb up here, and throw themselves off the edge. It is thrilling, but totally safe. The operation is run by professionals with the highest safety standards. The elastic rope drops you 220 metres, you bounce a few times, and they winch you back up. Now, Signor Esposito had no harness, simply a noose around his neck. The rope was only 80 metres long, and attached to the grid above us. For a suicide, it was not a quiet way to go.”

  Four small steps took Beatrice closer to the edge. She gripped the barrier and leant forward. To leap off here would be a horrifying prospect, attached to elastic or not. The floor of valley below looked many miles away and full of unreceptive materials. Bungee-jumping would not be on her list of things to do once retired. She gave a shiver and turned back to Valletta. The sight was no more appealing. He held a noose in gloved hands.

  “The rope, tied with great security to the main structure, which was around his neck. We have not moved it.”

  “There’s not much blood, considering ...” Beatrice could not quite say the words.

  Valletta shook his head. “No, you’re right. But the impact was so great that his head came off quite cleanly, leaving the body to continue to the ground. There is much blood on the dam below, if you want to see.”

  “Perhaps not tonight. The rope has been tested?”

  “The rope, the bungee station, everything. There’s nothing here but Esposito’s prints. But not many. None on the metal to which this rope was attached, for example. And the rope is standard marine use, you can buy it anywhere.”

  Beatrice edged back to the small steps, away from the edge. Kälin was looking the other way. “Herr Valletta, if someone did this to him, how could they manage it?”

  “The laboratory can help us there. They discovered traces of a sedative around his mouth, similar to chloroform, but nothing in his blood or urine. It is possible that someone disabled him, then dragged him up here, put the rope around his neck, and ...”

  “How many kilos did he weigh?” interrupted Kälin as they descended.

  “Eighty-two.”

  “Not possible. To lift eighty kilos up these steps? No, someone could not do that alone.” Kälin dismissed the idea.

  Valletta thought about it. “If he was strong enough, he could. I have seen labourers lift two sacks of cement, each weighing fifty kilos.”

  The sun dipped below the mountain, leaving them in rapidly cooling shadow. Beatrice took Kälin’s point on board. “As you say, Herr Valletta, if he were strong enough. Perhaps we should head to the morgue? This skin under his fingernails ...”

  “Yes, this is how we found the DNA. He had damages to his hands, of course, but our coroner is a careful man. On Esposito’s right hand, someone else’s skin was under two of his nails. He also had a rosary tied to his wrist.”

  The lake glinted and flashed in the early sunshine, trying to attract Sepp’
s attention, to pull his gaze from the other side, the valley below. Yet, the natural beauty of the lake could not compare to the elegant intervention of man. He had performed this hike eleven times already, each time getting off one stop earlier from Contra to improve his fitness, and each time, he was no less awed by the Verzasca dam.

  As his eyes adjusted to the shade, he saw a figure on the platform of the bungee jump. That was early; they were never normally around at this time. It could be a special event; they might be doing a film, or a photo shoot. Although he couldn’t see a crew. He kept up his pace, eyes fixed on the figure at the edge. It seemed to be praying. Sepp looked behind him, and ahead, straining his eyes to see if there was anyone else around. The dark shape took on more detail as he strode closer and he saw it was a woman. No harness, no elastic, and she seemed to be holding something to her face. A rosary. His body temperature dropped and his stride faltered.

  She was kissing a rosary. He stopped, resting his poles silently against the rope barrier which marked the jumpers’ area. Her words were inaudible, but the tone of impassioned prayer was recognisable and he understood. Standing in such a place, wearing black, and at this hour, there could be only one reason. He slipped off his rucksack and reached for his mobile phone. Keeping his eye on her, he dialled the emergency number of la polizia. At that moment, an idea dawned, and he locked his handset. If a reputation could be reclaimed, if individual heroism and courage could dilute cynical business decisions and public scandal, here was a golden opportunity. This was a challenge and a potential gift. Sepp took his chance.

  Walking boots and metal steps up to the platform did not make it easy to be stealthy, but he reached halfway up the steps before he could hear her words.

  “Salve, Regina, madre di misericordia, vita, dolcezza e speranza nostra, salve. A te ricorriamo, esuli figli di Eva; a te sospiriamo, gementi e piangenti in questa valle di lacrime.”