by Peter Beck
‘Good morning, Herr Winter. You’re right there. They really brighten up the room. What can I do for you today? Coffee?’
‘Later perhaps. Is Frau Obrist here?’
‘She’s in her office.’
He said thank you, and walked around the discreetly lit, oval screen to Frau Obrist’s realm. She was dressed, as ever, in an austere suit, and her very short, blonde hair sticking out in all directions would have suited a footballer. She was sorting through her post and turned around when Winter approached. ‘Hello, Winter. Haven’t seen you in a while.’
‘Morning. I’ve been away quite a bit.’
‘Because of the helicopter crash?’
‘Yes, it’s more complicated than I thought.’
‘I know, come in.’
Winter shook her hand and sat at the round table.
‘Coffee?’ she said, raising her eyebrows and nodding towards the reception.
‘No, thanks.’
‘Too much caffeine isn’t good for you anyway.’ Frau Obrist was well known for rigorously trying to avoid all the world’s toxins. She was a vegan and cycled to work.
Winter winked at her. ‘I just wanted to ask how it works with client gifts here in Zürich.’
‘Well, you can read about that in the process description.’
The two of them grinned because they were well aware of the discrepancies in the bank between theory and practice.
‘It would be easiest if I showed you.’
They took the lift to the third basement level. On the way Frau Obrist explained, ‘The client account managers, or more accurately their assistants, help themselves, but they have to specify what they’ve taken. This allows us to order replacements in time.’
The lift door opened and they entered a cool, concrete cellar with ventilation and water pipes on the ceiling. Winter knew that the heating system and a water tank were housed at the end of the corridor. Frau Obrist opened the unlocked door to the store and switched on the light. The neon strip flickered a few times then lit up the room.
On the left-hand side stood a wooden wine rack that reached to the ceiling, in front of which stood a few unopened crates. Someone had tried to create a bit of order with little signs. A few particularly valuable bottles were in individual wooden crates with sliding lids.
No cylindrical cartons.
No whisky.
On the other side was shelving, with boxes containing printer cartridges, paper, envelopes and promotional material.
In one corner stood head-height aluminium banner stands, which the bank used to advertise their presence on official occasions.
Beside these was a pile of about a dozen boxes of gift-wrapped chocolates. On top of this very neat tower sat a box of decorative bows.
A charred decorative bow sat on Winter’s desk at home.
Winter took out a bow, turned it around and stared at the self-adhesive label on the underside.
Remove the plastic film, stick on the bow and the gift is ready.
Frau Obrist stood by the door, watching Winter. After a while she said, ‘If someone takes something from the store they mark it here and sign.’
She took a slim, ring binder from the shelves beside the door and handed it to him. It contained various lists: ‘A4 paper, 500 sheets’, ‘HP printer cartridges’, ‘Wine: Burgundy’– with dates, quantities and names. Winter perused the list headed ‘1kg chocolates (inc. bow, separate)’. Anne’s entry from July 24 was the third last.
As he continued leafing through the folder, Winter asked, ‘Do we have whisky here too?’
‘No, only wine.’ She looked around. ‘But the Etter plum schnapps from the jubilee must be here somewhere.’
‘No, I’m looking for a Laphroaig.’
‘A Laff…what?’
‘A Laphroaig. It’s a single malt.’
‘Can’t help you there.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Did you see Anne on July the twenty-fourth, the day of the crash?’ Winter lifted up the folder with the lists.
‘Yes, she popped in briefly.’
‘About what time?’
‘We’d already closed up and the weekend was upon us. I’d say a little after seven that evening. But she was in a hurry. She said she had to meet a sheikh at the airport.’ Frau Obrist ran a hand through her hair. ‘I can remember asking her, if he was a fairy-tale prince? Anne laughed, as only Anne could. But Anne said she was already taken.’ Pensively, she added, ‘Those were the last words we said to each other.’
She looked at Winter. ‘Do you know the unlucky man? She didn’t want to tell me who it was. All she said was, “It’s still very new”.’
His eyes fixed on the ring binder, Winter closed it, rapped it with his knuckles and said, ‘I think I do.’
Frau Obrist looked at him. ‘She was such a warm person. Why is it always the good ones?’
‘Yes, it’s fate, I suppose.’ He thought of Allah. Suddenly he felt a chill in the cool cellar and turned around. ‘I’m going to make copies of these lists.’
They turned off the lights and went back up to the fourth floor. In the lift Winter stared at the security-card reader.
All employees could go to the third basement level. But very few were allowed access to the vaults on the fourth basement level.
‘When Anne was here, was she carrying a cyclindrical carton?’
‘In all honesty I can’t really remember. She just poked her head around the door. Didn’t she write anything in the file?’
‘Just a box of chocolates.’
Winter photocopied the lists in the folder. He put the piece of paper with Anne’s entry on the top of the pile that was still warm.
Then he drank a coffee in Frau Obrist’s office. She had a herbal tea and gave Winter the lowdown on the latest rumours.
The hottest topic was the complete takeover of the bank by the financial group, especially concerning which of the branches might be merged or axed. A few account managers hadn’t reached their targets, the inflow of new monies was below expectations and as far as many people were concerned it looked to be now no longer a case of whether, but when and how. Frau Obrist was horrified at the idea of these prospective changes.
Winter tried to reassure her. ‘I’m convinced that von Tobler will fight tooth and nail against integration.’
‘Integration?’ Frau Obrist snorted. ‘It’s a hostile takeover! Von Tobler’s going to retire soon and Känzig has already changed sides. He keeps scurrying back to Mama.’ She made a scornful gesture in the general direction of the financial group.
‘Känzig is a politician who doesn’t want to spoil his relationship with any party. That’s networking.’ Winter smiled to himself at his diplomatic language.
‘You’re getting old, Winter. Once upon a time you would have called that arse-licking.’
He laughed and said, ‘Thanks for the drugs; I’ve got to get to the airport.’
Winter arrived half an hour early. He went to the confectioner’s and bought two hundred grams of handmade, champagne truffles. Virtually the same price as gold. But in Boston Fatima had wolfed these down in no time.
He sat in a quiet corner and made a few telephone calls. Assumptions were gradually turning into facts. Every human being inhabits space and time. Victims and perpetrators always left traces. Every criminal made mistakes.
Winter took the lists from the folder, looked through them again, turned the pages over and jotted down a timeline of Anne’s final hours. The exact times had branded themselves on his long-term memory:
16:00: visit to parents in Fraubrunnen.
16:55: call from room 107 of HQ in Bern (Dirk’s list).
Anne’s mum: ‘just before five o’clock’. ‘Anne back to work’. Why?
17:02: call from withheld number (see Dirk’s list). Who?
17:20: approx. arrival in Mini at underground car park in Bern.
About 40 mins. Where? HQ? What? Whisky? Find out!
18:00 (latest): Anne gets
train or drives (which?) to Zürich.
19:00: arrives in Zürich. Main station? Where? Verify? How?
19:15: Obrist: ‘after seven o’clock’ Anne gets chocolates in Zürich.
Train from main station to airport – ten mins every five? Or taxi? Traffic?
19:47: Strittmatter lands at airport.
20:14: Gulfstream lands.
20:19: meet & greet Al-Bader. Ask customs official!
20:41: last call from Anne!
Still so many question marks. Winter rolled his head and relaxed his shoulders.
The arrivals board showed that flight LX9 from Chicago had landed. Fatima was here.
AUGUST 5 – 10:32
Fatima had been travelling for twenty hours. She’d flown yesterday from San Francisco to Chicago, and two hours later from Chicago to Europe through the night. The border official in his glass box checked her entry papers and said in a friendly tone, ‘Welcome to Switzerland!’
Winter stood behind the barrier amongst relatives, tour guides and drivers with signs. Through the large pane of glass he spotted Fatima in the throng of passengers. Feeling tense, he followed her slim silhouette, long hair and open, white collar through the hall with the luggage carousels. Fatima just had her small, wheelie suitcase and laptop bag. She vanished, only to reappear a few moments later as the automatic sliding door opened. Fatima stopped and Winter could see the eyes of the waiting men drawn towards her.
Then she saw him and gave a shy smile of greeting.
‘Hello, Winter!’
He gave a restrained wave back.
This time they hugged. Not intimately, but more formally, as you might greet a friend’s wife in Europe, or as two businessmen embrace in Egypt. Winter went for three kisses and caught a strand of hair in his face.
He smelled the perfume. Cinnamon.
‘Finally!’
Unsure what that meant, Winter replied, ‘I hope you had a good journey’
She shook her hair from her face. ‘I hate aeroplanes.’
From close up Winter noticed the rings around Fatima’s chestnut-brown eyes, which even her carefully applied make-up couldn’t hide completely. She still looked ravishing and far too good for him. They walked side by side through the arrivals hall, Fatima insisting that she could manage her luggage herself.
On the escalator Winter heard an anonymous voice over the public address system: ‘Herr Winter, please report to the airport information desk immediately.’ And after a short pause: ‘Herr Winter, please come to the information desk on the first floor.’
What did that mean?
They went to find out. ‘Good morning, I’m Herr Winter. You’ve been looking for me?’
‘Oh yes, good morning, Herr Winter. Herr Halter would like to speak to you. He just rang and asked if you’d wait for a moment. He’s on his way.’
‘Thanks.’ Turning to Fatima, Winter said, ‘Ben Halter’s responsible for security here at the airport.’
‘Did you tell him we were coming?’ Fatima asked, taking a small bottle of mineral water from her laptop bag.
‘No, but he has his methods.’ Winter leaned back against the information desk and felt the chocolates in his jacket pocket.
‘Here, Fatima – I nearly forgot. Something sweet for you.’
‘How lovely! Thank you very much.’
Fatima opened the box and took out a truffle. As she was about to put it in her mouth it occurred to her that she was being impolite. ‘Would you like one?’
Winter laughed but shook his head.
She placed it on her tongue.
The arriving and departing passengers hurried past, baggage trolleys squeaked and the PA voice blared out above their heads. They waited in the crowds for Ben, and Fatima talked about San Francisco and the seals by the pier and the bendy road where Steve McQueen had made a film.
Then Ben appeared, looking as if his huge body were dividing the waves in the sea of passengers. ‘Hello, Winter.’
A shake of the hands, a slap on the back. ‘Please excuse me,’ Ben said, out of breath, ‘The director and I were in a meeting with opponents of the airport who are particularly sensitive to noise. When I saw you were here I wasn’t able to leave immediately.’
‘Ben, this is Fatima. We met in Egypt.’
Ben held out his hand. ‘Good to meet you.’ ‘Delighted,’ she replied.
Winter looked at Ben. ‘What I’d like to know is how you knew I was at the airport?’
‘Digital facial recognition,’ Ben said, and Winter nodded, having guessed this to be case.
‘Next time I’ll remember to wear a hat or have a beard.’
‘Theoretically it wouldn’t make any difference because the software analyses the features of your skull. And it gave me the opportunity to say hello.’
Winter elbowed Ben in the ribs. ‘You old charmer.’
Ben looked at Fatima. ‘I’d very much like to include you in our database too, if you would so allow.
Fatima gave him a professional smile, and Ben took this for acquiescence. He photographed her on his mobile. Then he said, ‘If you wouldn’t mind I’d like to talk business with Winter for a moment.’
Winter said, ‘Fatima was there when Kaddour was blown up. Tell all.’
‘Okay. We analysed the video recordings of the relevant time period again using the facial recognition software and with the help of the cantonal police. They kindly seconded a few officers to us.’
‘And?’
‘Anne got off the S16 from Zürich at nineteen fifty-eight.
Mentally Winter added a further entry to his timeline. Anne had taken the train.
‘She was carrying the carton with the incendiary device and the box of chocolates. As far as we know she didn’t go into any shop. She can be seen on two further recordings as she heads straight for the private check-in.’
‘Thanks. Could I have a quick word with Heinz? He may have noticed something.’ To Fatima, Winter said, ‘Heinz is the customs official who drove Anne to the helicopter.’
Through a side door they left the hustle and bustle of the arrivals hall and found Heinz behind the scenes in a windowless green room enjoying an early lunch of a sandwich. On one side of the room a head-height one-way mirror was set in the wall, allowing the customs officials to observe passengers. Heinz was sitting at a table with a colleague, watching the people walk past.
Winter recognized him straightaway, and after Ben had made the introductions he said, ‘Thanks for giving me a moment of your time. A colleague of mine was in the helicopter that crashed. Anne Arnold. You accompanied her on the twenty-fourth of July to the helicopter landing area, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but as I already told the police I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. It all seemed routine. The helicopter pilot made the usual announcement of the transfer from the Gulfstream to the Bell helicopter on the apron and asked us to pick up a guest from the private flight check-in.’
‘Do you know when the call came in?’
Winter knew to ask simple questions first, so that the person feels comfortable and the conversation gets going.
‘Yes, the helicopter landed a couple of minutes ahead of schedule at nineteen twenty-two. The VIP Helicopter Transportation Corporation is a regular client.’
‘Then you went to pick up the passenger?’
‘Yes, I went to the check-in at eight o’clock as arranged. She had just arrived. I like it when people are punctual.’
‘How did she seem?’
‘Slightly out of breath. I assumed she was late and had run through the airport.’
‘She wasn’t running on any of the videos,’ Ben said, ‘but two minutes from the station to check-in is pretty athletic.’
Winter nodded and asked, ‘What did she have on her?’
‘The police were interested in that too. A large, gift box and a bottle of whisky.’
‘A bottle of whisky?’
‘Yes, a Laphroaig.’
‘Are
you sure?’
‘You bet. I’ve confiscated enough of them and I don’t mind the odd dram myself either. As we were driving out to the apron I asked her if she was a whisky fan.’
‘What did she say?’
‘That she preferred chocolate.’
‘Did anything strike you about her? Was she nervous?’
‘No, well, maybe a little. Tense. She was like a sprinter before a race. You know, when they’re hopping up and down behind the starting blocks.’
‘Yes, I understand what you’re saying. Do you do athletics yourself ?’
Heinz gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘No, I’ve been a member of the gun club since my youth. Some people say it isn’t a proper sport.’
‘Nonsense. Anne was a good shot too.’ Winter paused to give Heinz the chance to think about his meeting with Anne again. As a customs official, he had a professionally honed skill for observation, but on the other hand he saw thousands of people every day. When Heinz shook his head apologetically, Winter asked, ‘Do you have any inkling where the gifts came from?’
‘The box was in the same colours as the bank’s logo,’ Heinz remembered
Winter nodded. ‘And the whisky?’
‘It wasn’t packed. That’s why I noticed the brand.’
‘The bottle wasn’t packed?’
‘No, I mean yes. The bottle was in one of those round cartons. But the carton wasn’t wrapped in gift paper.’
‘And Anne didn’t say anything about it?’
Heinz stared into a corner of the room.
‘When I asked the lady whether she was a whisky fan and she said she preferred chocolates, I also said that I’d happily have it. She just laughed and said, “Man gifts”. I dropped the subject because we’d arrived at the apron and I didn’t want her to think I was after some sort of tip.’ Heinz looked at Ben in embarrassment, but Ben was busy watching passengers through the one-way mirror.
‘ “A man’s present”,’ Winter echoed.
‘Exactly. I didn’t think any more of it. I’d be more likely to give a woman chocolates than whisky too.’
‘Depends on the woman,’ Ben grunted at the mirror.
Winter glanced at Fatima, who couldn’t follow the conversation in German and was nibbling chocolates.