by Peter Beck
Winter increased the pressure on Känzig’s throat and said, ‘I’m the one asking the questions here.’
‘Let me go at once!’ Winter just shook his head and his boss gasped wretchedly, ‘You’re hurting me.’
‘If you tell the truth nothing will happen to you.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘That comes later.’
‘You’re fired, with immediate effect,’ Känzig hissed, spitting with anger.
Winter ignored the slobber on his superior’s chin. With his forearm he slowly rolled Känzig’s throat up the wall until he was standing on tiptoe. The smart suit was chafing against the rough rock. ‘Very good, so now I’ll ask you the first question in a private capacity. Why did you murder Anne, Al-Bader and Strittmatter?’
‘How did you get that nonsense into your head? I won’t stand for such an outrageous accusation!’
‘Why not?’
‘I… I didn’t do anything.’
‘Then you won’t mind answering a few questions.’
‘You’re a lunatic. You must have lost your mind. I’m going to sue you.’
‘Lunatics aren’t responsible for their actions.’ The lanky Känzig was intelligent enough not to resist with force. He knew that in a one-on-one fight with Winter he would come off worse. After the initial shock, therefore, Känzig resorted to making a deal. A deal is always give and take. But for that to work he needed to know what Winter was after.
‘Just tell me what you want!’
‘I want you to answer a few of my questions,’ Winter said patiently.
‘I’ll try, but first you have to tell me why you’re being so violent. This morning we were chatting like civilized individuals.’
Winter said nothing.
Känzig looked down at himself. ‘My suit is all filthy now.’
Vain old bastard, Winter thought, pressing Känzig more firmly against the rock face. ‘Now, listen carefully. I’ll ask my first question again. Why did you blow up the helicopter?’
Winter loosened his grip slightly. Gasping for air, Känzig coughed, ‘I didn’t blow up the helicopter.’
‘So who did?’
‘I told you. I don’t know.’
Maybe Känzig was telling the truth; maybe he was lying. With his left hand, Winter took out his phone and tapped in the number he’d found on Schmitt’s SIM card at the detective agency. Another mobile phone vibrated. Känzig didn’t move. His arms were hanging down, his palms pressed against the cold rock. Winter put away his phone and fished out Känzig’s from his jacket pocket.
‘What are you doing now? Are you going to steal my phone as well?’
It was a cheap model. Probably prepaid. Winter declined his own call. Then, from the short contacts list, he selected a Zürich number and pressed the green button. Together they listened to the celestial sound of the ringing tone. Just for once Känzig was silent.
After a few seconds they heard, ‘Schmitt here from Schmitt, Berger & Partners detective agency. Good morning, how can I help you today?’ Winter wasn’t in the mood for a chat so cut the connection.
‘That is the second question,’ Winter said, raising his eyebrows.
Känzig’s gaze darted upwards and to the left, past Winter. He was about to concoct a lie. Shaking his head, he stuttered, ‘That’s a pr…pr…private matter. My wife, you know. I suspect her of cheating with another man and so I thought…’ A bad liar and a bad actor. Winter put Känzig’s phone in his pocket. He needed a free hand.
The earlobe isn’t a vital part of the body, but it’s extremely sensitive. It has a plentiful supply of blood and consists mainly of tissue, skin and cartilage, between which thick nerve pathways run. With thumb and forefinger Winter folded Känzig’s earlobe and twisted it one hundred and eighty degrees. The cartilage transferred the pressure to the nerves and these shot a clear signal into the pain centre. Känzig held back a scream, then gasped for air.
‘Wrong answer. Second attempt.’ He stared at Känzig without letting go of the earlobe. When no answer was forthcoming, Winter twisted the folded lobe a little further. Now Känzig was breathing heavily. Winter noticed the sweat on his brow.
Then Känzig stammered, ‘I just wanted to be sure.’
‘And?’
‘The crash affected all of us badly. I just wanted to do all I could to…’
‘Bullshit!’ Winter twisted the lobe even further. ‘Shall I rip your ear off altogether?’ he said, taking a deep breath.
‘Stop, stop! I just wanted to know what you were up to. As the man in charge I like to be in the picture. I wanted to be sure that you really were doing the right things. I’m sorry. I ought to have told you. Can you let me go now – please?’ Känzig was begging.
‘No.’
Winter was calmly thinking of the next question when Känzig asked, ‘How did you find out the thing with my phone. That’s my private number. What made you start meddling in my affairs?’
Winter wouldn’t dream of answering that question. Känzig was tougher than expected. The sly bastard. The anger Winter had suppressed till now bubbled up. His eyes narrowed slightly. He knew this was no clinical action from the handbook. He was in danger of losing his professional distance. Too many emotions. It was personal. Focus. In theory it was all very simple.
Anne was dead.
And Känzig had to talk.
Winter had experience of psychological warfare. He nodded, let go of the earlobe, collar and neck, and smoothed Känzig’s lapel. ‘Okay.’ As expected, Känzig tried to exploit his new freedom immediately and push past Winter. The latter had been expecting this and kneed Känzig in the balls. Fuelling false hopes was a cornerstone of psychological warfare. Another was the deliberate combination with physical force.
Känzig groaned and slowly started collapsing down the wall. His suit was now totally ruined. Winter wanted eye contact. Grabbing Känzig’s hair, he pulled him back up.
‘A simple extra question. Who is Max?’
Känzig’s glazed eyes told Winter that his resistance was burning out. With deep breaths, Känzig just shook his head. Again Winter asked, this time with gentle encouragement, ‘Max?’ No answer. Winter shook the hair a little. ‘Max? You know, like Mad Max.’
‘I don’t know a Max,’ Känzig wheezed. ‘Really I don’t.’
For the first time Winter believed Känzig.
Max was good, too good for Schmitt, Berger & Partners. Max was in a different class from the snooper, Romero, whose romantic excursion to Lake Geneva had come to an abrupt end. The ass-licker might be capable of discreet commissions over the phone to a detective agency in Zürich, Winter thought, but he couldn’t imagine him hiring Max.
Winter let go of Känzig’s hair and stroked his cheek. Känzig had learned not to move.
‘Third question. Where were you on July the twenty-fourth?’
‘On July the twenty-fourth?’ Känzig was trying to play for time.
‘Don’t play the fool with me.’
‘Was that the day of the helicopter crash?’ Winter raised his hand slightly.
‘Okay, okay. On July the twenty-fourth I had a lunch in Zürich, a business lunch in the Baur au Lac.’
‘And in the afternoon?’
‘I don’t know.’
Winter gave a slight shake of the head.
‘Oh yes, now I remember. I was with Hediger and in the evening we were entertaining at home.’ Hediger was high up in the financial group, three or four rungs higher than Hugentobler, the head of security.
‘And in between?’
‘I was on my way back. Yes, that’s right, there was a traffic jam at Egerkingen. I had to hurry because I’d promised my wife to help with the preparations. But where is all this going?’
‘Did you stop off at the Zürich branch?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Winter slapped Känzig’s cheek with his palm and hit the other one with the back of his hand. After all, didn’t it say in the Bible to tu
rn the other cheek? Känzig’s head flew one way, then the other, his eyes like saucers. Winter was gradually losing patience. ‘Wrong answer. Have a think.’
‘Yes, I totally forgot. I popped by quickly. I had to fetch a few documents.’
‘… and deposit a bottle of Laphroaig.’
Känzig’s eyes fluttered for a millisecond. Winter had him.
‘You can’t prove that.’
‘You were in the lift. The data from your security card proves it. You entered the building on Bahnhofstrasse at 17:27 and took the lift straight to the third basement level. You put the Laphroaig beside the other client gifts in the store. Just before that you called Anne and told her to pick up the whisky in Zürich and give it to Al-Bader.’
Känzig shook his head in disbelief. He looked crestfallen. He couldn’t understand how he’d been found out.
Winter gave Känzig a piercing glare. ‘Why?’
‘It wasn’t me.’ Resignation took hold.
Very softly, Winter said, ‘The fingerprints on the carton prove it.’ That was a bluff. The carton had been totally destroyed in the explosion. Burned to cinders and scattered as ashes in the Höllentobel. But it worked.
‘Yes. Yes, I gave Anne the whisky.’
‘Why, Känzig? Tell me why you did it.’
Winter let go of his hair. Känzing was still shaking his head mechanically. Winter stepped back and leaned against the wall opposite. The two men looked at each other in the gloom. ‘Why?’
Känzing collapsed, and crouched on the floor. Seconds passed, then he said, ‘I was just the messenger.’ Then he made a half-hearted, semi-circular gesture with his hand. ‘But the murderer is still out there.’
AUGUST 7 – 11:44
Now it was Winter’s turn to be surprised. ‘What do you mean?’ He knew that an initial confession opens a small window of time in which the person confessing feels they can explain their perspective. It was like opening the vent on a steam boiler. Winter had heated the boiler, and now Känzig wanted to let off the pressure that had been accumulating for days. Winter was the confessor, saying nothing, just nodding occasionally.
‘I’m no murderer. I was just the messenger. I didn’t know it was a bomb. I thought it was a present. Honestly. If I’d known I would have gone straight to the police. Or to you.’ Känzig looked at Winter and gave him a tentative smile. ‘I’m sorry. I ought to have come to you much earlier. The whole thing got out of hand.’
‘That happens.’
‘After the crash I wanted to get my own idea of what had happened. Von Tobler was applying the pressure. So I commissioned Schmitt to do some research. Discreetly. Better safe than sorry. The first thing he did was to send a helicopter. I already felt uneasy then.’
‘You’d worked with Schmitt before?’
‘Yes, once or twice. He helped out with a divorce case for a college friend of mine in Zürich.’ Känzig gave a brief laugh. ‘To begin with I thought it was a pilot error or bad weather, but that same night von Tobler was breathing down my neck. When you said the following day that Al-Bader and Anne had been murdered, and that the police were unofficially confirming that the helicopter had probably crashed as the result of a deliberate explosion, I got scared.’
He was still moving his head slightly from side to side, as if trying to shake off the story. If it shouldn’t have happened, it couldn’t have. ‘I didn’t want to get dragged in. My wife would never have forgiven me. And our marriage isn’t the best. You know, Winter, I’m being devoured by work.’
Winter remained impassive.
When Känzig didn’t get any acknowledgement, he continued, ‘But none of that is of any interest to you. Anyway, I told myself it’s better to be safe than sorry and extended Schmitt’s assignment. I got him to keep an eye on you.’
‘And hack into my computer?’
‘That was Schmitt’s idea. He told me about the new possibilities. It’s quite easy these days to monitor emails. I let myself be persuaded.’
Winter didn’t challenge the excuses, but thought, Känzig is never to blame. Instead he asked, ‘What did you tell him?’
‘Something about an internal audit and money laundering.’ Slowly, but surely Känzig seemed to be regaining his composure. The emotional leaps were subsiding. Horror, shock, fear and relief were levelling out.
Winter decided not to listen to his drivel any longer and instead asked the key question. ‘Who gave you the whisky bottle?’
A disdainful snort from Känzig.
‘Well, that’s a strange story.’
The fool just can’t get to the point, Winter thought. But he allowed him to speak.
‘As I said, I was at lunch with Hediger. First lunch, then a meeting. That’s simplifying it. We talked about the merger. You know, Winter, Hediger is a key figure and we discussed how we might achieve a smooth integration. Here too, the devil is in the detail.’
Winter could scarcely believe how brazenly Känzig was spouting all this. But it made complete sense. Känzig was preparing himself for the rumoured takeover and had crawled up Hediger’s arse. Känzig was doing all he could to climb the career ladder. Winter wondered if von Tobler knew of this.
‘After lunch,’ Känzig continued, ‘we drove to Hediger’s office and examined the scenarios further. At four o’clock he had an appointment and I left. In the corridor I ran into Baumgartner.’
‘And?’
‘He gave me the bottle.’
‘Baumgartner?’ Winter let the name hang in the room. He hadn’t thought of him for a second.
‘Winter. You know him. He’s here. In the bunker. He works for the financial group’s chairman’s office and has access to their CEO. How could I refuse?’ Baumgartner had always been present when Winter reported back to his colleagues. And this morning he’d spoken to Känzig after the meeting. Winter recalled how his superior had waved Baumgartner over.
‘You got the bottle from Baumgartner?’ Winter still couldn’t believe it.
‘Yes. He bumped into me in the corridor as if by chance.’
‘He knew that you were meeting Hediger.’
Känzig nodded. ‘He must have had access to his diary. Of course I didn’t think anything of it at the time. His office is on the same floor. “I’m glad I met you”, he said. “You wouldn’t mind doing me a little favour, would you?”.’ Känzig imitated Baumgartner’s voice and it occurred to Winter that the liaison man had virtually said nothing the whole time.
‘We went into his office where there were several cartons with bottles. All identical. I assumed the chairman handed them out on a daily basis. Baumgartner put a carton in my hand and said, “For Al-Bader from the boss. For the summit meeting this evening in the mountains. The CEO thinks that a little gift is called for. I mean, we want to keep out best clients sweet, don’t we?”. I couldn’t turn him down.’ Känzig slumped.
‘Are you telling me that the bomb came right from the top?’
‘I don’t know. The big boss wasn’t anywhere to be seen.’
Baumgartner had orchestrated things skilfully. The first line of defence was to disguise it as an accident. After the crash there weren’t any direct witnesses; they were all dead. The second line of defence was the clearly clueless messenger, Känzig. A Trojan Horse. The ass-licker had faithfully taken the bomb to the store in Bahnhofstrasse. The third line of defence was the knowledge that Känzig would do all he could to keep the matter under wraps. As a careerist, Känzig was a good choice of agent. And if necessary Baumgartner would be able to claim in court that Känzig’s story was an unbelievable pack of lies. Nobody could prove anything; it would be one man’s word against another’s. The evidence linked Känzig to the explosive carton. If the case ever came to court.
‘So you put the bottle in our gift store on Bahnhofstrasse and called Anne?’
‘Yes. To begin with I thought about handing it over personally, but unfortunately we had this dinner party. I’d promised my wife to be back home punctually. I couldn’t ge
t hold of you. So I called Anne.’ The 17:02 call from a withheld number.
‘She was in Bern and I was in Zürich. My first suggestion was that we meet at a motorway service station somewhere along the way. But she wanted to take the train because of the traffic around Zürich. So she said I should leave the CEO’s present in our gift store. She had to pop into the branch anyway to pick up the chocolates, so she could grab the whisky too. That suited me fine. I didn’t have to wait at some service station on the motorway and I’d be at home on time. I didn’t suspect a thing. I’m so sorry. I liked Anne.’
Anne had unwittingly organized her own death. Efficiently as ever. Fate was unfair. Fate was cruel. ‘I was terrified you’d find me out,’ Känzig said with an awkward grin. ‘Justifiably so.’
‘What about Max?’
‘I’ve no idea who you mean. Who is he? What’s he got to do with all this?’
‘He threatened me and yesterday tried to shoot me.’
‘Good God. I always sensed that Baumgartner wasn’t alone. This morning I confronted him, threatening to go to the police if he didn’t hand himself in. He just laughed, said he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about and recommended I spent some time recuperating in a sanatorium with mountain air.’
‘What’s he actually doing here at the annual conference?’
‘Standing in for the CEO, as always.’
‘Come on. Let’s bring this story to a close.’
Winter moved away from the wall and helped Känzig up, who dusted down his ruined suit. They left the munitions room and walked through the bright rays of sun that shone through the embrasure, dividing the bunker into two. In the tunnel beyond it was dark again. On the way back they could hear nothing but their own footsteps resonating in the silence.
After a few minutes they came to the steel door and stepped outside. Screwing up their eyes in the midday sun they looked around. The coach was parked to the side in the shade of the fir trees. The driver was nowhere to be seen. They were alone.