Behind Closed Doors

by JJ Marsh

  “So if demand for toxic products is there, someone has to sell them. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You know anything at all about economics, Melanie?”

  “Can we turn to another area which has upset people? You had one of the highest severance packages of last year. People ask how this is possible, when your company went bankrupt, losing millions of dollars of shareholders’ money.”

  “A contract is a contract. I negotiated hard before I joined Mendoza, and made sure that whatever happened, I would be remunerated for my work.”

  “Well done. And yet, you were the strongest advocate of performance-related pay for your top executives.”

  “Like I said, I fought for what I got.”

  “Do you think the performance-related elements contributed to these executives taking bigger and bigger risks, in order to guarantee their bonuses?”

  “I guess you’d have to ask them, Melanie.”

  She took a couple seconds. Out of her depth and drowning. She scribbled away but you could see she knew; she’d grabbed a fully grown tiger by the tail and had nowhere to go.

  Still one more try. He had to hand it to her, she didn’t give in easy.

  “Can I ask you about RAM’s policy of buying poverty-stricken countries’ debts and prosecuting them through legal loopholes? Many of our readers ask how you can demand repayment from a country which has no functioning hospitals.”

  “Kid, if you buy anything on credit, time’s gonna come you have to pay it back. Hell, even a child can understand that. It’s a matter of principle. Borrow from me, I’ll want it back.”

  “But they didn’t borrow from you. You bought their debts from someone else. How are these countries supposed to recover from civil war, drought, pandemics and so on when everything they generate goes to paying you and your investors?”

  “Hey, so the system’s unfair. I didn’t make the system, I’m just the repo-man. Just doing my job and getting back what’s owed.”

  “Fair point. Um, Jack, do you think we could stop quickly at a garage? I need to use the bathroom.”

  Her face was a little pale. Maybe the speed upset her, not just the car but the conversation. “Sure. There’ll be something in this next village. You okay?”

  “I’m a little dizzy. Trying to write shorthand, keep up with you and watch the road is a bit too much for me.”

  He shot her a wink as he pulled into the gas station. She hurried towards the rest rooms. He thought back over their conversation. Was she trying to trap him? The minute she got back in the car, he was going to ask her about her angle. If she planned to stitch him up, he would oblige, and give her totally uncensored material. A few decent sound bites would show he was unrepentant, and whining is for losers. She was back.

  “Jack, I’m just going to get a bottle of water, can I get one for you?”

  “I’ll take a Coke. Thanks, Melanie.”

  Watching her walk to the shop, he knew she was watching him watching her, reflected in the glass doors. Good. Women love it when they’re being admired. Fastest way to make any woman fall at your feet? Let her see you watching. Pretend to hide it. Every Jane Doe wants to be wanted. Look away that second too late. Tell Jane’s best friend you’re crazy about Jane, but ssh, okay? Let her think she’s caught you, when she’s the one who’s trapped. The female ego can be used to your advantage, just like everything else. His eyes flicked to the clock. She was taking her time. How long does it take to get a water and a Coke? He looked back to the shop and saw her emerging from the restrooms once more, carrying a plastic bag.

  “Sorry. Looks like I inherited my mother’s Gallic stomach. I can eat anything, including snails, but movement makes me sick.”

  “Yeah, these roads are a little crazy. I guess the freeway woulda suited you better, right? What say we put the roof down?”

  The sun had emerged with conviction, drying the roads and illuminating the landscape.

  She shook her head. “As I said, April’s unreliable. Maybe we’re safer with the roof on.”

  He accelerated onto the main road with a flamboyant screech. It felt fantastic. Shit, he didn’t want to talk about work anymore.

  “My turn to ask some questions, Melanie.” The tone of his voice told her who was boss. His car, his company, his time, his choices. She pulled the Coke from the bag, unscrewed it and handed it to him. He took a long swig.

  She drank several gulps of her water and licked her lips. “We’re taking turns? So what do you want to know?”

  “What’s your angle? Are you really telling the other side of the story? Or are you gonna do a hatchet job?”

  “That depends on what you say, Jack. We’re interested in what drives the bankers, what part they played in this mess and what lessons have been learned.”

  Ryman didn’t know this route all that well, but the sun, the car, this babe beside him and the awesome scenery encouraged him to put his foot down. The car roared along the road to Wildhaus. Life didn’t get much better. Whirling up a Swiss mountain in a fine automobile, with a beautiful foreign girl at his side, a weekend of fun ahead of him and a first-class flight to New York, where they were all waiting to welcome him home. How in hell could he feel guilty?

  “Jack?”

  “To tell you the God’s honest truth, Melanie, I don’t know. As for the role we played, I’m pretty sure I answered that. We were a part of the problem, but it’s not like we had an alternative. So as for lessons learned, ask around. Are humans ever gonna stop wanting more than they deserve? How can you blame people for making the most of an opportunity. You know what? If you had the chance, you’d do the same. But I’ll be honest about what drives me; moments like this. I feel better than ... hey, what’s up? You look terrible.”

  The girl’s skin looked pale to start with, but now she was green. Her notebook fell into her lap and her hand lay limp, pen wedged between her fine fingers.

  “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I think I need to get out. Could you pull over?” She pointed to a small lane into the forest. Sweat broke out on her forehead. She looked sick as a poisoned rat. He pulled over, driving a little way into the trees, so she’d have somewhere to hide. He was such a goddamed gent. She opened the door and lurched toward the forest, but he made no move to follow. First off, she wouldn’t want a man like him to watch her puke. Second of all, he was tired. His whole body weighed him down like it was made of wet sand. He had to shape up. He fumbled for the Coke bottle and struggled to get the top off. Caffeine. He needed to sharpen his mind. She’d be back soon and most of the journey was ahead of them. Not to mention the evening. He hoped she’d stop puking by then. Wouldn’t it be great if he could just throw a switch and they’d be there? In his Zürich hotel, on his king size bed, with soft pillows, white linen, and nothing to worry about. He lifted his head and looked into the brush. Nowhere, goddammit. This was the last time he gave anyone a ride.

  The skirt suit rolled up in the bottom of her bag, her bag folded into her rucksack, the figure emerged in hiking hues of grey, brown and green. Her hair was stuffed under a woollen hat, and she wore hygienist’s gloves. His head rested against the door, mouth open, snoring deeply. She sat still for a full five minutes, checking for any signs of movement through the trees. Satisfied, she hauled him sideways and took his place, driving the car off the track, through the forest and as far into the foliage as she could go. She altered both seats to a full recline and pulled a clear plastic bag from the pocket of her rucksack. She broke two small capsules into it and pulled it over his head, tying it tightly around his fleshy neck. She watched and waited, listening to the movements of the plastic.

  In, out. In, out.

  In.

  Out.

  She waited until the sounds ceased completely before clearing up after herself. The sun broke through the tree canopy and an idea occurred to her. It took her a few seconds to find the right switch, but she finally pressed the roof retraction button and watched the mechanics open them up like a sardine c
an. She got out, slammed the door and walked around to the other side.

  “How’s that for a hatchet job, Jack?”

  Chapter 24

  Zürich 2012

  First chance he got, Chris intended to shake Xavier by the hand. The man was inspired, though he didn’t realise it. His suggestion of a picnic on the lake was prompted by his kind nature, a sense of being the host. It would never cross Xavier’s mind it meant they’d get to see Sabine and Conceição in bikinis.

  But Chris spotted the whiff of opportunity instantly and had to play down his enthusiasm in case he gave himself away. Sabine was all for it, persuading a curiously reluctant Conceição. She caved finally and even got excited as they planned the route. The only drawback being that Chris couldn’t ask her for a date on Friday night as well as spending all Saturday in her company. That would look over-eager. Instead, he would see if the picnic might be extended into the evening, possibly as a foursome, but at some stage ditching the other two. Play it by ear and who knows how Sunday might look.

  Anticipation filled the air on Saturday morning. As Chris took the tram along the lake to the jetty, everyone seemed to be going somewhere. Twenty-seven degrees forecast for the day. Plenty hot enough to swim or sunbathe. The sun flashed off the water, reflected from car windscreens and lit hopeful faces as they set off for their weekends. Chris’s grin was a match for any one of them.

  “Chris! Over here!”

  Conceição waved from the boat. She was wearing a wraparound sundress in bright blues and purples and wearing a headscarf. She looked stunning. Xavier, in shorts and a baseball cap, messed around with the ropes holding the boat to its moorings. He spotted Chris and motioned for him to get aboard. Chris obeyed, throwing his backpack in before clambering onto the deck. Not a luxurious vessel, but in good condition, comfortable and with a sun deck. Sabine smiled up at him from the leather banquette, shading her eyes, despite her oversized sunglasses. She wore white cut-off trousers, a white halterneck top which showed off her pale shoulders, white deck shoes and her platinum hair up in a silver clip. Chris felt he should be the one shielding his eyes.

  “Am I late, or are you early?” he asked.

  “Bit of both, I think. Conceição and I brought the picnic.” She tapped a cool box with her foot.

  Xavier threw the ropes up to Conceição and leapt on board with surprising grace. He shook Chris’s hand. “We have good weather so the lake will be busy. We’ll go further down, direction Rapperswil, to escape the crowds. Is everyone ready?”

  Chris chose to stand next to Xavier, watching him steer a course southwards, using the shore as a guide. The speed and spray created a buzz of enjoyment in Chris and he looked round to see the girls lifting smiles into the wind.

  “Is it expensive to rent a boat, Xav?” he shouted above the noise.

  Xavier shook his head, maintaining his constant scan of the water. “The expensive part is taking the Captain’s licence. It costs a lot of time and money and even then many people fail the test.”

  “You can’t take a boat out without a licence?”

  Xavier grinned. “Welcome to Switzerland.”

  Sabine sighed, shoving around the potato skins on her plate. “That was a perfect meal. You know, this has been a lovely afternoon. I hope B enjoyed herself as much at the polo match yesterday. I wouldn’t want to spend a day in the company of Kälin.”

  Xavier helped himself to more salad. “Herr Kälin is ... special. To understand him, well, it takes a while. Anyway, I’d be very surprised if they found out anything more from D’Arcy. She’s tough. I don’t think she’ll give much away.”

  “No, she’ll be very cagey,” Conceição agreed. “I think waiting for D’Arcy to slip up is a waste of time. In fact, I wonder if we should suggest pursuing a more dynamic approach.”

  Conceição poured more wine for the three of them. Xavier stuck to Ice Tea.

  “What I mean is research. I think we could predict where D’Arcy is likely to strike next. Or arrange for someone else to strike. With some intelligent analysis of high-profile corporate scandals, we could pinpoint who she’s likely to hit and why. Then cross-reference that data with her personal or professional contacts. I think we’d probably end up with a shortlist of around five or six men, all of whom could be tailed and the killer trapped.”

  Sabine pursed her lips. “It’s a good idea, but Interpol would never agree to the extra expense. We couldn’t tail six men for however many months ...”

  Conceição shook her head. “We wouldn’t have to. If we alerted the personal security these men employ, and they all have bodyguards, they would have the profile, know what to look for. If they suspect something, they call a professional squad and catch her or him in the act.”

  “It could work as a parallel approach to what we do now,” agreed Xavier. “We could share these thoughts with B when she gets back.”

  “Yes. Why not use some time this week to prepare a presentation? B and Kälin are visiting Vaduz and St Moritz, so we have a few days. Good idea, Conceição!” Sabine’s face shone pink. With her colouring, she should really keep out of the sun. Xavier too. So that left him and Conceição.

  Sabine turned to him. “Chris, what do you think?”

  “I need to rest and digest. I’m going to lie in the sun and think this idea over. Anyone else feel like sunbathing?”

  Predictably, Xavier and Sabine shook their heads.

  “I’ll come with you.” Conceição stood up. “I want to explain exactly what I mean.”

  Xavier, once again, set up the perfect circumstances, suggesting a drink to round off the day. Sabine seemed reluctant, glancing at her watch. Chris willed her to refuse, especially because Conceição agreed easily. But she gave another of her disappointed sighs and said yes.

  Wandering up the Niederdorf, Chris just followed Xavier. The choice of bars, restaurants, cafés and beer gardens was overwhelming. Xavier, whose nose was sunburnt, guided them up a side street to Bar Corazon and recommended the Weissbier. Conceição and Chris took up the challenge, but Sabine ordered a mineral water, claiming dehydration.

  “This is a great area,” enthused Conceição. “I’ve never come this far off the main streets. Good tip, thanks, Xavier.”

  “You’re welcome. Yes, it’s always lively at the weekends. And there are several art cinemas around here, where you can see films which are not so commercial.”

  Conceição looked up. “I noticed. Gainsbourg is playing this weekend. I’d love to see that film.”

  Chris seized his moment. “Me too. I’ve heard such great things about it. How about checking it out later?” He remembered his manners. “What do you say, Sabine, Xav?”

  To his delight, Xavier pulled an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, Chris, I can’t. I have an appointment this evening.”

  Sabine’s nose wrinkled. “No. I’ve had enough for today. I prefer to go back to my apartment.”

  Chris shrugged. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Conceição.”

  She hesitated and glanced at Sabine. “Could we see it another evening? Sabine and I already arranged to have dinner and watch a video tonight.”

  “No problem. Hey, here comes the beer. Prost, everyone, and thanks to Xavier for a great day out.”

  They raised their glasses and Chris drank deeply. Choosing to spend both weekend evenings in the company of that sour-faced little ferret instead of him? It didn’t give him much confidence in Conceição’s taste. As he met each pair of eyes for the toast, he saw Sabine’s smug expression reflecting off every surface.

  Chapter 25

  Zürich 2012

  She should have called James. Just because there had been no real signs, and she was preoccupied with the case, she hadn’t. She’d cancelled their session, choosing to send him a jaunty text message instead. She regretted it now. She lay under the duvet, staring at the ceiling. Foolhardy and irresponsible. The only way to cope with the dogs is to consciously, constantly manage them. And she’d done
extremely well. Weekends were a danger zone, so Beatrice prepared herself with care. As other people’s anticipation built on Friday afternoons, Beatrice’s dread of forty-eight hours of nothing grew in inverse proportion.

  She’d taken to arranging a cultural event on Fridays; the opera, a concert in one of the churches, a play by the English-speaking theatre group, giving her something else to think about. Saturdays she did some shopping, had lunch at Ken’s and spent the afternoon writing a report on the week’s activities for Lyon. Saturday night was her television programme evening, for which she would cook something special. And on Sundays, she explored. A long hike up Uetliberg, a trip to Schaffhausen’s waterfalls, a wander around the animal park; anything that tired her out before returning to her apartment and making her Sunday phone calls home. But this week, she had slipped up, due to the polo match yesterday. And found herself with a long empty Sunday ahead of her, when the dogs were pacing.

  This time tomorrow, she would be preparing for work, with a routine to follow. All she had to do was weather the next twenty-four hours. Whether she liked it or not.

  Whether the weather be mild or whether the weather be not,

  Whether the weather be cold or whether the weather be hot,

  We’ll weather the weather whatever the weather,

  Whether we like it or not.

  Tears leaked into her hair as she recalled her mother reciting the verse. It would not do. She sat up. Find something to engage your mind. Force yourself. Shower, breakfast, read the news. But even as she threw back the duvet and headed for the bathroom, she felt defeated and tearful, in the knowledge that whatever images were dominant on the news website would drag her down, with their litany of cruelty, hunger, disease and abuse. So leave the news alone. She would not spend a day weeping over the death of a maltreated child, or the struggle to survive in a war-ravaged African state. When she had one of these days, even feel-good stories gave rise to agonies. Sweet that a little kitten had been rescued from a chimney breast, but what about all those poor wretched animals kept in cages and beaten so their meat is tender when eaten?