Behind Closed Doors

by JJ Marsh

  “Herr Keese, your interrogation techniques appear to come from American television programmes. Please, let me speak.”

  Chris did not react, but watched her take a sip of water. There was not one sign that she was feeling the pressure. He admired her, in the same way he would admire a scorpion.

  “After Jean-Baptiste died and Helene left for Brazil, I felt more alone than ever in my life. I had no one, nothing apart from my work. I wanted to be with someone, to have someone of my own. I considered an adoption and discussed the idea with Helene. She was a good friend to me. Then she had a stroke of luck. A small boy from one of the favelas got badly burned and Helene treated him. The family could not pay her; they had more children than they could afford and the woman was pregnant again. So Helene arranged a payment in kind. I paid her a large amount for her unborn child and prepared to embrace a baby into my life. In September 1994, she had a boy, Nino. I was desperately disappointed. I wanted a little girl.”

  “Did you sue her?” asked Chris, with heavy sarcasm.

  D’Arcy gave a dismissive shake of the head. “No. Everything was arranged, and I intended to adopt a baby. A baby girl. Helene signed the certificate, confirming the age and gender as I instructed, and I took Nino back to Switzerland. I bought him dresses, I plaited his hair, I gave him dolls, and told him how beautiful she was. Nino became Nina.”

  Chris gaped, unable to think of a thing to say. Kälin seemed equally stunned for a moment, before recovering himself.

  “What about when he went to school?”

  “There is no ‘he’ anymore. We began gender reassignment operations before puberty. As for school, Nina was home educated until the age of fourteen, and very successfully, in fact. She has an impressive IQ, despite her parentage and may take up a place at a major university. This is why I insist you must be careful with her. She rarely leaves our house alone. Talking to strangers is hard for her.”

  Chris shook his head, his belief stretched. “Did Nino want to become a girl?”

  “There was no question. To all intents and purposes, she was a girl. A sweet girl who has grown up into a lovely young woman. I am very proud of her.” Her taut jaw indicated genuine emotion.

  Kälin nodded. “It’s no surprise the girl is so shy. You control her whole life. Most people would prefer their child to grow up with a little more worldly wisdom.”

  “Oh she is worldly wise. These days you don’t have to go out there, Herr Kälin, the world can come to you. Her knowledge of the Internet allows her a whole online life. You know, sometimes even I don’t know what she does out there. Her own mother!”

  Her light laugh, with the confidential tone of parents at the school gate, caused Chris to hunch his shoulders against a sudden creeping thought.

  He asked the question. “Did you change the child’s gender in order to help you effect these fake suicides?”

  D’Arcy glanced away and back in irritation. “Please try and keep up, Herr Keese. I explained that I wanted a daughter and that is what I achieved. Yes, there were barriers to reaching that goal, but I overcame. My choice to take some action against malevolent elements of society came much later.”

  Kälin’s brows formed one continuous shadow over his eyes. “Yes, let’s talk about that choice.”

  She sat back in her chair, as if being interviewed on a popular chat show. Chris had to admit, the woman had balls.

  “By 2006, the strategy I learned from my brilliant stepfather had turned Hoffmann-Roth into one of the Big Five. I was made Senior Partner and when Hoffmann retired, the company became D’Arcy Roth. My personal wealth exceeded the one billion mark. It was time, as Jean-Baptiste had always taught me, to give something back. The difficulty was that I was surrounded by ‘takers’ who never paid their dues. True, it was entirely my idea to drop Hoffmann’s ethical standpoint and the decision proved profitable for the company. But the downside was that I spent years of my life smiling and shaking the hands with the foulest beings on the planet.”

  “So the next logical step was to get rid of them?” asked Kälin, head tilted.

  “It had occurred to me. Planning the demises of certain individuals occupied much of my thoughts. Nevertheless, I believed they should do the honourable thing and make the world a better place by leaving it voluntarily. Only when Helene returned from Sault Sainte Marie did I realise the two things could be combined. We talked about it for almost two years, solving practical problems theoretically. The idea of leaving DNA to muddy the waters arose long before we realised we had the perfect source.” She laughed, as if recalling a happy memory. “So that’s when we changed Nina’s name. It was our little joke.”

  Chris stared at her, aghast. Kälin looked down at the table, pressing his fingers to his forehead. When he looked up again, there were four white pressure points above his eyebrows.

  “I think a break would be beneficial. I will send someone to see you have everything you need.” His chair scraped back and he reached for the recorder. Chris stood and made for the door. D’Arcy’s voice halted them.

  “Herr Kälin. Dina submitted to the DNA sampling as she had done the operations. She thought it was part of her life and never asked questions. She had no idea what we used it for. She’s entirely innocent.”

  Kälin turned, his eyes dangerously dark.

  “All the men you targeted ... you believed that killing them was for the greater good. So why Frau Stubbs?”

  D’Arcy leant back in her chair. “A combination of reasons. I dislike people passing judgement on me. I take it personally. We were, in fact, on the same side, if only she could have seen it. We both wanted to take out the bad guys. But her perspective was so narrow, bound by petty legal constraints. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but it’s no wonder she was an unhappy woman. She fought a constant battle against bureaucracy. In another life, she might have joined us in making the world a better place.”

  Kälin’s growled. “You think the world is a better place without Frau Stubbs?”

  D’Arcy thought for a second, before offering them a smile.

  “My world is.”

  Seconds ticked by and no one moved. Kälin froze, his finger poised above the recorder. Chris trained his eyes on D’Arcy, mentally hurling every curse he knew in her direction. Finally, Kälin spoke, directly into the recorder, without looking at either D’Arcy or Chris.

  “So, you hunted down men who broke the law for their own selfish needs. You removed individuals who profited from the misery of the poor and disadvantaged. You took out those people who treated others like puppets for their own ends. You decided you were above all the systems and moral codes others adhere to and nominated yourself as judge, jury and executioner. And finally, you chose to kill someone who quite simply disagreed with you. In short, Frau D’Arcy, you became one of them. For your information, Frau Stubbs is recovering in hospital and quite determined to be fully fit to testify at your trial. Interview terminated, twelve forty-three.”

  Chapter 37

  Zürich 2012

  Klinik im Park was much quieter than the University Hospital. Out of the window, there was a glorious, blossom-filled park, and beyond, the Lake of Zürich. Nordic walkers, cyclists, joggers and a varied group of bathers revelled in the sunshine. A light knock sounded and the door opened. About time; she was starving.

  “Beatrice! You’re up!”

  The sight of Sabine and Conceição’s familiar, bright faces brought tears to her eyes.

  “Beatrice?” They rushed to her side.

  “No, no, it’s silly, I’m fine. I’m just awfully pleased to see you.”

  Sabine leant down to give her a hug. Conceição’s hand squeezed her shoulder. These wonderful girls.

  Dabbing at her nose, Beatrice turned her attention to their bags. “I hope you’ve brought me something to eat. I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry in my life.”

  Smiling, the two women sat on the bed. Sabine unwrapped flowers and Conceição unpacked the contents of h
er paper bag.

  “Food, yes, but the nurse says you must take it slowly. We also brought flowers, some books and magazines, all best wishes and the latest news. Number one topic? Your doctor says you can go home tomorrow, if all is well with the tests,” Conceição announced.

  Beatrice’s heart leapt. Hospital was not all that dissimilar to prison, in her view, so when a reprieve was in sight, her hopes soared.

  “Really? Oh, that’s wonderful.”

  Sabine arranged the yellow bouquet in a water jug. “You don’t really need to stay in hospital another night. The main reason they moved you here was to avoid the Apart’hotel. Kälin thought it would be best.”

  “That’s very kind of him. But I’ll have to go back there to pack, anyway.”

  Conceição shook her head. “It’s all done. Your cases are at Sabine’s, ready to go when you are. We did it this morning.”

  “Oh you are marvellous. Right, I need food, immediately followed by an update. Sabine, those flowers are delightful.”

  “Courtesy of the boys. They’re coming in later.”

  “Potato salad, pasta with pesto and tomatoes, or a blueberry yoghurt?” Conceição held up three plastic tubs.

  “All of them and in that order.”

  Sabine brought Beatrice’s tray from the bed to the window chair, and Conceição opened the lids for her.

  “The nurse did say that you had already eaten lunch,” Sabine said, with an air of innocence.

  Beatrice put down her fork. “I was given some thin soup, around elevenses time, for your information. And the doctor at University Hospital emphasised the importance of keeping my strength up. So allow me a light snack, while you bring me up to speed with the case. News, please.”

  Conceição kicked off her shoes with a laugh and tucked one long leg underneath her.

  “Bon appétit. D’Arcy has confessed to organising all the murders, including one that didn’t happen. A pharmaceutical boss slipped the noose, after having met Richter. They couldn’t risk his recognising her on her second attempt, so they chose Ryman as the substitute ...”

  Sabine interrupted. “So we’ve got D’Arcy, but still no sign of Richter. All border police have been alerted.”

  Beatrice shook her head. “She’s long gone. After thirty-six hours? We’ve lost her, I’m afraid. What about the girl, Dina?”

  “Under psychiatric observation.” Sabine responded with enthusiasm. “She’s a fascinating mix. I observed a few interviews. One minute, brilliantly intelligent; the next, you would think she had some significant learning disability. She was the person who kept the art forum active, logging in as all the different members, raising discussions, having arguments, and creating an entire imaginary world for Richter and D’Arcy to use for their own purposes. I have asked Dr Thiel, the psychologist in charge, if I can follow this case. I want to know what happens to this girl.”

  Beatrice nodded. “So do I. I feel for that poor child. Did D’Arcy confess to the press leak?”

  Adding sliced gherkin to a potato salad was a sublime idea. A top tip she intended to use to impress Matthew. Beatrice tore the lid off the green and red pasta fracas and tucked in.

  Sabine bit her lip. “B, the police team checked your room and belongings for any forensic evidence. They found a bug in your mobile phone.”

  Beatrice closed her mouth. “No. So I was the leak? Oh how awful!”

  “We think D’Arcy probably organised that after the first time you locked horns.”

  An uncomfortable heat crawled up Beatrice’s neck, making it harder to swallow.

  “How’s your throat, B?” Conceição asked.

  Beatrice waved her fork in an indiscriminate gesture to communicate the fact that she was fine and they were to get on with it.

  “So the case is finished. We have the woman behind these killings, and you led your team to a successful conclusion. Everyone’s happy and tomorrow we go home!”

  Sabine’s comforting words stuck in Beatrice’s throat and tears tickled her nose. Conceição knelt beside her, offering a tissue.

  Beatrice grimaced. “I’m sorry. I seem to cry at the daftest things. Please ignore me. There’s really nothing wrong with this pasta.”

  Conceição gave her shoulder another squeeze. “B, you’re bound to be a bit raw. We’ve been just the same, haven’t we?” She glanced at Sabine.

  “Yes, and none of us went through what you did.”

  “Thank you, girls. You’ve both been wonderful to me. Visiting with food, news, a super pair of pyjamas, and more food. Worth your weight in coal. I shall miss you, you know. And I suppose I’ll miss the boys, too. Are things still running smoothly with you and Chris, Conceição?”

  Scooping up a cherry tomato, it took Beatrice a second to catch up. But the look between the pair was unmistakeable. She stared for a second, her mind processing what she saw.

  “Oh, I see.”

  She really should get her radar re-tuned; she’d made the classic sexual jealousy assumption. “Well, congratulations! Oh dear, how did Chris take it?”

  Conceição gave a resigned smile. “He’s a cool guy, actually. He took it in his stride. Look, B, it’s not common knowledge, okay?”

  “I am the soul of discretion. Can I have my yoghurt now?”

  Halfway through a BBC Prime episode of Doctor Who, Beatrice was lying on the bed when three light raps announced the arrival of Xavier and Chris. She felt a slight blush, hopefully imperceptible in the light of the television screen. The last time she’d seen these two was just after her stomach pump. But a civilised veil should be drawn over that.

  “B! You look so much better than the last time we saw you! After they pumped you out at Universitätspital, you were grey. Like more dead than alive?”

  “Chris, you are always such a joy. Xavier, I am thrilled to see you again. Have you brought cakes?”

  Xavier beamed. “Sabine mentioned you are hungry, but all food must be soft. I brought you a Birchermuesli. How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Hungry. Emotional. Sore. Curious.”

  Chris laughed and stretched out on the window chair. “We can satisfy the ‘hungry’ and ‘curious’. I got you a tiramisu. Where do you want to start?”

  “With the tiramisu, please. Oh, I see what you mean. What happens to D’Arcy now? And how’s Dina coping?”

  “D’Arcy will be charged tomorrow, but Dina will spend at least two weeks under observation before a decision is made. We have written up all our reports, Lyon’s handing out gold stars, and tomorrow we can leave. Although I was thinking of staying on for a couple of days.” Chris had a certain light in his eye.

  “For work or pleasure?” Beatrice swallowed a large mouthful of coffee cream to disguise her curiosity.

  “Could be both. I’ve got an opportunity to see how the extreme left works. I’m hoping to achieve some undercover anarchist penetration.”

  Xavier’s face was a mixture of embarrassment, amusement and concern. “Can you also go home, B?”

  “Pending the test results on my liver, yes. As you obviously know, this isn’t the first time I’ve taken an overdose. My liver can’t tell the difference between voluntary and not. So the damage is likely to be similar.”

  Meeting two pairs of sympathetic eyes was unbearable. “What about you two? I hope you received a glowing report from Kälin at the end of this.”

  “He’s not writing our reports. He says it’s your job,” Chris replied.

  Xavier hurried to add his comment. “But this time, B, he means it in a good way.”

  After taking note of her flight wish-list for the next day, the two men said their goodbyes. Beatrice remained professional throughout, only admitting gloom after the door closed. Switching off the light to allow her to watch them unseen, she stood at the window until their dear familiar forms crossed the road and got into their vehicle. With a sad smile, she gazed out at the lights across the lake on the Gold Coast. That beautiful empty villa. What would happen to that
mosaic floor? What would happen to that mixed-up young girl? The tail-lights of Xavier’s car disappeared around the bend. Goodbye, Chris, goodbye Xavier. What were the chances she would ever see them again? And since when had she started talking like Ingrid Bergman? An age-old ache cracked her chest, and a chasm began to open. Then a movement below drew her eyes. A few spaces back from Xavier’s slot, a car’s interior light glowed as the driver’s door opened. It looked like a Ford Mondeo. A figure exited and made its way across the road to the clinic. Beatrice was ready.

  “Ken! I am so pleased to see you.”

  “Thank Gawd you’re still in one piece. Me and Noemi have been worried sick. What the hell was all that about? Kälin didn’t have nothing to do with it, I’m sure of that. I was watching him all evening. I don’t think he’s your man.”

  “I know, I know. Rather embarrassingly, it seems I was the leak. I found out this afternoon my phone was bugged. Probably by the same person who tried to do away with me.”

  Ken folded his arms. “Well, I’ll be blowed. And old Kälin was clean as a choirboy all along.”

  Beatrice agreed. “He was. He is. I was being over-cautious. I’m so sorry to have sent you off after a dead herring when it was my own indiscretions that let us all down.”

  “But you are all right, eh?”

  “Right as rain. Now you’re here, you may as well deliver your report.”

  “If you like. But that’s not all I’m delivering. I got you some grapes. I wanted to bring you a Bakewell tart, but Noemi said it might be too much for you.”

  For once, Beatrice wasn’t interested in food. “Thank you, that’s most considerate. So, Karl Kälin? What did you find?”

  “Here you go. Typed and everything. But there’s nothing much there. I followed him for over a fortnight and found sweet Fanny Adams. Never seen him with any journos, apart from the official stuff. Divorced, lives alone, creature of habit, never breaks the law, a few close friends and he plays cards on a Friday. I could get to like this geezer.”

  “Thank you, Ken. And I’m sorry for dragging you out of retirement.”