by Martin Suter
Valerie held Schoch’s hand and they watched this performance, captivated.
Sabu launched about ten mock attacks then stood facing her superior enemy and stiffened like an elephant statue in the victory position.
She seemed to glow more intensely than ever before.
As he had during their first encounter, Schoch put his palms together in front of his face and bowed, like a Thai greeting. Valerie copied him.
22
27 June 2016
It was a busy morning in the street clinic. Two new, neglected dogs without chips – nobody knew where they were from or if they’d been vaccinated – needed to be examined, while a drunken couple brought in a shaggy mongrel with a wound on its neck that required urgent stitching. Neither of its owners knew where the wound came from.
The next stage of Kaung’s plan was to tell the Frau Doctor that he was an oozie by profession and had been working with elephants since he was six. Depending on how the conversation went, he was also considering talking to her about the ingredients for elephant formula milk. But given the activity in the surgery there was no question of broaching the subject for the time being.
He fetched the next patient from the waiting room.
‘Hey, you, dog-whisperer,’ a voice said. It came from one of the dog lovers who’d brought his collie mix to be vaccinated. ‘Did the Chinese guy find you?’
‘Which Chinese guy?’ Kaung asked.
‘Tall Chinese chap with long hair. And a shorter Swiss guy with him.’
‘Red hair?’
‘Yeah, but not much of it.’ The man laughed. ‘He showed us a photo of you and a few elephants in the circus.’
Kaung was horrified. Roux and the tall Chinese man!
He went back into the surgery without bringing a patient. The Frau Doctor raised her eyebrows.
‘On day when I come, before come man with short red hair.’
She nodded. ‘What about him?’
‘What man want?’
‘He was from social services, looking for someone.’
‘Looking for Schoch?’
‘Yes.’
‘You tell him where is Schoch?’
The doctor didn’t reply immediately.
Kaung pressed her. ‘Not say where Schoch is. Man not from social services. Bad man. Look for small pink elephant. Schoch have it? You know where?’ Kaung was speaking more rapidly and urgently.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ the Frau Doctor said. But Kaung didn’t believe her. In her eyes he could see that she knew exactly what he was talking about.
‘Then Barisha die. Perhaps Schoch too.’
The Frau Doctor went to the door and locked it. She pushed the visitors’ chair over to him and said, ‘Sit down.’
Kaung obeyed and she sat opposite him.
‘Talk.’
Kaung hastily told her about Roux’s experiment with the elephant cow in Circus Pellegrini, the embryo’s growth disorder, his conspiracy with Dr Reber and the time when Barisha lived with Dr Reber and he, Kaung, milked Rupashi and sent the milk to the doctor. Then he explained how the Chinese man had appeared and Reber had obviously left the house in a hurry with Barisha. And how Reber drowned in the river.
‘I wonder how they found him?’ The Frau Doctor’s question was aimed more at herself than Kaung.
He put his palms facing upwards and shook his head.
‘Maybe they followed the car that brought the milk.’
‘Difficult. Hans always drive very fast,’ Kaung explained.
‘Maybe they put a trace on his phone.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Or the car.’
‘Is possible?’
‘You see it in every crime show. They put small magnetic trackers under the car and these let you track them.’
Kaung got up and went to the door. ‘Back soon.’
He went through the room full of impatient people waiting with their pets, through the second-hand shop and out to the Frau Doctor’s car.
At the place where Roux had tied his shoelaces, he felt the undercarriage and discovered a tiny box. It offered some resistance when he tugged at it, but then came off in his hand. It was dirty from water splashes and weighed less than 100 grams.
Kaung went back through the shop, past Cynthia who wanted to engage him in conversation, past the restless patients and into the surgery. He held out the tiny, dirty trophy in the palm of his hand. ‘Man put this on car. Not from social services.’
She grabbed her mobile and speed-dialled a number. ‘Answer, answer,’ she implored in a whisper.
No answer.
‘Come!’ she ordered, opening the door.
‘Emergency!’ she called out to the expectant faces and locked the door. ‘The surgery is closed and will reopen in the morning.’
They pushed their way past the protesting mass of people and got into the car.
23
The same day
Just as Tseng was about to give the signal to go in, the alarm went off. The red dot had moved.
They’d already driven down the narrow street three times to make sure that no neighbours, delivery drivers, gardeners or any other unwanted witnesses were in sight. On one occasion a yellow postal van stopped outside a neighbouring house, on another a florist’s van stopped outside the villa opposite and then the refuse collection emptied the bins on the street.
And now, on the fourth time, when the air was clear, the dot had started moving.
The surgery had only opened a couple of hours ago. Was it closed again already?
They drove back into the side street and watched the huge screen on Tseng’s phone.
The dot was stationary again.
24
The same day
Sabu was drinking the bottle with her head raised and trunk curled up. Schoch watched her and thought of Valerie.
He’d never imagined that there would ever be another woman in his life he’d think about as often as he thought of her. As often and as affectionately.
He’d thought of Paula often too. With sheer hatred at first, then sadness, bitterness and disdain. But more recently he’d almost felt a little sympathy for her.
Because things were going well for him. Because he felt something – if only slightly – that he’d never expected to feel again in his life: happiness.
Another thing he hadn’t expected was that he was making plans. And Valerie and Sabu were part of these.
These plans weren’t very concrete; they were perhaps more dreams than plans. The three of them far away somewhere, undisturbed and content.
Sabu had finished the bottle and now wanted her apples and carrots. Schoch got up and took his coffee to the work surface in the kitchen where the chopping board and knife were lying ready.
He found his mobile there too, which showed two missed calls, both from Valerie. The second soon after the first. He’d switched it to silent.
Schoch dialled her number and Valerie answered straight away. She sounded agitated.
‘We’re on our way to pick both of you up. They know where you are. Pack the essentials and get Sally’s bag. We’ll be there in five minutes.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘Me and Kaung, my Burmese assistant.’
Schoch picked up Sabu and ran upstairs to the first floor. He packed a few things into a small case, placed Sabu in Sally’s bag, chucked in the Persian stole in case he had to disguise her as a dwarf poodle, hurried back into the kitchen, packed a bag with Sabu’s food, dashed into the trophy room, smashed the glass of the weapons cabinet and grabbed a rifle. He couldn’t find any bullets but at least the gun might be good enough to scare someone. Then he returned to Sabu.
25
The same day
Tseng had declared that they’d wait ten minutes. If the dot hadn’t moved again they would drive past the villa to check out the scene. If everything looked all right, they would go round again, then park on the pavement by the garden gate where th
e yellow postal van had stopped.
Roux would position himself so that any potential witnesses wouldn’t realise that it was his Chinese client rather than himself opening the gate, and they’d undertake the same procedure at the front door. The locks were easy to pick, as Tseng had established last night.
Although the coast was clear on their first run, Tseng made Roux drive straight past. Roux groaned.
Three minutes later, on their second run, an old Peugeot stood by the drive. Roux recognised it at once. ‘Shit!’
‘Go on! Go on!’ Tseng ordered.
When they drove past they saw the gate sliding to the side. Two people were in the car. On the passenger seat beside the vet sat a short, slim man.
Tseng looked at his mobile. The red dot was still in the same place at the street clinic.
This time it was the Chinese man who hissed, ‘Shit!’
‘Let’s go get them!’ Tseng said after a brief pause for thought.
Roux turned and drove back.
At the end of the narrow street they just glimpsed the back of the Peugeot disappearing around the bend.
Roux parked the rental car by the garden gate and they got out. Roux was carrying an empty briefcase and, with expansive gestures, gave a fake sales pitch to his fake client.
The garden gate was open in a jiffy and the front door wasn’t a problem for Tseng either.
Quietly they entered the large, dismal hall.
They could hear nothing save for the plinking of a dripping tap. Tseng signalled to Roux to wait while he slunk towards where the sound was coming from.
He entered a large kitchen with stainless-steel work surfaces, like in a restaurant. Vegetable peelings, pieces of apple turned brown and salad leaves lay around, while strewn across the floor were small twigs and nut-sized balls.
Tseng picked one up and gave it a sniff.
‘Elephant shit,’ whispered Roux, who couldn’t wait any longer and had followed Tseng.
On the cooker was a pot filled with water, inside it a smaller one with traces of a milky liquid. Beside it lay a whisk with the same residue.
An open door led into a room where a light was on. They went inside.
Here the floor was likewise messy: leaves, twigs, droppings and a ball of wool.
In the centre of the room stood a table with six chairs. On it were a few used plates and a half-full coffee cup.
‘They’ve done a runner!’ Roux snorted.
They started searching the house.
Half an hour later they left it empty-handed.
A parking ticket was clamped behind the windscreen wiper.
26
The same day
There wasn’t much of a lake view any more from Hotel du Lac. Two office blocks further down the valley had obstructed it since the 1980s. The hotel had held on to its four stars by the skin of its teeth and kept its head above water through expats who stayed there while waiting to find an apartment. But it was a well-run establishment, its bar was famous for its single malts and its Thai restaurant had been an insider’s tip for more than twenty years.
Even though the Hotel du Lac had seen better times, it wasn’t used to welcoming guests such as the ones now pulling up outside.
The guests arrived in a rickety old Peugeot estate with local number plates, and their luggage consisted of a dated Louis Vuitton suitcase, a cheap wheelie case, several supermarket carrier bags and an old military rucksack.
The woman was in her early forties, not made up and dressed practically rather than elegantly. She carried a tattered dog bag, its dark-blue suede decorated with golden rivets.
One of the men was short, Asian and middle-aged. He wore jeans that hadn’t seen the washing machine in a while, trainers, a green stained parka and a grey felt hat.
The other man was more elegant, wearing a slightly old-fashioned yet classy suit. He was gaunt and had a shaved head.
He asked for Herr Gautschi, the porter of many years, who to the great relief of his designated successor had finally retired four years ago, but still worked on a temporary basis and by chance happened to be on duty that day.
Herr Gautschi was fetched from the office, where he was having a coffee break. He greeted the new arrival formally, took the tattered ID card, compared its photo with the man before him, smiled and gave him a warm handshake.
The man waved his companions over, then all three of them went into the little office at the back. The Asian man insisted on bringing the rucksack.
They stayed in the office for some time while Herr Gautschi came out on three occasions. The first time to talk to the duty manager, the second to organise the room allocation and status of the guests, and the third time to hand the new arrivals over to the receptionist.
Now Herr Schoch and his companions were staying in apartment 312 which had a connecting door to room 314. Herr Gautschi had made sure that they didn’t appear anywhere in the hotel computer system.
27
The same day
Up in the room Valerie asked, ‘Can I see your passport picture again?’
Schoch took the passport from his chest pocket and gave it to her.
A chubby man in pinstripes, his shirt collar looking slightly tight, gazed back at her seriously. She looked back and forth between him and the photo. There was no similarity between the two men.
‘I don’t think you’d be let into any country with this.’
‘I’m amazed they ever did.’
‘No wonder Herr Gautschi didn’t recognise you.’
‘Actually I was a bit thinner when I was last here too. Lovesickness is the best diet.’
‘How long did you stay here?’
‘The few weeks it took to get my divorce sorted out.’
There was a knock at the connecting door. It was Kaung, carrying the little elephant. ‘Sabu ill.’
He put her on the floor. She stood with droopy ears on the carpet. Kaung offered her a carrot, which Sabu ignored and lay down.
This was nothing like the happy creature who had performed a greeting dance when Kaung arrived at the villa.
‘She’s never not eaten, apart from right at the beginning.’ Schoch tried to get Sabu to take the carrot too. ‘Maybe all the excitement.’
Kaung shook his head. ‘No, ill.’
Valerie bent down to Sabu, stroked her and stood her up.
Kaung knelt a short distance away and called her over in Burmese.
She took a couple of steps.
‘What’s wrong with her leg?’ Schoch asked.
‘Not leg,’ Kaung said. ‘Brain.’
Schoch looked at Valerie. She wanted to rock her head from side to side but it came out as a nod.
‘Must go to sararwaan for elephants,’ Kaung said with determination.
‘What’s that?’ Schoch asked.
‘Elephant doctor. But in my country.’
28
28 June 2016
Frau Iten recognised the voice immediately, but she thought she hadn’t heard correctly.
‘Yes, yes, it’s me, Frau Iten.’
Frau Iten was secretary to the successor of Schoch’s successor. It would be her last stint as she was on the verge of retirement.
Herr Schoch had been her favourite boss. She’d got to know him when he was a young investment adviser; he was sixteen years her junior. Up till then she’d worked in various positions in the back office of the bank, always on the lookout for a better job. Then his offer came. He’d just reached a stage in his career that entitled him to a secretary of his own, so he asked her. To this day she’d never found out why.
Frau Iten didn’t spend long thinking about it and she followed Schoch up every new step of the ladder. Until the day his wife … She could have told him from the start that the woman was a slut. First he’d turned up to work unshaven and with red eyes, then with boozy breath, then drunk, then not at all.
And now he was calling her to ask for a meeting. Lunch in the Thai Restaurant at the Hotel du Lac
, where he’d lived before he fell off the radar. Lunch today. He needed her help – it was urgent.
This was the first time Herr Schoch had asked for her help. Of course for tiny things he’d done that on a daily basis, but this time it sounded serious and urgent. That’s why she agreed even though she’d have preferred to come the following day, fresh from the hairdresser’s.
He was waiting for her at an alcove table in the almost empty restaurant. She wouldn’t have recognised him if he hadn’t got up and come over to her. His handshake was still firm, but the hand was slender and bony. He was shaven-headed and slim. No, gaunt. The suit was a little too baggy and she cursed herself for sounding all maternal when she asked – barely had they sat down – ‘Are you ill, Herr Schoch?’
‘I’ve just lost a bit of weight.’
They opted for the set menu and he ordered a glass of champagne for her, just like old times, and a mineral water for himself, unlike old times.
He was asking a lot of her. If she were found out it would cost Frau Iten her job, just before retirement.
But she had his word that he would pay back the money within the current accounting period and she knew how to make such transactions invisible in the books.
Eventually she said, ‘I’ll do it. Do you know why, Herr Schoch? Because I’m a silly, sentimental old woman.’
That afternoon she booked the Gulfstream G550, but not through the bank’s internal travel agent.
29
The same day
Outside Just a Second stood a cluster of alcoholics, dog owners, hippies and junkies, patiently waiting for the street clinic to open.
Roux and Tseng had parked Roux’s BMW in sight of the shop and they were also waiting, albeit not quite so patiently. The previous evening they’d driven straight to the vet’s apartment and lain in wait for her for hours, without success. After that they’d driven aimlessly around the villa district, about three times down the narrow street where they’d last seen the Peugeot, and eventually they’d returned to Tseng’s hotel.