The Beatrice Stubbs Series Boxset One

by JJ Marsh

  Xavier sat at the table, looking through papers, the picture of concentration. Chris decided to explore the two doors at the opposite end of the room. The bedroom, with large bed, fitted wardrobes and dressing-table was decorated in deep blue and white, giving a restful, expensive feel. Judging by the number of labels he recognised, she owned some quality clothes. A Donna Karan wool dress, two jackets by Dior, a long cardigan by Nicole Fahri, Gucci boots ... the wardrobe of a volunteer doctor? Next door was the bathroom, revealing a cabinet full of expensive products, thick towels and a power shower. Chris pulled several strands of blonde hair from the brush, and slipped them into a plastic bag. It wasn’t much. He hoped Xavier was having more luck.

  If Beatrice had never met D’Arcy, she would have felt some sympathy for her. Her history, baldly stated in black and white, was rather sad. No matter how spectacular her trajectory, the loss of both parents and a stepfather at a young age must have been terrible blows. Sabine lifted her head at Beatrice’s sigh.

  “Something wrong, B?”

  “No, just feeling a bit sorry for the woman. Her father died of a stroke when she was nine years old. Then she lost her mother at seventeen. That’s very tough.”

  “Hmm. I find it hard to feel sorry for someone who can take other people’s lives.”

  “Sabine, we have no proof that D’Arcy has taken anyone’s life yet.”

  “We will. You know that before she became partner at Hoffmann Roth, they had a reputation for honour? They would refuse any business not aligned with their principles of fairness, humanity and justice.”

  “How did it move from those ethics to its cut-throat reputation of today?”

  Sabine read aloud. “From the annual report of 1999/2000. I’m sure you can translate this bullshit: ‘Strategically, the company has embraced broader views, driven by our new Senior Partner, Antonella D’Arcy. As part of our ongoing mission to add value for shareholders and stakeholders alike, we will strive to explore new areas of business opportunity.’ In other words, Hoffmann’s moral code is thrown out of the window and we just want to make cash. Lots of it. And we don’t care where it comes from.”

  Beatrice couldn’t help but laugh at the fiercely cynical expression on Sabine’s face.

  “I would hate to get on your wrong side. It should have been you who accompanied me to that first interview. Bad cop and worse cop. Did you find anything in your material about relationships? From everything I have read, she has been linked with several men, but I can find no one special in her life. No indication of who fathered her daughter, for example.”

  “You won’t find a father. The child was adopted from South America.”

  “Adopted? I didn’t know that. But it fits, I suppose. I couldn’t imagine D’Arcy pregnant. Do you have a date of birth there?”

  Sabine shuffled through the papers from the local government office. “No birth certificate, apparently lost. But D’Arcy adopted her from a Brazilian hospital on 12 October 1994. And ... I don’t believe it! The adoption certificate was signed by Dr H. Richter.”

  Beatrice stared. “So. Struck off in Switzerland, Richter went to Brazil. Which is why she speaks Portuguese. In the right place at the right time to organise an adoption for Antonella D’Arcy. How convenient. Or perhaps D’Arcy sent her?”

  “We should try to talk to the girl this afternoon, see if she lets anything slip.”

  “Good idea. Right, call that Brazilian hospital and find out what you can on Richter. Then it’s catch-up time and lunch. My stomach is grumbling. I tell you, I could eat a scabby cat. Oh Lord, don’t look like that, Sabine, it’s only an expression.”

  Kälin had cream sauce in his moustache. As Conceição updated them on the lack of progress at D’Arcy Roth, Sabine made short work of Fischknusperli with salad, Beatrice enjoyed the police canteen Schnitzel with noodles and Conceição managed the occasional forkful of the fitness menu; or raw strips of vegetable. Throughout the conversation, Kälin stabbed at the slices of meat in his plate of Zürcher Geschnetzeltes as if he were spearing each awkward, obstreperous D’Arcy Roth employee who had caused them such problems.

  Conceição explained. “And that means we’re not as far forward as we’d hoped. But the first two batches are already in the lab, so they can get started. We should be done by mid afternoon. Unless we have any further ‘I know my rights’ big-mouths this afternoon.” She shrugged as if it were inevitable.

  Sabine patted her mouth with a napkin. “B and I have been going through all the documentation available on D’Arcy, her family, and her company. The only thing of interest so far is the fact that Dina is not D’Arcy’s biological daughter. She adopted her in Brazil about eighteen years ago. And Helene Richter signed the adoption certificate.”

  Kälin glanced at Sabine in surprise. “Here, or in Brazil?”

  “São Paulo, 1994. I called the hospital, they have no records of a Dr Richter employed there in the early 90s.”

  Conceição turned to Beatrice. “And news from Luzern?”

  “Still waiting. I did tell Chris to call at twelve, and it’s now twenty five past. But I know he will phone in as soon as it’s convenient.”

  Sabine sighed. “If I only wait two minutes, this desire for a dessert will pass. I must be strong.”

  “No matter how long I wait, my mind will never forget that they have vermicelli, chocolate mousse and éclairs,” Conceição added, mischief in her smile.

  “You, Conceição Pereira da Silva, are a bad influence on me.” Sabine picked up her tray and headed to the buffet once more, followed by Conceição.

  “Any dessert for you, Herr Kälin?”

  Fortunately, Kälin chose to wipe his mouth before replying, as Beatrice was perilously close to getting the giggles.

  “Thank you, no. I think we both see this link to Richter as our way in.” It was not a question.

  Beatrice placed her knife and fork together. “Certainly. We can threaten charges of illegal child-trafficking and all sorts. All or any of this information about her could be useful.”

  He leaned his forearms on the table. “So tell me more about Ms D’Arcy.”

  Beatrice did so. He listened without interrupting. After she finished, he asked a question.

  “Does anything here seem significant to you?”

  “Apart from Richter, not especially. I was struck by how the steely female we see today experienced some dreadful losses in her youth. Yes, her upbringing was privileged in the monetary sense, but in terms of loved ones, everything was taken from her. Perhaps this is one reason why she needs to control her environment.”

  Kälin thought it over as he gazed at his empty plate. “Possibly. Can you see a way of using this information?”

  “Not yet. We just need to keep doing the groundwork, covering all angles and see what happens when we arrest her tomorrow morning. Do you have flight details?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’ll pick you up at six thirty. We’ll take some back-up and be ready for when she touches down. You should warn the team that we’ll probably be working all weekend. I hope you had no plans?”

  “No. Well, I did for this evening, but nothing that can’t be cancelled, if needs be.”

  “This evening shouldn’t be a problem. We will all need some rest and relaxation.”

  “That’s what I thought. And it’s an opportunity to sample some Swiss culture.”

  Kälin frowned. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to have a fondue. Not in May.”

  A low buzz of electricity hummed through Beatrice. Tricky to tell the difference, but she was beginning to distinguish Kälin attacks from Kälin banter.

  “No, I’m going to see some religious art and then I’ve been invited to a yodelling concert. And why, in the name of Emmental, can’t I have a fondue in May?”

  Before he could answer, her mobile rang.

  “Chris! We were wondering where you’d got to. Is everything alright?”

  “It’s fine. But the caretaker person was han
ging around just now, so I couldn’t call. Richter’s not here and we found nothing much in her apartment. But apparently each flat has a share of the cellar space. Xavier’s gone down there with Frau Fish-Face to take a look.”

  “And you don’t know where the Richter woman is?”

  “Nope, but she’s been here recently, after an absence of six weeks. We have her home computer, so as soon as we start unpacking that, we’ll get more idea.”

  “Chris, listen to me. I want you to bring the computer back to Zürich. Any use of computer data has to be done with the utmost care.”

  “I know that, B, I am your digital forensics expert. Why do you ...”

  “Yes, and I am the case officer in terms of law. I am responsible for making sure all data has been handled correctly. We also need an independent party to vouch for all our processes. Bring it back and let’s tick all our crosses. If there’s anything there, Chris, we have to be able to prove we haven’t fiddled with it. And let’s not forget, if you do the analysis here rather than there, you get to spend the weekend in Zürich with us, your loved ones.”

  She heard his indignation deflate into a laugh. “OK. You’re right. I’ll pack up now and we’ll head back. The machine will remain untouched until we can decide the best process and legal compliance. B, are you eating?”

  “Yes. Schnitzel in the police canteen. It’s excellent.”

  “I don’t believe it. You’re eating Schnitzel and Xavier and I can’t even have a cup of tea. My stomach is ... what? Hang on a minute.”

  Chris’s voice was muffled and Beatrice could hear the urgent tones of Xavier in the background, but could make out no words.

  “B, I’ve gotta go. Seems Xav has found something in the cellar. We’ll check it out and get back to you. Save me some Schnitzel.” He rang off.

  “Wigs.” Xavier threw the various hairpieces onto the table with a flourish.

  “And suits, bags, padded bras, accessories, jewellery and outdoor gear,” added Chris.

  “This gives us precisely nothing. What else do people keep in their winter wardrobes? This discovery is hardly the body in the basement.” Kälin’s tone was scathing.

  Chris lashed back. “You’re wrong. I will go back through these case files and show you that this stuff is not just a dressing-up wardrobe of your girl-next-door. What we found, what Xav found, were the disguises this female used.”

  “Good luck.” Kälin left the room, a chill wind behind him.

  Time for Beatrice to step in. “Chris, Xavier, I’m sure you’re right. But can we prove it? None of it is anything more than circumstantial unless any trace of her DNA turns up at these scenes. Which, given the time lapses, is unlikely. It’s much more feasible we can prove this woman had regular contact with D’Arcy. Then we might have a case. Our only hope is to get something from her home computer. Even there, I fear we may hit a dead end. If she has anything to hide, she will have taken it with her.

  “Look, don’t waste your time on case files. Get onto that machine and find out what skeletons are under the floorboards. Xavier will support you, and the rest of us can go through the files once more. We may as well face the fact we’ll be working all weekend.”

  Chris shrugged. “I can live with that. Xav and I will go through the PC, and if there’s anything to find, we’ll drag it out. And you take the files and check details against this bag of tricks?”

  “Relax, Chris. We got it. Now, we were wondering if you two might be hungry?” Conceição’s voice drew a smile from both men.

  Sabine held up two brown paper bags. “So we brought you a picnic each from the canteen. A sandwich, an apple and a yoghurt. Healthy and light enough to keep your brains alert.”

  Chris drew his eyes to slits. “A yoghurt? Are you serious? We’ve been working since 7am with nothing but coffee to keep us going. Haven’t we, Xav?”

  “Yes, that’s true. Apart from the burgers and fries we ate on the way back.”

  Chris dropped his head onto the desk and as Kälin was absent, Beatrice allowed herself to join in the laughter with a sense of abandonment.

  A security guard opened the gates as the police car approached, watching with a look of extreme suspicion as they rolled up the drive to D’Arcy’s villa. Sabine’s slow scan revealed her awe at the extent of the grounds, the view of the lake and the beautifully tended gardens. Unlike Beatrice’s last visit, the front door remained closed as they exited the car. Beatrice spoke to the uniformed officers, reiterating her request they stay put unless needed and ascended the semi-circular steps with Sabine, who rang the bell. Several moments later, a heavy-set woman appeared at the side of the house, with her hands on her hips. She wore a cleaner’s blue-checked smock and her hair was drawn back in a loose knot. Her face was unwelcoming.

  “Good afternoon, Frau ...?” opened Beatrice. She received a blank stare.

  Sabine tried in German. “Können Sie Deutsch?”

  Transferring her suspicious glare to Sabine, the woman responded. “Frau D’Arcy ist im moment nicht hier. Sie kommt morgen früh zurück. She comes tomorrow.”

  Sabine smiled. “Yes, we know. But we would like to talk to you, and any other staff members available.” She gestured in the direction of the gardener.

  “This is not possible. Ich darf keine Gespräche führen ohne Frau D’Arcy.”

  Sabine nodded her understanding and relayed her words to Beatrice. “She can’t talk to us without her employer.”

  “Fair enough. But let her know that we have authorisation to test all D’Arcy’s male employees for DNA. They may not want to talk to us, but they must give us a swab. You needn’t tell her that we’ll be back for hers tomorrow. I think we could use the officers now.”

  Sabine explained the reason for their visit to the housekeeper, while Beatrice asked the officers for their help in gathering all the household staff to the hall for the testing procedure. Five minutes later, the embarrassed officers returned with the grand total of the gardener and the security guard, both sulky and recalcitrant.

  Indicating they should sit on the chaise longue, a gloved Sabine prepared her kit. The uniformed police retreated to stand by the front door and the housekeeper to the kitchen, while the gardener and security guard sat stiffly, listening to Sabine address them in German. Beatrice watched the preparations, feeling a little extraneous. The sense of the empty house resonated with all of them, including the awkward officers by the entrance. An air of being watched, being judged filled the hallway, making them all into performers, demonstrably doing their duty. D’Arcy’s absence was the strongest presence in the room.

  Sunlight from the cupola illuminated the space, highlighting the greenery of the indoor foliage and the inlaid colours of the floor mosaic. Golds, creams, purples and plums and more green. A hand, a vessel, some folds of cloth? With a glance at Sabine, who was evidently in control of the situation, Beatrice wandered up the stairs for a better look. Her curiosity piqued, this was her chance to see what the image was all about. All eyes observed her departure, but she had no intention of going far. On reaching the landing, she looked down. Directly beneath her sat the two unhappy staff members of D’Arcy’s household. In front of them, Sabine sat beside an occasional table, reaching towards the gardener with a cotton swab. The officers stood against the main door, allowing Beatrice a clear view of the mosaic tiles.

  Three women poured large golden jars of water into a central vessel, also made of gold, or brass. They wore draped garments of plum, rose and faded green, their limbs pale, their faces resigned. The water shone silvery as it flowed from the jars into the cauldron, and out again. At the base of the vessel was the mouth of a gargoyle, with two holes either side, allowing the water to flow away. The palette of colour was astounding, sitting perfectly in the generous hallway, light catching the auburn hair, the curve of the gilded jars, the blush of a bare breast. Whatever Beatrice might suspect of Antonella D’Arcy, the woman had fine taste.

  “Beatrice? I’m finished here. Is there
anything else you want?”

  Hurrying down the stairs, Beatrice faced two reproachful faces; three if you counted Sabine’s.

  “No thanks, Sabine. If you have everyone’s details, I think we can let these people get back to work.”

  She tried to offer grateful smiles to the staff, but none returned the gesture. The guard closed the door behind them with a face so lugubrious Beatrice was tempted to laugh. As they loaded the car, Sabine seemed uncharacteristically quiet. They fastened their belts and the driver checked they were heading back to base. No one spoke as they drove back into the centre.

  “I hope that wasn’t too unpleasant an experience?” Beatrice enquired.

  “Not at all. Only two people, all passive and silent. I’ll bet Conceição is having a much harder time. You can see these people are used to observing orders.”

  “Yes. I have the feeling that D’Arcy rules that place like a dictator. One crack of the rod, everyone jumps. They’re probably afraid to go to the toilet without permission.”

  “You know not one of them is Swiss? The housekeeper is Croatian, the gardener comes from Greece and the security guard, who’s also her driver, is Lebanese. Which reminds me, she took two other members of staff with her. Her bodyguard and her daughter, or secretary. We should test them tomorrow morning.”

  “We will. What a life that woman leads. Private jet, staff of five, fabulous villa. Seems dirty money is rather profitable.”

  “Hmm. What were you looking at up there?”

  “The floor. It’s a mosaic, a beautiful piece.”

  “Modern art?” Sabine asked, as she watched shoppers along Löwenstrasse.

  “Classical. Women with water jugs. Put me in mind of Rossetti.”

  Sabine gave her an indulgent smile. “Not a name I know, Beatrice. My kind of artist is more Warhol or Lichtenstein. Have you been to the Kunsthaus yet?”

  “Yes, very enjoyable it was too. I loved those dark Nordic Expressionists. And the Chagall room was a joy. In fact, tonight I’m off to see some more.”