Behind Closed Doors

by JJ Marsh

  Had Beatrice been there yet? It was an absolute must. The home of the Black Madonna.

  Home at 16.00.

  D’Arcy had done her MBA through the London School of Economics and used the opportunity to improve her British accent. She aspired to speak cut-glass British English.

  Beatrice nodded. “R.P.”

  “I’m not familiar with that term.”

  “What they call ‘BBC English’. It stands for Received Pronunciation.” Beatrice felt a childish delight in scoring a point.

  12 September 2010: Flight back from New York. Attended a remembrance service for victims of 9/11. Twenty eight D’Arcy Roth employees had perished in their World Trade Centre office. Very sad.

  Last time she visited London, she’d found a Swiss restaurant, had Beatrice ever seen it? Wardour Street, or somewhere near there?

  “I live in the East End, Ms D’Arcy, so I tend to eat closer to home.”

  “The East End! Good decision. It is a growth area; the Olympic investments have made this highly desirable in terms of real estate. You made a wise choice.”

  Beatrice smiled. “You credit me with excessive foresight. I bought my little flat in 1982. I would like to get back to Herr Kälin’s point. Jack Ryman. You played polo together?”

  “Not quite correct. I played opposite Ryman. Let me top you up. Herr Kälin? Do you know anything about polo, Ms Stubbs? No? Well, I’ll assume you have enough intelligence and research capability to appreciate what I say. I usually play number one in our team. Ryman played number four in his. We met often on the field and were direct aggressors. Nevertheless, with my track record, he had more reason to wish me dead than the other way around.”

  “Would you say Mr Ryman was a popular man in his social circle? I know he was disliked by the media,” Beatrice asked.

  “The media dislike anyone who takes tough decisions. Ryman was respected by those who understood his business. They are fewer than you think.”

  “That is becoming apparent. Most people who invested in these debt obligations seem to have found themselves holding a piece of worthless paper. Or are you referring to his company’s so-called ‘vulture funds’? The ones where the rich get richer by trading on Third World misery. I find it surprising you consider Ryman’s strategy to be ‘tough decision-making’. I am not a financier, Ms D’Arcy, but it looks like the man lacked any kind of moral compass and was selling hot air at a premium.”

  “If you can sell hot air at a premium and financial regulators see nothing wrong with that, you sell hot air at the best price you can get. That’s what Ryman did, and he did it very well. Hence his impressive bonuses and profits. I actually admire someone who plays the game to win.”

  “Despite the disproportionate amount of losers?”

  Kälin shifted slightly and Beatrice sensed it was a signal. She reminded herself of the reason for their visit and decided not to wait for a reply.

  “Let’s talk about van der Veld.”

  “There, I’m afraid I will not be able to help you. I never met the man. He was a potential client, but it seems he changed his mind.”

  “Did you know anything about his business, Ms D’Arcy? About the provenance of his diamonds?”

  “He had a range of interests besides diamonds and needed some help with staying on the right side of the law. It is not my job to investigate the ethics behind his money. I am a professional, Ms Stubbs, which requires me to be neutral and unbiased. Anyone has the right to be a client of mine, if they can afford it.”

  “So I hear. But you did know Dougie Thompson and Brian Edwards personally, didn’t you?”

  “I knew them as social acquaintances, yes.”

  “And despite their unprincipled activities, you retained them as friends. That didn’t bother you?”

  D’Arcy folded her hands together and gave Beatrice a kind smile.

  “I can see you feel quite strongly about certain issues, Ms Stubbs. And I admire you for it, I really do. However, it appears we see the world differently, so let’s leave it at that. As far as I’m aware, it’s not my ethical perspective which is under investigation, is it?”

  Kälin’s voice rumbled into the silence.

  “The fact remains, Ms D’Arcy, you knew all these men. Why do you think they died?”

  She turned to face him for the first time. “Do you think it possible they may have discovered a conscience?”

  Beatrice cocked her head. “That’s certainly possible. In which case, when you discover yours, will you do the same?”

  Kälin’s spoon stopped stirring.

  D’Arcy’s face smoothed. “It seems that we have gone past enquiry and into judgement. Is there anything more I can help you with, officers, or would you like to beat the traffic back into the city?”

  The girl fetched their coats.

  Beatrice’s view of the lakeside buildings was unimpeded. Cyclists, joggers, picnickers, couples, groups of friends wandered through the spring sunshine towards the water. An inspiring evening, into which she carried her own little rain cloud.

  Kälin kept checking her with sideways glances. “Where do you want to go?”

  “It’s late. Let’s de-brief on Monday. I’d prefer to go home.”

  If only she could. A wild thought grabbed her. If she checked the flights as soon as she got in, it might be possible to fly to Exeter tonight, spend a weekend in Matthew’s calming company, allow him to fuss over her and puncture her paranoia ... Or not. Or she could stay here and work. After her outburst, jetting off for a weekend with her lover seemed to lack gravitas.

  Traffic on Bürkliplatz held them up. She watched the tourists; he kept his eyes on the road.

  “Herr Kälin, I am sorry I handled that so badly. Purely through my own aggressive attitude, I turned a friendly witness hostile. Maybe we should have worked as a team after all.”

  He didn’t answer. Beatrice watched the west coast darken, while the sun’s rays continued to bless the golden east. The weekend stretched ahead, full of nothing but shadows. The dogs were restless.

  Kälin stopped in front of her apartment block but did not turn off the ignition. He turned to look at her as he spoke. “We did work as a team. My mistake was to think I was playing the bad cop. I wish you a good weekend, Frau Stubbs.”

  “Same to you, Herr Kälin.”

  His moustache lifted in an unfamiliar way. If Beatrice hadn’t known better, it could have been a smile.

  Chapter 9

  Zürich 2012

  “So what would you like to achieve from today’s call, Beatrice?”

  “The usual, I suppose. To explain how I’m feeling, and check with you that I’m still on course.”

  “OK, good. I’d be interested to hear how you’re feeling. And when you say, ‘still on course’, what do you mean exactly?”

  “That I’m still going in the right direction. I felt we’d made a lot of progress before I left London, but here, I feel more wobbly.”

  “Right, I see. Should we start with ‘wobbly’? Is that the word which best describes how you’re feeling?”

  “Yes. What I mean is that I have very little self-confidence. Sometimes. I’m afraid I’m out of my depth. I ballsed up an interview yesterday because I let my temper get the better of me. And I did it in front of the Senior Detective here. He doesn’t have much belief in me anyway, and now his respect has reached rock bottom. The thing is, James, I’m not at all sure I’m up to this. Maybe it’s too soon.”

  “That’s a possibility. But only one of many. I’d like to hear a bit more about what happened.”

  Beatrice explained, trying to rein in her urge to exaggerate D’Arcy into a monster and paint Kälin as a pantomime villain.

  “So, you’re saying you may have created hostility with the detective by being judgemental with that interviewee?”

  “Exactly. I upset her, and him by behaving badly.”

  “Funny you should use the word ‘bad.’ Didn’t you just tell me you had agreed to play �
�good cop, bad cop’? How should a bad cop behave?”

  “Oh, you know. Intimidating, aggressive, maybe showing obvious dislike of the witness. Come on, James, you’ve seen Life on Mars.”

  “I have. And isn’t that exactly what you did? So I’m puzzled by why you think your behaviour upset your colleague. Tell me again what he said in response to your apology?”

  “He said that we had worked as a team, and he just hadn’t realised I was the bad cop. But he was being sarcastic.”

  “How did this sarcasm manifest itself? Did he say anything else?”

  “No. Apart from wishing me a good weekend. You think I’m exaggerating.”

  “What I’m hearing may be a magnification of a negative moment, yes. What are the other factors that make you say you’re not up to it?”

  “It’s a complicated case, the team are very young and whizzy, Kälin thinks he should be in charge and I’m homesick.” Heat rose in her face, as she felt tears tickling her nose. She sniffed, her sudden self-pity followed by sympathy for James. How many times had the poor man sat listening to her grizzles?

  “Sorry, James.”

  “I believe we had an agreement by which you did not apologise for your feelings?”

  “Yes, you’re right. I’m not sorry then. But it has been bloody tough.”

  “That I don’t doubt. And I’ll come back to that in a second. But first I’d like you to remind me of some of the recurring patterns we identified when you are under stress.”

  Beatrice sighed deeply. “I am selective. I remember events with a focus on the negative. And I magnify the bad things, so they become far larger than the good. I also tend to nurse a grievance, so that I feel hard-done-by for longer and more often than is necessary.”

  “You mentioned how tough you find your circumstances. Have you noticed any of these thought patterns happening as a result?”

  “A bit. Yes. But I have been trying to make something positive out of it.”

  “Can I ask for an example?”

  Beatrice considered. “By not showing myself to be rattled by Kälin, I think I’m earning more respect from the team. And even, perversely, from him.”

  “So his level of respect is actually increasing, you think?”

  “It may have been until yesterday.”

  “Is there any chance you are projecting your own frustrations with your performance onto this man?”

  “Possibly. But he can be quite horrible, James. I’m not making this up.”

  “I know that. Just remember that quotation; ‘no one can make you feel inferior without your permission’. You are in control of how you feel. If you feel you made a mistake, it’s fine to be angry at yourself. Let’s remove this one step. If one of your ‘young and whizzy’ team had lost their temper with a witness, how would you feel? I’d like you to think about a specific individual, please.”

  “I would feel annoyed at his lack of professionalism. But if he recognised the mistake, apologised and learnt from it, I would forgive and forget.”

  “Good. Might your colleague do the same for you?”

  “He might, I suppose. I did apologise.”

  “People make mistakes, Beatrice. It’s how we deal with our mistakes that takes us forward. Now, a couple of practical questions ...”

  “Yes, and yes. I am taking the Depakote without fail. And I have kept a diary. Not religiously, but noting any low symptoms.”

  “Good news. That’ll be useful for charting lows, highs, and middle bits, so I’d like it if you made a daily note of your general outlook. Now, shall we turn to the positive things that have happened since our last call?”

  After a session with James, Beatrice always needed time to digest and test her recalibrated outlook. She felt like someone who’d just discovered the reason why walking hurt was because she had her shoes on the wrong feet. A stroll by the river did wonders, especially as she watched people cycling, jogging, playing football and enjoying themselves. Wandering as far as the Allmend playing fields, she realised her feet now hurt because she’d walked so far and made up her mind to take the train back into the city. But first she stopped at a little cabin-café in the park and spent half an hour watching dogs and replaying James’s words. Wagging tails, the sunshine and a good idea for a jaunt the next day lifted her into almost glad to be alive.

  The S-Bahn delivered her back to the city and she returned to her extensive, empty quarters. She’d just put the kettle on when the phone rang. She skipped to answer it, keen to talk to Matthew.

  “Hel-lo?”

  “Good afternoon, Frau Stubbs. This is Herr Koch at reception. I’m sorry to disturb you. A young man just handed in a mobile phone. He found it outside in the street. I checked through the address book and I have the impression it might belong to you.”

  “I don’t think so. One moment.” Beatrice rooted through her bag. Her phone was indeed missing.

  “Herr Koch? It seems you’re right. I had no idea I’d lost it. I’ll come down now.”

  “There’s no need, Frau Stubbs. I’ll send someone up to your room.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I’ll be more careful in future. Have a nice afternoon.”

  “Thank you. I wish the same for you. Goodbye.”

  People in this country were so nice, so honest. Very civilised.

  “Zürich calling. How’s the weather in Devon?”

  “Outdoors, fine with a light breeze. Super washday weather. However, indoors we have thunder, lightning, black clouds and the strong possibility of torrential rain.”

  “Oh dear. Is Luke having a tantrum?”

  “No, no. He’s right here in front of the television. We’re watching something rather sinister called Teletubbies. His mother, on the other hand, is prising open the yawning pit of Tartarus with a nail file. An alimony payment has failed to arrive.”

  “Poor Tanya. Send her my love, and sympathy. How’s Marianne?”

  “The second of the Eumenides is winging her way here as we speak. From Crediton. It may be wise to take young Luke out for a pint tonight. Too much female vitriol can put a chap off his food.”

  Beatrice laughed. “There may come a time to share advice and ale with your grandson, but you cannot take a baby to the pub. And your local hostelry is quite strict about under-eighteens,” she said, envisaging the mismatched pair in a corner of the snug.

  “Yet no laws exist on under-ones accompanying me to the shed for a pint of home-brew, as far as I know.”

  “True. Wrap him up warm and give him a kiss from me.”

  “Enough of my domestic low pressure system. How’s the high life?”

  “Nothing to write home about. I lost my temper yesterday and have been in a fug ever since.”

  “A fug?” She could hear his disguised concern.

  “It’s perfectly all right, Matthew. I should expect these insecurities, everyone has them. And I’ve just talked it through with James. I confess to having more perspective now.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. Would it help if I were to visit for a couple of days? I should very much like to see you.”

  Beatrice’s smile broadened, but she hesitated.

  “And I’d like to see you. Can we discuss this later in the week? I just feel a need to ... manage. Does that make sense?”

  “Absolutely. I said exactly the same thing to my father. Three days in a row I came home with bloodied knees, raw elbows and grazed hands. He offered to put the stabilisers back on my bike, but I stood tall in my short trousers, looked him in the eye, and said, ‘Thank you, Father, I can manage.’ So manage away, my dear one, but if you need an extra wheel, you may summon me at a moment’s notice.”

  “Thank you. It’s good to know my stabilisers are in the cupboard under the stairs. It’s peculiar, you know. I always rely on systems at work. They are there to make sure I don’t miss anything, that I follow best practice, to keep me on the straight and narrow. Where work is concerned, I know I am fallible, so I adhere to my systems, my stab
ilisers. Now I have to learn to do that in my private life.”

  “We all have them, Old Thing. And some of those systems, which I prefer to see as habits, can become obsolete, outdated and counter-productive. Your life has just had an overhaul, and you’re in the adaptation phase. A few scabby knees are part of the learning process.”

  “I know. But I’m an awful old dog to be learning new bicycle tricks.”

  “Had anyone else referred to you as an ‘awful old dog’, I would have offered him outside. Talking of tricks, when you come back, I thought we might try learning to juggle with that circus group in Totnes. Learning new skills keeps you young, so they say. Oh Good God!”

  “What is it?”

  “The television programme is over and the sun has gone down. It had a baby’s face, and as it sank below the horizon, it gurgled. That is one of the most disturbing images I have seen since Chucky. Right, I am taking Luke to the shed and shall read to him from Rudyard Kipling, which will soothe us both.”

  “Excellent idea. Off you go. Just don’t read him astray.”

  His laughter was rich, like gravy. “Was that deliberate, or one of your Bea-lines?”

  “I rarely manage to be so apt by accident. Your turn to call me tomorrow.”

  “It will be the highlight of my Sunday. Apart from Antiques Roadshow. Enjoy your Saturday, my love.”

  “Matthew? After you refused your father’s offer of stabilisers, did you stop falling off?”

  “Yes, eventually. Although the day after that conversation, I broke my nose.”

  Smiling, Beatrice dug her laptop out of her bag and typed the word Chucky into a search engine. Sometimes, her contemporary cultural knowledge had the most appalling gaps.

  Chapter 10

  Zürich 2012

  An unusual level of excitement hummed through the top-floor room. Sabine set up her laptop and projector, apparently oblivious to the louder-than-usual banter from her colleagues. Even Kälin’s arrival failed to bring the buzz down. Sabine picked up the remote control and looked to Beatrice for permission to begin. It was 07.58.