by JJ Marsh
The handlers spoke gentle motivating words and the dogs responded, tails wagging as they inhaled essence of Stubbs. Along with the team, the sexton was fascinated and on request, gave his permission with enthusiasm. Unleashed, the dogs went to work. Beginning in small circles, like metal detectors, they sniffed, stopped and started; sudden runs interrupted by a slow study of a particular spot. The handlers followed, muttering encouragement.
Sabine descended from the balcony to watch, standing close to Conceição. The quiet tension built as they all watched. A bark made everyone jump.
The bloodhound took off, followed by its colleague. Without lifting its snout from the ground, it ran in a direct line to the door in the south transept, where it stopped, barking, scraping and wagging.
Kälin turned to the sexton. “Was ist dahinter?”
“Die Gruft.”
Conceição looked to Chris for a translation.
Why had he not listened to his subconscious? Just like a computer; some data visible, some encrypted.
“The crypt.”
The police team formed a reception line, as if they were at a wedding, allowing the sexton to come forward with the keys. The poor old guy shook, a combination of nerves and the spotlight of attention.
Door opened, the two dogs hared down the stairs, stopped and began a relay of barking. As Chris stumbled down, he recognised there was no aggression in that sound. It simply said, ‘We found it.’
And they had.
Chapter 36
Zürich 2012
Fluorescent lighting at Kloten Airport’s Jet Aviation terminal did Kälin’s grim features no favours. Catching his own reflection in the tiny arrivals area, Chris realised he looked even worse. Each absorbed in his own thoughts, neither man spoke, but occasionally checked his watch or mobile phone. D’Arcy Roth’s Gulfstream G550 touched down twenty minutes late. Two police cars were already stationed on the tarmac and airport security escorted Chris and Kälin to the aircraft.
Chris couldn’t help but be impressed by the performance as she descended the steps. Hair swept up, she wore crisp white trousers, brown loafers, a gold silk shirt and over her shoulders, a suede jacket. She carried a brown leather briefcase and her gold jewellery caught the morning sunlight. Her make-up was light and she looked fresh, as if she were leaving her apartment for work, rather than coming off a sixteen-hour flight. With an artificial smile, she walked up to them. Her bodyguard and her daughter stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“Hello again, Herr Kälin. It seems I just can’t get rid of you. And Frau Stubbs?”
Kälin held her gaze. Neither blinked.
“We have a few more questions, Frau D’Arcy. Will you come with us, please?”
“Oh God. This has gone beyond a joke. I have work to do. I cannot sit around waiting while you people try to find some way of making me your scapegoat.” She shook her head in exasperation. “Wait, I must instruct my staff.”
“Frau D’Arcy? You may not remember me, but I’m Chris Keese, a member of Frau Stubbs’s team. Your staff will need to accompany us to the police station. You can take the first car. Would you like your daughter to travel with you?”
Without even registering his question, she barked over her shoulder.
“Dina!”
The girl jumped and hurried towards them. D’Arcy stalked straight to the waiting police vehicle and stopped. As he suspected, a first-class bitch who can’t even open a door. Chris yanked the handle and swung the door open as if it were a limousine. D’Arcy slid into the back seat without acknowledging Chris. Again. The girl dropped her head and ducked into the car as if she hoped she’d gone unnoticed.
Seemed like Kälin had no intention of helping out, so turning to the bodyguard, Chris indicated the second patrol car. The man obeyed with a worried frown. Closing the door behind him, Chris instructed the officers to take them back to Zeughausstrasse. Kälin stood watching the cars pull away as Chris joined him.
“Shouldn’t we head back to the station?”
Kälin did not reply. Chris saw the tiredness in the detective’s expression had been replaced by something else. A commercial jet took off from the main airfield, the roar of engines making speech impossible for a moment.
“Herr Keese. Please tell me exactly what you saw just then. In detail.”
Chris needed coffee. And sleep. Not mind games with Kälin.
“A very glamorous, very fresh 24-carat bitch just got off the plane, got mad with us for taking her into custody and showed her true colours by treating me and her daughter like non-humans. Did I miss something?”
“I did. Surprise. Her reaction was rehearsed. She was expecting us. This whole scene was prepared.” He began walking back to the tiny terminal.
“And?”
“And I don’t know. But for some reason, she thinks she’s invincible.”
“D’Arcy refuses to talk without legal representation. The company’s lawyer is coming. Should we get coffee?” Chris rubbed his eyes.
Kälin lifted his chin abruptly in acknowledgement. “Get that warrant. We’ll need it.”
“Warrant?”
“Herr Keese, we need permission to take samples from all D’Arcy’s female employees.”
“Why do you want to do that now? We can’t take samples until Monday. The only females we could test today would be D’Arcy’s daughter and her cleaner. One of whom is too young and the other too old.”
“We leave no stone unturned. Get the warrant and test them, please. Out of respect to Frau Stubbs. Call me when that lawyer arrives, I’ll be in my office.”
Chris chose not to be offended; the man’s stress hummed like a piano wire. He delivered the warrant to Conceição, insisted she took samples from the daughter and the housekeeper, before excusing himself and returning to the computer room. He switched off the light and his mind, rolled up his jacket and lay on the floor.
“I repeat, Herr Kälin, I have no idea what happened to the doctor who made that mistake. That was the last I heard of her. I decided to take the matter no further as the hospital had already begun an investigation.” D’Arcy voice was controlled and patient, as if talking to a child.
“You had no contact with her at all after she was struck off?” Chris demanded.
The deep blue eyes flicked in his direction, but she addressed her question back to Kälin. “Are all policemen this slow?”
Chris was used to this; her hostility was a good sign. Her lawyer – grey hair, navy suit, forgettable face – barely looked up from his note-taking.
Chris pressed on. “I repeat. You had no contact with her at all after she was struck off? This question is not restricted to Switzerland. Did you have any further contact with this woman – real or virtual?”
Her focus remained on the wall. “I repeat. No. I had no contact with her. Real or virtual, whatever that means.”
“You never communicated with her via the Internet, for example?”
“Why would I do that? What on earth would we have to discuss?”
“Modern art, perhaps? Did you ever participate in an art forum?”
Her full focus returned to him. “Modern art? I am the CEO of a major financial services provider. We have a turnover of 16 billion Swiss francs, and we employ 50,000 people worldwide. In my free time, I am a highly regarded polo player, which demands several training hours a week. I have an active social calendar and spend 90 minutes every day in the gym. I have better things to do with my time than an art forum.”
Kälin sighed. “Repeating your position in society will not work as a smokescreen here. Until you can prove you did not orchestrate these killings through Helene Richter, we will continue to believe you are involved.”
D’Arcy gave a patient, pitying smile. “I am not one to teach a man his job, Herr Kälin, but I think you’ll find that the burden of proof lies with you.”
Chris spoke. “Don’t worry about that, Frau D’Arcy, we are very confident we have the right woman.”
&nb
sp; “I do hope so, Herr Keese. Because from here, it looks like you are wasting both my time and yours.”
So she had taken note of his name. Chris could feel the balance of power tilting. And he wasn’t the only one. He saw her direct a cold glare at her brief.
“Ahem.” The lawyer, Herr Wortmann, prepared to speak, but a knock at the door prevented his response.
Xavier entered the room and bent down to whisper in Kälin’s ear. The older man’s brow creased into incredulity and he turned to face Xavier, with a shake of his head.
Xavier nodded. Kälin, expressionless, looked at Chris, and with a minute eyebrow movement, indicated the door.
Once outside the interrogation room, Kälin voiced his question. “Are you sure?”
Xavier’s head bobbed up and down again. “The laboratory says 100%. The DNA is the same and Conceição agrees. A complete match on all points.”
Chris looked from one to the other. “Who?”
Xavier jerked his head towards the cells. “The daughter. I put her under arrest.”
“And does her DNA match what we found in Frau Stubbs’s hotel room?” asked Kälin.
Xavier nodded again.
Chris shook his head. “How is that possible? Not only is she clearly a woman, but she can only have been a kid in 2007. And she was in Argentina last night. It makes no sense. What does she say?”
Xavier shrugged. “Nothing. She won’t talk.”
The three men stood in silence, until Kälin exhaled a sharp breath.
“I’ve had enough of this. That smart-mouthed female is going to tell us what’s going on. Herr Keese, where are her weak spots, from your observation?”
Chris forced himself to think. “She thinks she’s cleverer than she is. She overestimates her own intelligence. And underestimates ours.”
“Good idea. Herr Racine?”
The request clearly came as a surprise and Xavier’s face went blank, before his eyes sharpened. “Her principles. We know she’s behind this, so we have to get at what drives her.”
“Thank you. Let’s go.”
“Herr Wortmann, more water? Frau D’Arcy? So, perhaps we can go back to my point. The connection with Frau Richter.”
“It does not exist.”
Kälin’s voice changed from amenable to icy. “Here’s the theory, Frau D’Arcy. We know you lost your father, Robert Wolf from Seattle, in 1976, and your mother remarried, rather quickly, in ’78. You were eleven, correct?”
Satisfaction warmed Chris as D’Arcy sat frozen, unresponsive. They were getting to her, without a doubt. He used the side of his foot to nudge Kälin’s, whose face twitched in acknowledgement.
“Jean-Baptiste D’Arcy. Your stepfather. A large personality, by all accounts. He must have entirely eclipsed your father; being so successful, genial, popular and rich. Your mother finally hit the jackpot. The American was a bit of a dud, wasn’t he? Still, she struck gold with D’Arcy. The provenance of his wealth is shadowy, true, but on the surface, he was the perfect humanitarian. Sadly, your mother had only a short time to enjoy such good fortune. Six years of living the high life and she succumbed to cancer. That must have been very hard on you. Your stepfather, on his death, was worth some seventeen million Swiss francs, is that right?”
D’Arcy rested her chin on her hands. “And this is your theory? Despite the fact I was his only heir, I killed him for the money. You are of course aware, thanks to your impeccable research, that I had already inherited my mother’s property, been headhunted by Hoffmann-Roth, and earned an impressively high salary. At the age of twenty-two. I had no need of his money.”
“Need and want are two different things. After your mother died, you lived with D’Arcy for another five years. You were a high-flying businesswoman. You had more than enough money for a place of your own. A palace of your own. What possible reason would a young, successful woman like yourself have to spend five years in the same house as an older man, with whom you had no blood ties whatsoever? You say you had no need of his money. Maybe you stayed because of his needs.”
Chris forced his expression to remain cool. Kälin’s tactics surprised him, but he delighted in the result. The lawyer seemed to wake up. “Herr Kälin, that is unacceptable! I cannot allow my client ...”
D’Arcy snapped her head toward Wortmann and he petered out. She took a breath and returned her eyes to Kälin’s.
“You are a small-minded little pervert. My stepfather was the most wonderful man I have ever known. My father taught me ethics, but when it came to practical applications, he was weak. Jean-Baptiste showed me that ethics and business are not divorced. Not even separated. It’s a question of perspective. After you make difficult decisions, you have to compensate by being a force for the good. A lesson I learned well and have applied ever since. Jean-Baptiste was one of the greatest men I have ever known.”
“So why did you have him killed?”
She locked onto Kälin’s eyes. “I did not ‘have him killed’, as you put it. I gave him the one gift I could. I had already buried two parents and faced the loss of the single most influential person in my life. He was my guiding light, my star. I loved him more than anything. I would have taken his place if I could. When my parents died, I was too young to influence their suffering. But Jean-Baptiste knew he was dying. The only question was how long it would take. For the first time in my life, I was able to act. I talked to the anaesthetist and found a sympathetic mind.”
She stopped, aware she had been provoked. Her brief leaned in to speak to her, but she ignored him. “An act of supreme humanity on that doctor’s part, not to mention her bravery, for which she was richly rewarded. End of story.”
“But that was only the beginning for Helene Richter. Seems she had a taste for wiping out influential men and your stepfather was only the first. Or were they also ‘mercy killings’?”
“Jean-Baptiste’s death has nothing to do with this. And why would you suspect Richter? You’re making ridiculous assumptions.”
D’Arcy fixed her eyes on Kälin and blinked. But Chris knew the calm gaze obscured a maelstrom of thought. He tapped his foot to Kälin’s. The response was immediate.
“So you’re telling me Helene Richter had nothing to with the deaths in question?”
“I cannot imagine why you think she would.”
“You’re sure?”
She lifted her chin with an expression of boredom.
Kälin inhaled. “In which case, the prime suspect is clear. We have evidence that indicates the involvement of a woman, despite the DNA discovered. I am sorry to inform you that we have arrested your daughter, Frau Dina D’Arcy. She is now in police custody.”
Chris didn’t need to nudge Kälin for this one.
The pale face lost all colour. In the harsh light of the police interview room, she looked sickly, although her dark pupils shone.
“That is impossible. You have made yet another huge mistake.”
“No. The male DNA planted at the site of each murder is a perfect match for that of your daughter.”
The tension dropped from her jaw. “You took a sample of her DNA? Surreptitious gathering of samples can be challenged in law.” With a slow turn of her head, she faced her lawyer.
“That is correct. We would certainly question the validity of ...”
Kälin interrupted. “There would be no question about the authorisation and technical accuracy of these samples.”
D’Arcy shook her head. “You only tested the men yesterday.”
“That is true, we did. But Frau Stubbs decided that we should also test your female employees. A wise move.”
D’Arcy stared at Kälin for so long that Chris began to shift in his seat. She suddenly switched her attention to her brief and dismissed him. He hesitated, but not for long. As the door closed behind him, she exhaled a long, controlled breath.
“How ironic. When this was to be the last one.” Closing her eyes, she took several slow breaths, before returning her gaze to K
älin.
“If you can assure me that you will not question Dina, or treat her as a suspect in any way, I will tell you what you need to know. You must be careful with my daughter. She is very fragile; her life has always been sheltered. She doesn’t really understand the outside world. She is special.”
“So her DNA seems to show.” Kälin observed. “I give you my word we will proceed no further with Frau Dina D’Arcy until we have heard what you have to say.”
Chris watched D’Arcy compose herself. His fatigue gave way to fascination; she was going to spill.
“Everything I said about Jean-Baptiste is true. I loved him. I persuaded Helene to help me end his suffering, because I could not bear to see his pain. It was an act of kindness. He never hurt me, or treated me as anything other than an adored child.”
“What happened to Richter?” asked Kälin.
“Helene continued her studies. First in Brazil, and later in Canada. I had to pull more strings to get her a place there than I did to adopt my daughter. But she performed very well and exceeded expectations. I’d say my investment was repaid.”
“Why did you pay for her education?” asked Chris.
“Because she should never have lost her place in Switzerland. Our plan, at the time of Jean-Baptiste’s death, was for Helene to study anaesthesia and euthanasia, and for us to open a clinic where people could choose to end their lives, without pain and with dignity. We both agreed on that as a basic human right.”
“A noble concept. I am curious as to how you made the leap from assisted suicide to serial murder.” Kälin’s tone sounded calm, but Chris sensed a seismic anger building.
D’Arcy frowned. “There was no leap. In fact, we saw our work as exactly that. Assisted suicides, where the individuals concerned required some help.”
Chris paused to take that in. “Where does Dina fit into your ‘work’?”
“She doesn’t. She had nothing to do with it.”
“So how do you explain ...”
