Damnation Read online

  Probably one of the financial group’s watchdogs, tasked with the job of collecting dirt that could be used against the bank.

  Helfer had finished.

  ‘Am I correct in assuming,’ Känzig asked, ‘that Herr Schütz will be present at Al-Bader’s funeral?’ Känzig looked directly at Schütz, who was aware that this was an order rather than a question. Although Känzig wasn’t his superior, he had the lead in this matter.

  Schütz clearly had no desire to fly to Riyadh and idle away his days in a luxury hotel. ‘Wouldn’t it ultimately be better for the bank if we proceeded with discretion and didn’t send a representative this time? I think it would be more appropriate.’

  ‘It would be best if you went in a private capacity,’ Känzig said. As an account manager you are in a way a friend of the family.

  Turning to Schütz, Hodel opened his mouth for the first time. ‘The boss wants you to fly over there and make sure that the Al-Bader family continues banking with us.’ End of discussion.

  ‘So who’s going to Anne’s funeral?’ Winter said.

  ‘You were her line manager,’ Hodel said, ‘and I think it would be right for you to talk to the Arnold family in person. Naturally, any of Frau Arnold’s colleagues are welcome to attend the funeral. I will be there at any rate.’ Shaking his head sadly, he looked around the table and said, ‘Anne was far too young to die.’

  Winter was astonished to hear Hodel use her first name and he nodded as he acknowledged his task. ‘I’ll visit Anne’s parents this evening and on behalf of the bank express our condolences.’

  At that moment the telephone rang in the middle of the table. A futuristic device for conference calls, with three legs for the loudspeaker and no receiver, it reminded Winter of the model for a space station.

  Känzig pressed the green button. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ the CEO’s baritone filled the room. ‘I’m glad that you are attending to this unpleasant business. We must do everything we can to maintain confidence in the bank. Känzig, I’d like a briefing please.’

  ‘Good evening, Dr von Tobler. I’m pleased you rang. In the room we have, besides me, Herr Hodel, Baumgartner, Schütz, Helfer and Winter. We have analysed the situation. Schütz has emphasized just how important this client is and he’s going to fly to Riyadh, Helfer has the media well in hand, and Winter is claiming it wasn’t an accident.’

  ‘Winter, didn’t the helicopter crash in the mountains?’

  ‘Yes it did, but someone lent a helping hand.’

  ‘Can you prove that?’

  ‘Not yet. It’s going to take time to investigate the cause of the crash.’

  ‘You’ve got to be careful, Winter. Switzerland isn’t Iraq. Our banking industry doesn’t need any rumours about terrorists.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Winter was reluctant to expound on his clues; he wanted to clear up one or two things first.

  Unable to hold back any longer, Helfer interjected, ‘Dr von Tobler, all my press contacts have been speaking of an accident and when the police called they also said it was probably an accident. There was talk of a lightning strike in a localized summer storm. It’s going to take months before we get clarification. The dust will have settled by then. We’ve established our communications strategy: private visit, tragic accident in the dangerous mountains, our profound commiserations.’ The last of these was missing on the flip chart.

  Känzig interrupted Helfer with a wave of his hand and explained their plans for the funerals. He would send a card for Strittmatter.

  ‘Agreed,’ came the voice from the loudspeaker. ‘And I’ve heard that Winter was already in discussion with Orafin this morning.’ Evidently the boss was well informed. Winter wondered which strings had been pulled here. ‘Orafin is a good client. As you know, I look after this account personally.’ Winter had no idea, but he inferred from this that Orafin had a substantial fortune with the bank. ‘And I want everything to be done to ensure that our bank can continue to grow with Orafin. I suggest, therefore, that Winter flies to Cairo and tells the gentlemen there at Orafin how secure and hospitable we are here in Switzerland. Okay?’

  The boss had spent a long time in America and was known for his ‘Okay’. In plain language it meant: Discussion over. Obey. March!

  ‘Yes. I’ll get the contacts from Schütz.’

  Winter saw Schütz subtly shake his head.

  ‘Excellent work, gentlemen. Känzig has the lead. I expect you to rectify the situation quickly.’ Känzig suppressed a proud smile when von Tobler added, ‘And Baumgartner. Give my best regards to the chairman. I will explain my position to him over lunch next week.’ Winter had guessed correctly. The suit was the liaison for the financial group. And von Tobler didn’t trust him either.

  Baumgartner nodded, realized that von Tobler couldn’t see him, and said in an astonishingly deep voice, but with a pinch of arrogance, ‘Agreed, Herr von Tobler. The chairman has authorized me to let you know that head office is of course prepared to use all means to resolve the situation discreetly.’ Was that an offer of help or a threat?

  ‘I’m very grateful for that and I wish you all a pleasant evening.’ The boss departed with a click. When everyone started gathering their papers and standing up, Känzig had no choice but to declare the meeting over.

  On the way out of the room Winter had to pass Hodel, who motioned to him to stop and said, ‘A quick word in private if I may.’ Winter and Hodel went into a small room nearby, reserved for discreet client discussions. Hodel closed the door but remained standing.

  ‘What facts have you got to support your idea that this wasn’t an accident?’

  ‘Fires don’t just start in helicopters. Strittmatter was a good pilot – reliable and careful. His helicopters were always well serviced. It’s likely that there were explosives on board. We’ll have definitive proof when we get the laboratory analysis back. And the men from Orafin were slightly nervous this morning. My gut feeling tells me something’s not quite right. Too many things don’t fit. The left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is up to. Since when has the boss been looking after Egyptian clients personally?’

  Hodel said, ‘Till now I’ve only been involved on the margins of our relationship with Orafin. Given the sums involved it’s probably oil money from the Middle East. But the boss is being rather secretive about it. My assumption is that these shareholders want to diversify their portfolios too.’

  ‘What sort of sums are we talking about?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly, but it must be in the region of a few billion. Which means it’s definitely the boss’s business.’

  Winter made a mental note to undertake more detailed research into Orafin. ‘How certain are you that Al-Bader and Orafin aren’t financing terrorists?’ he asked. ‘Maybe we’re just one stop on the money’s path from oil to a dirty bomb. In your role as chief legal advisor and chief risk officer can you put your hand on your heart and swear that we don’t have an unpleasant surprise awaiting us here?’

  ‘The short answer is “No!” The long answer is more complicated. As far as the Swiss justice department is concerned, both Al-Bader and Orafin are officially clean. Somewhere between spotlessly white and light grey. But you can always hide a considerable amount of money amongst sums like that. And a few hundred thousand dollars of “expenses” will get you a long way in poor countries. What’s crucial is our reputation.’

  ‘And the truth.’

  ‘We need to be pragmatic about this. Keep an eye on the Egyptians, but be discreet. If this really was a planned attack then I want to be the first to know who was behind it.’ The distinguished aristocrat with the gaunt face bared his teeth.

  When Winter stepped out of the lift in the underground car park, Schütz was standing beside his Audi. He’d put his slim briefcase on the roof.

  ‘Can you give me a lift?’

  ‘Hop in.’

  They drove out of the city and took the Bern motorway
. Schütz started complaining about the flow of information at the bank. The boss was withholding important material. ‘How can I ensure professional client care if I’m not fully informed?’

  ‘What exactly did Al-Bader want with Orafin?’

  ‘He wanted more global investments. Diversify. He was most keen on infrastructure projects. For a long time he’d been building up large positions in utilities. And evidently Orafin has the same interests.’

  Winter nodded. His business was security rather than risky investments. And yet the stake was often his own life.

  ‘Did you bring me the Al-Bader dossier?’

  Schütz clicked open his briefcase and gave Winter a folder.

  ‘Anything of interest in there?’

  ‘No, just the usual. I did a lot of investments, but it’s unlikely we could have held onto Al-Bader in the medium-term. The Norwegians have been trying to poach him off us for some months now. Oil to oil.’

  JULY 25 – 19:34

  Winter dropped Schütz outside his family home and drove to Anne’s parents in Fraubrunnen, a suburb of Bern. He didn’t know if the police had already notified them that their daughter had died in a helicopter crash. Yesterday, he’d still been dreaming of a future together. He thought of the two sun loungers on his unfinished terrace.

  He was her superior and he’d persuaded her to move to the bank. He’d sent her on that fatal flight. If it hadn’t been for him Anne would still be alive.

  Winter turned into Anne’s parents’ housing development. Her father was a specialist in a firm that serviced oil tanks. Her mother was a housewife and part-time carer in an old people’s home.

  He stopped the car in front of the semi-detached house with its small, but well-tended front garden. Shared costs for the oil tank. Sensible. In the drive was a green Renault and beneath the canopy a number of bicycles.

  Further down the street children were playing hockey with a tennis ball. They’d marked out a pitch with chalk, including the shooting circles, and set up two wooden goals. Both goalkeepers were wearing impressive, full protective gear. Winter pictured Anne playing on this street as a girl – now she was dead. With an effort, he pulled himself together and got out of the car.

  He rang and waited. Nobody opened the door. He pressed the bell again and tried peering into the house through the pane of glass in the door. Nothing. Winter walked around to the back of the house. Perhaps they were in the garden. Passing a small tool shed, he saw Anne’s parents at the other end of the garden. They were sitting on a colourful Hollywood swing seat. When they noticed Winter, Anne’s father stood up and came towards him.

  This was the first time Winter had met Anne’s parents. ‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘I’m Tom Winter.’ For good measure he added, ‘Anne’s boss.’ He wanted to take his time and offered his hand in greeting. Anne’s father took his hand and shook it, but didn’t say anything. Their expression and demeanour made it clear that they’d already learned of their daughter’s death.

  ‘I’m very sorry about your daughter. I’d like to express my condolences, on behalf of myself and of the bank.’

  ‘Thank you. Anne always said you were a good boss and she learned a lot from you. Thanks for coming.’

  Letting go of Winter’s hand, he returned to the aging swing seat. Although he was only around fifty, he moved listlessly, like a pensioner. The mother had tear-stained cheeks and was sitting perfectly still.

  Behind them were shrubs and trees that demarcated the property from the neighbouring one, providing shade during the summer and framing the swing seat. There were five cast-iron chairs, a table and a kettle barbecue. The ground was paved with square flagstones.

  ‘This was Anne’s favourite place. She could spend hours here swinging, reading or just daydreaming.’

  Winter didn’t say anything.

  He took a chair and sat beside the couple.

  All three of them looked silently down the garden at the house. Now Winter understood why Anne had liked this garden. It tore his heart, and he was pleased that he could keep quiet for the time being. Anne’s mother leaped up. ‘I’m sorry, I completely forgot to offer you something to drink.’

  ‘Thanks, but please don’t go to any trouble.’

  ‘I was going to make some tea anyway.’

  She headed back to the house without waiting for Winter’s answer and went inside. Lost in thought, the two men said nothing.

  It was a pleasantly warm evening and in the distance they could hear the clamour of the children still playing hockey. Winter got the impression that Anne’s father understood him without the need for words. He didn’t know how much, if anything, Anne had told her parents about him. After a while the mother came back with a tray carrying a pot and three cups. She checked the strength of the brew and then filled the cups.

  ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘How are Angela and Andrea?’ Anne had told him about the three As. AAA. Triple A, as it were.

  ‘I called them straight away. Angela is studying in the US and will get here as soon as she can. Andrea was here this afternoon, but had to go back home because of the children.’

  Winter stirred his tea even though he’d taken neither milk nor sugar. He stared as if mesmerized at the whirl in his cup and waited.

  ‘May I ask you what happened exactly? All the policeman could say this afternoon was that it was a helicopter crash.’

  Winter figured it would be best to answer these questions as quickly as possible. ‘Anne met a client at the airport and was going to accompany him to a meeting with business partners. As you know, this is routine with rich clients. The client in question loved the Swiss Alps and wanted to fly to a mountain hut. We’ve been using this helicopter service for years and I knew the pilot personally. All I know at present was that a fire broke out on board and then the helicopter crashed. I’m sure that the Federal Aviation Safety Investigation Board will determine the precise cause of the crash. And I will personally ensure that no stone goes unturned.’

  Anne’s mother was still looking at him expectantly. Aware that he hadn’t answered her real question, Winter was groping for words. ‘I believe that Anne did everything to prevent the crash,’ he said, thinking back to the voicemail message, ‘and it all happened very quickly in the end. I’m certain she didn’t suffer.’

  Anne’s mother dabbed at her eyes with a scrunched-up tissue and tried desperately to smile. A mixture of emotions twitched at the corners of her mouth.

  ‘She loved her work. She always said it was a dream job: exciting people, a huge level of responsibility and trust, legal and police work under the same roof. She was wedded to her job.’

  Winter nodded, letting her talk.

  ‘Anne called in to see us yesterday, on her way to Zürich. We had a nice chat here in the garden. She was in a good mood and looking forward to the weekend. She was planning her holidays and asked me about Portugal. We went there on holiday when the girls were small, you see. But then she got a work call and urgently had to go back to Bern…’

  Winter’s ears pricked up. He hadn’t telephoned Anne yesterday afternoon, and she worked for him and nobody else.

  ‘She was here yesterday afternoon?’ A rhetorical question to start with.

  ‘Yes, but she wasn’t going to stay for dinner.’

  ‘What time did she get this urgent call?’

  ‘Just before five. After Anne left we listened to the radio news.’

  ‘Did she tell you who it was from?’

  ‘No, all she said was that she had to dash back to Bern.’

  Fraubrunnen was between Bern and Zürich, which meant that Anne would have had to drive back to Bern again. Twenty minutes there, twenty minutes back. The phone call put her on a tight schedule. It must have been something urgent, but minor – Anne would have surely called him otherwise. Who had gone over his head and made Anne turn back?

  Now her mother had started talking about Anne’s schooldays an
d the trouble she’d had as a small child in differentiating between the letters ‘D’ and ‘P’.

  All of a sudden Winter was in a hurry. He stood up, promising to get in touch if he had any news, and said goodbye to Anne’s parents. The father, who’d sat the whole time in silence beside his wife on the swing, accompanied Winter back to his car. As a parting gesture he said, somewhat formally, ‘Many thanks for having looked after Anne. It was nice to meet you and you’re very welcome to drop in anytime.’

  The sun was already low on the horizon and so Winter had to flip down the visor on the drive to Bern. He took the country road across the summer fields and opened the window. Winter barely noticed the countryside. He was wondering what Anne’s father had meant by his open invitation. How much had she told her parents about their fledgling relationship? At what point does something become a relationship?

  When he reached the city and parked near the bank, he contemplated his mission: to find out who had caused the helicopter to crash, thus murdering Anne, Al-Bader and Strittmatter.

  JULY 25 – 20:38

  The bank’s headquarters in Bern was in a five-storey, seventeenth-century sandstone building. The founding family’s trust, which owned a variety of country estates and other properties, leased it to the bank. Originally this had allowed the family to cover its share capital. Today the ground floor was leased to a pizzeria, which was known for its crispy pizzas and loud Italian waiters. Winter had already spent a small fortune in this restaurant. With Anne too.

  From the outside you had to look closely to see it was a bank. Beside the pizzeria was a discreet entrance with a tarnished sign bearing the bank’s name. As Winter approached the entrance he saw a man waiting there. Nothing unusual in that – people often arranged to meet outside the pizzeria and would stand there waiting for friends. But Winter was certain it was no coincidence that this ordinary-looking man was here today. If he’d asked passers-by whether they’d seen anyone, most would have answered, ‘No’.

  The man was of medium build, around fifty years of age, with a short-sleeved shirt and thinning brown hair. A well-thumbed newspaper was clamped beneath his left arm. He wore imitation-leather shoes with tiny holes. Meister looked like a lonely official who didn’t know what to do with himself of a Saturday evening and was now waiting for the bus.