Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(2)
One
“I thought you’d left.”
The offices of the newly formed violent crimes division of the s?reté were unusually quiet for late afternoon and the voice startled Agnes Lüthi. She looked at the perfectly coiffed redhead in front of her desk and shut her drawer like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Involuntarily both women glanced over the desk and shelves. The brushed aluminum and white surfaces gleamed. Not a photograph remained of the dozen that the staff had so carefully placed after moving Agnes’s belongings from her old office at financial crimes, and what had been a tribute to a loving family was now a sterile workspace. Files, reference books, and procedure manuals were all in place, but no trace of her husband or her three sons remained.
Agnes met the other woman’s gaze and said nothing. She saw a flicker of uncertainty followed by sadness as her colleague’s eyes skimmed her disheveled hair and tweed suit.
“Monsieur Carnet was sorry to lose you, but change is good.” The redhead paused. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thank you,” Agnes mumbled, startled by the mention of Robert Carnet. The invitation to transfer from his division into violent crimes couldn’t have come at a better time. She tugged the hem of her jacket self-consciously, no longer optimistic about losing the ten pounds that seemed to come with her brand of grief.
“We’re happy to have you with us,” the other woman said. “Chief Bardy should have been here today to get you sorted out. It’s all new, this group he has in mind. Even the offices are new.” She shrugged slightly and leaned forward. “He’s a bit distant and if you need … well, if you need more time off just let me know and I’ll handle him. We’ve talked about it”—she glanced around—“and we can cover for you. Anytime. Monsieur Carnet said you might need … he said your boys might need you.”
Anger flashed through Agnes and it was difficult to speak. Pity and concern were bitter medicine; she wanted anonymity. “Carnet has no idea what my boys need. None whatsoever.” She ran a hand through her short hair, instantly regretting it. Wondering if she looked like a porcupine had landed on her head.
“I really came to say welcome and to let you know they’re sending everyone home. All nonessentials.” The woman rolled her eyes with a smile. “Be thankful you’re still nonessential. A bit early in my view, but the news on Espace 2 has announced that this will be the storm of the century. The rain is turning to ice, and if you don’t leave now you may be stuck for the weekend.”
She gave a cheery wave and turned, but not before Agnes saw the uncertainty on her face. No one knew how to treat her, what to do with her. She was certain there was an abundance of euphemisms for her situation. She had heard the whispered exchanges. “Grieving.” “Still in shock.” Each in some way an accurate expression. It was the other unsaid thoughts that angered her, although it was to be expected. Even her place in Bardy’s group was undefined. The invitation to join violent crimes as part of a special team he was assembling held promise. Unfortunately, she had been so desperate for change she hadn’t listened to the details. Different work, new colleagues, new environment, that’s all that had mattered. Now she considered her options. Iced-in all weekend away from home. A welcome reprieve.
She opened the desk drawer again and looked at her husband’s smiling face. The photograph was only six months old. It was taken the day she won a first at the shooting match in Bienne. He had looked so happy. Not just his usual geniality but genuinely happy. Exuberant.
She slammed the drawer. Nonessential. That’s what she was.
She was reaching for her coat when the phone on her desk rang. The voice over the receiver was crisp. “Inspector Lüthi, the gendarmerie at Ville-sur-Lac telephoned the chief. A woman has died. He’s on his way and wants you to join him there.” The voice added other essential details then paused and continued in a different tone: a human element inserted into police business. “Of course, if you don’t want to … I mean, with the weather I could explain—”
Agnes interrupted. “No, I’ll go. I’m leaving now.” Although the child of American parents, she’d lived in Switzerland her entire life and wasn’t going to let a winter storm stop her. Everything she had wanted, and now it was happening. She slipped her arms into her coat, relief flooding her. It wasn’t yet time to go home.
Ten minutes later she had second thoughts about her decision. Her Citro?n C1 handled well, but tonight it felt like a flimsy cocoon of heat as she moved through the storm. She turned on the radio and fiddled with the dial until she found Espace 2. It only took a few minutes to comprehend that she should have paid attention to the earlier warnings. The announcer’s voice intoned disaster: roads closing, accidents on the highway, and the promise of more to come as the storm gained power with every minute. Farther west, in Geneva, Cointrin was closed and all flights were grounded. The temperature was dropping and the wind accelerating. A dangerous mix.
Agnes switched the radio off, eliminating the distraction. She wished Bardy had chosen to locate their new offices in the city center and not on the outskirts. Nervous, she gripped the steering wheel firmly and concentrated. The Citro?n’s headlights cut across the wind, barely illuminating a few meters of roadway, and she constructed the view from memory: the long gentle slope separating the highway from the lake, the famous view of Lac Léman and in the distance the French Alps. Normally, train tracks were visible between the road and the lake, however, tonight all she could see were a thousand shards of white falling from the sky.