“Right now, I don’t have my gun or my ID. I’m effectively a civilian.”
“Just having you around will make things easier. Let’s pick up a share car over there.” Fokine pointed to a parking lot in the station’s roundabout. “It should take us ten minutes to get to our destination. Anyway, I heard looking into your dad didn’t pan out?”
Who told you? Totoki? “Yeah. If you hadn’t pinned down the investor, I would have felt even worse.”
“I’m glad that was good news for you, at least.”
As they talked, Echika and Fokine got into a share car, seeking to escape the cold. Saint Moritz was covered in snow during winter to spring. The temperature was consistently below freezing.
According to the map Fokine had in his bag, Quine’s villa was in the western Bad district. Echika let Fokine handle the driving, and their car rolled out of the station.
“Did Chief Totoki send you the materials, by the way?”
“Yes, just earlier. His history is pretty suspicious.”
Echika opened up Quine’s personal data again, which she copied to her offline storage. He was a wealthy investor in his sixties from Los Angeles, where he was the head of a company that produced silicon wafers. He had a reputation for being interested in cutting-edge tech, and he actively donated to the American health care industry.
On the other hand, however, he had a history of running factories that engaged in forced labor and were suspected of trafficking illegal substances. This was only hearsay, though, and he had never been charged with anything.
“We did discover highly addictive drugs on Gomez and the luddites on Farasha Island. We’re wondering if Quine might have sourced them.”
“That makes sense. When did Quine go back to his villa in Saint Moritz?”
“The local police reported the lights were on at his place as early as two weeks ago. Apparently, he takes his wife and daughter’s family here for a ski trip at the end of every year. But it’s too early for that right now, and he’s here alone.”
“Very suspicious.”
Echika closed Quine’s data. The car drove by the shore of the Saint Moritz Lake. Echika could see tourists walking along its frozen surface. Some of them were standing shoulder to shoulder and taking pictures. Lake Zurich rarely ever froze, but just a few hundred kilometers away, the environment seemed completely different.
“Apparently, they’re setting up a skating rink,” Fokine said. “Wanna stop there on the way back?”
“My suspension just ended.”
“Come on, the chief doesn’t have to know about it. Besides, you could use a change of pace.”
Echika fell silent, unsure if he was being serious or joking. Come to think of it, Fokine already knew about Harold’s malfunction. He’d realized Echika had lost her investigator aide and needed a “change of pace.”
She was causing him needless concern, too.
“I’m fine.” She maintained a calm tone. “Forget the lake. We should be looking for souvenirs for Bigga and the others.”
Fokine smiled. “I thought we’re here for work, not sightseeing?”
“Well…” She averted her gaze. “I just hope we find those en—whatever you call them. The pastry.”
“Even if we don’t, we have to get some milk chocolate. It’s a Swiss staple. That’s bound to be delicious.”
“…Just how many kinds of sweets are you planning on getting?”
The road eventually moved away from the lake, instead tracing the black peaks of Piz Nair. Between the seemingly endless rows of larch trees, Echika could make out a row of houses. Their destination, Quine’s villa, was a large building set up at the end of a one-way street. It was made of stone and stood behind a pastoral fence made up of rock and wood.
The surrounding larch trees opened up, giving them a clear view to the porch. The place looked empty, though. A Rolls-Royce Phantom was parked in front of the garage.
Echika took off her seat belt. “Do we go in through the front door?”
“Unlike you, I’ve got my ID on me.”
Fokine got out of the share car after Echika and made for the porch. The front door had a fancy glass decoration set over it. As Fokine rang the doorbell, Echika glanced at the garage. The shutters were down, and the car was parked facing the driveway. Honestly, wasn’t leaving a luxury car parked outside rather careless?
“We’re in the mountains, so he couldn’t have left without his car.” Fokine rang the doorbell again. “I’d at least expect a housekeeping Amicus to come out.”
“Maybe he didn’t bring one along. This is a designated limited communications area, after all.”
Echika approached the car. Peering into its interior, she saw there was a men’s clutch bag sitting inside.
“Hieda?” Fokine called to her dubiously.
She ignored him and circled the vehicle, looking at the driver’s seat. There was a smart key sitting inside the pocket of the door.
She did think it was strange—so this was why.
“I think Quine must’ve left the key here when he went inside the house, intending to go out again.” She pulled the sleeve of her coat over her palm and used it to pull the car door open. It wasn’t locked. “He was going to leave right away, but something kept him inside.”
Fokine was gobsmacked. “You’re really taking after Aide Lucraft.”
Echika was stumped as to how to respond to that. Harold’s influence on her was considerable, for sure.
“Um.” She pulled herself together. “Is the front door locked?”
She couldn’t quite explain it, but she had a sinking feeling about this. Fokine’s policeman intuition must have kicked in, because he took out gloves from his pocket, put them on, and touched the knob of the front door. It opened without resistance, creaking loudly. Echika and Fokine exchanged glances. Apparently, her hunch had been on the mark.
“I’ll go in first.” He took out his Flamma 15 from his knee holster. “Watch my back.”
“All right.” Since she was unarmed, she didn’t have much of a choice. “Be careful.”
Fokine undid the safety and tiptoed into the house. Echika followed a few steps behind him.
The entryway floor was made of marble, and light filtered into the room through a skylight. The wall was decorated with oil paintings, and a fan-shaped staircase extended to the second story. Fokine started his investigation with the living room on the first floor. They hadn’t heard so much as a peep yet.
“Mr. Quine?” Fokine called out. “Please say something if you’re there!”
As expected, the living room was empty. The fixtures and sofas were all relatively modest, but there was elegance to the simplicity of it all. They walked into the room, stepping onto its Persian carpet. But the moment Fokine took a look in the kitchen, he suddenly lowered his pistol.
“Aw, shit… Hieda, call an ambulance.”
Echika glanced over Fokine’s shoulder into the kitchen and gasped.
Lying facedown and limp on the clean floor was none other than Brian Quine.