Over the next two days Katie and David were only too happy to meet further with the St. Moritz police, while Baldassari was having a field day in her columns about what had happened to what she called “two intrepid and very brave Americans from McClure’s magazine”—which would make Dobell giddy—and how the Pierces were exposed as criminals. Her syndicated column was already being cited in media around Europe.

       “The Pierces,” she wrote, “have been a long-time presence in St. Moritz, living in a huge, somewhat gaudy chalet in Engaden named Springbok, after South Africa’s national animal. The elder Pierce, Angus, whose media holdings are international,  has maintained a fairly reclusive presence in town aside from visiting those few friends he enjoys seeing, and he has never been part of the Corveglia crowd. Richard Pierce, on the other hand, has been very much a part of the social whirl, and, as a very eligible bachelor, has been the object of affection among all the young lovelies who frequent the Kings Club and the new clubs and bars in town. On his arm have been the whole social strata of the season, including the very blond Baroness Marianna von Üdet and oddly Goth British model (right).”

       She went on to quote both locals and visitors who knew the Pierces, whose remarks ranged from “It could not possibly be true” to “I’m not in the least surprised.” Baldassari managed to reach two women who had dated Richard, one of whom said he was “always the perfect gentleman,” the other contending “his sexual tastes bordered on the sado-masochistic.”  Others said that he was a frequent user of cocaine.  No such allegations had ever found their way into Baldassari’s columns before, which never dug far beneath the surface of her subjects’ behavior beyond reporting the break-up of a marriage or love affair. She had only mentioned the drug usage among the rich in passing and never pointed a finger.

       Katie and David were happy to see that Baldassari’s reporting was accurate as far as details they’d imparted to her. She had also reported verbatim what the police were willing to say about the case, which alleged that there did seem to have been an attempt on the lives of the two Americans at the Pierce residence and that the father and son had been arrested and arraigned within twelve hours. Bail had been set at one million Swiss francs and the two men’s passports taken away.

       Katie had been reporting in to Dobell, who’d had his staff collect info on his side of the Atlantic. Epstein’s representatives and lawyers had no comment. Robert Maxwell’s son Kevin expressed shock and said the admission to Pierce’s murdering his father was a long time in coming.

       Katie asked Dobell, “Has anyone spoken to Ghislaine?”

       “We tried to reach her but haven’t gotten a call back yet,” said Dobell. “Maybe you should make a call.”

       “Maybe I should. David thought it a bad idea, but if you say so, I’ll call her.”

       “Go ahead then. I await any further updates. Stay safe, Katie.”

       Katie hesitated for an hour before calling Maxwell, jotting down questions and attaching her recorder to her mobile phone. When she called the private number Maxwell had given her, an answering machine came on with Maxwell’s voice saying she would return the call. Five minutes later she did.

       “I assume you’ve heard all the news about the Pierces,” said Katie.

       “I certainly have, and I’m devastated they tried to murder you and David. Not that I think they’re beyond such a thing—I already told you I’ve always believed Angus had my father killed and warned you to be careful—but this is still shocking.”

       “So, you heard that Angus Pierce admitted he had ordered your father’s murder.”

       “Yes, and hearing the truth get out is tremendously satisfying for me. I don’t know Swiss laws but I assume they can use that admission to indict Angus for that murder, too. Although maybe that’s another jurisdiction.”

       Katie took a deep breath, then asked, “And, given what Pierce said happened with Richard and the girl who died at Jeffrey’s party, you still think it was an accident?”

       “That’s what Jeffrey told me, and what Pierce  told you. I don’t know anything more about it.”

       Katie went silent, putting Maxwell ill at ease.

       “I will say this, Katie. I will ask Jeffrey again about what happened that night, and if I find out anything more, I will let you know. But Jeffrey wouldn’t lie to me about such a thing.”

       “Then did he tell you what happened to the girl’s body?”

       Now it was Maxwell who went silent, then, “As I said, I’ll let you know if I hear anything further.”

       “And do you think Jeffrey will talk to the press or to me?”

       “No. Jeffrey doesn’t speak to the press. He made an exception with you. He doesn’t trust you people for good reason.”

          “Sounds like a two-way street, Ghislaine. The press doesn’t trust him either, even if he gets away with”—she almost said “murder”—“a lot of questionable behavior.”

       “If that’s what you want to believe, Katie, go right ahead. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you if I learn more. Take care.”

       Katie didn’t believe a word Maxwell had said, especially the last two words.

 

 

       It was not lost on Katie and David that the only way to kill the indictments would be to kill off the two of them, which to the people involved seemed more crucial than ever.

       “The police said they wanted to give us 24-hour protection while we’re in Switzerland,” said Katie.

       “Par for the course,” said David. “Since we never laid eyes on Boris, he might still be in the game.”

       “You don’t think the police have knowledge of a Russian assassin in St. Moritz?”

       “He might have been shipped in by Putin just for the job and got on a plane back to Mother Russia the next morning. The police can check with the airlines. Not much to go on, though.”

       “How many Russian assassins could be lurking around St. Moritz? It’s a pretty small town.”

       “Yeah, but it’s full of a lot of very rich people who travel with their own bodyguards wherever they go. One of them might like to make some extra Swiss francs.”

       “Okay, I’ll take the protection, and let’s just stay close to the hotel until we leave town. I booked our return for two days from now.”

       “Maybe they’ll poison the schnitzel,” said David, “or have a German shepherd go for our throats.”

       “Please, David, don’t. I don’t want to be threatened anymore. I think I’m going to go home and become gardening columnist for a small town newspaper.”

       “Hey, Katie, that was my plan. It’s something I know a whole lot more about than you do.”

       “Maybe we can co-author it. I’ve always wanted an excuse to buy a pair of those rubber Wellington boots.”

       “Well, if McClure’s ventures into horticulture, we’d be a shoe-in.”