The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (68 page)

“Paul?”

He hadn't seen her. She'd been standing there. How
long, how much she'd heard, he couldn't ask. He
couldn't even speak.

“It's time we had a talk,” she said.

CHAPTER
22

Tuesday morning, Klosters.

Susan Lesko slid her
stiff
legs from the couch on
which she'd spent the night. She rose unsteadily, but
quietly, and made her way to the bathroom where she closed and locked the door behind her. She sat on the
bathtub's edge and turned the hot water tap on full,
breathing deeply of the rising steam, waiting while the
events of the night before sorted themselves out from
the dreams that troubled her sleep.

She'd insisted they have a talk and they did. It made
matters worse. As he calmly explained his odd behavior
—just a business call, some forgotten detail at his office,
he didn't want it to disturb her sleep—in her mind she
marveled, sadly, at what a smooth and practiced liar he
was.

Damn you, Paul. I heard you mention my father.
And who is supposed to stay out of sight? And after
you've explained it all away and poor, dumb little Susan
says, “Oh. Makes sense to me, Paul. How could I have ever misunderstood?”—-tell me how it is that consider
ate Paul Bannerman goes out to make a routine phone
call with a kitchen knife tucked up his sleeve.

She soaked for almost an hour, during which time
she thought she heard movement outside the bathroom door. When she finally emerged, having tried to imag
ine what he might say to her, or she to him, she
saw that
the bedroom door was
open, the bed where he had slept was made up, and he was gone. There was a note on the
kitchen counter. It said,
There's no coffee. Gone to shop
for groceries. XXX. Paul.

XXX. Sweet of him. Don't you feel terrible? Here's
good old Paul trudging through the snow to get you
breakfast and all you can think about is a few teeny
white lies and a dumb old bread knife.

She dressed quickly in a parka, furry boots and jeans.
She scribbled a note and left it next to his.
I've gone for a
walk. I want some time alone.
She underlined
alone
three times.

In the coffee shop of the Alpina Hotel, directly across
from the Klosters station, Caroline Bass touched her
husband's arm and gestured toward the road outside. “First him, now her,” she said.

Ray Bass twisted his head to look. Susan was ap
proaching the village. There was something peculiar,
he noticed, about the way she was walking. She was
moving in spurts, peering ahead through the still-falling
snow, staying close to a row of railroad utility sheds.
Suddenly she paused, then backtracked a few feet and
stepped out of sight behind a small freight warehouse.
Ray Bass turned his head in the other direction. There
was Paul. A plastic shopping bag in each hand. Heading
her way.

“Know what I think?” Ray smiled

Caroline nodded. “From the look of it, those two had
a tiff. Seems like Susan wants no part of him just now.”

“Could be real convenient, she keeps her distance
from him for a while. Why don't we tag along and see
where she goes?”

Caroline watched as Paul went by the freight ware
house. He was thirty yards past it when Susan reap
peared and resumed her walk to the village. “Let's wait
a bit, darlin’,” she suggested. “Like as not, Paul will see
she's gone and come lookin' for her.”

Ray Bass wiped the window for a better look at Su
san. “Can't tell whether she's sad or mad. Of course,
one's as distractin' as the other. I bet a couple of friendly faces like ours would be real welcome right about now.”

Caroline nodded again. “We meet up with her, let's
do it from the car, not on foot.”

Ray Bass agreed. “Take her on a nice ride, let her cry
on your shoulder about whatever mean thing Paul did. I
wouldn't mind findin' out a little bit more about him
either.”

“Whyn't you go to the front door, sweetie? See
which way she goes. I'll sit here and keep an eye out for Paul.”

In a corner room two floors above them, Josef Brugg,
who had also seen the daughter of Elena's policeman
hide from the man known as Mama's Boy, quickly put
on his coat and hat. He too could see that the girl was
distracted. Though he saw no particular peril in it, it
could do no harm, he decided, to keep an eye on her. At
least he would get some exercise.

Susan had no destination in mind. She might, she
thought, pick up a dozen postcards although she knew
she was in no mood to write breezy messages to friends.
Or she might just keep walking. Pumping strength back
into her legs. Or find a place to sit and give her thoughts
a chance to settle. Maybe in one of these little patis
series, although she didn't feel much like eating either.
Or maybe in a movie theater, if one were open at this
hour, and if Klosters had one. It didn't seem to.

She passed a storefront that appeared to be a cham
ber of commerce office. Racks of brochures, things to see and do, posters. One poster listed the movies show
ing that week in Davos. Four cinemas to choose from.
All current films, most of them American.

Davos. Not a bad idea. A much bigger town. Time to
herself without looking over her shoulder for Paul, half
hoping he'd be there, half hoping he wouldn't. She
turned back toward the train station.

“Paul's come lookin' all right.” Kay Bass slid back
into the booth with Caroline. Together they watched
.

Susan had gone directly to the station, where she
stood studying the yellow
Abfahrt
Klosters sign. Paul
nearly walked by her. But he saw her now and ap
proached her from the rear. Caroline saw Susan stiffen,
her shoulders heaved as if in a sigh, and she turned to
face him. His manner seemed conciliatory, and he ges
tured in the direction of their apartment as if asking her
to come back to it, but Susan was more than adamant.

Twice he reached to touch her and twice she recoiled. At last she turned away. She stood facing the tracks,
glancing now and then toward the north. Paul stood watching her for a minute or two, his manner one of
helplessness. He approached her one more time, spoke
to her briefly, and she nodded without turning. He
walked away.

“The way she's lookin’,” Ray Bass said, “she's waitin'
for a southbound train. Not much down that way except
Davos. We could be waitin' when she gets there, dar-
lin\”

“Oh, shoot.” Caroline touched his hand. “Paul's gonna try again.”

She watched as Paul retraced his steps but he did not
approach Susan. For a long moment he stared at her
back, then, with a gesture of resignation, he stepped to a
telephone that was out of Susan's line of sight. As he
dialed a number he patted his pockets until he found a pen. He waited, then scribbled what must have been a
phone number on the telephone casing. He dialed
again, his expression grim, and spoke into the phone. As
he did so he rubbed out the number with his thumb. He
broke the connection and walked away. He did not look
back.

“Funny time to make a call,” Ray Bass frowned. “Un
less Dear Abby has a hotline from over there.”

Caroline nodded. “Considerin’ his own phone ain't
but two minutes away.”

“Still, we got a bird in the hand here. That train comes, we're gonna lose her.”

“Let's go.” Caroline picked up her purse.

With their attention upon Susan and Paul's actions,
neither Ray nor Caroline noticed that Susan had been
followed to the station. A large, middle-aged man in a
fleece-lined coat and fur hat had taken a position near
the newspaper kiosk. Paul, with his mind on Susan, and his own carelessness the night before, and on his phone
call, made with the greatest reluctance, for Carla Bene
dict's room in the Des Alpes hotel, also failed to notice that the same man who'd watched them arrive was now
there again as
S
usan left.

Caroline Bass, having explored Davos on the preced
ing evening, found that it was a long and narrow town, almost a city, that had grown lengthwise along the val
ley floor. Its shops, hotels and cinemas ran along a single
one-way street called the Promenade. She'd seen
that
the Promenade ran parallel to the railroad tracks
but
had been cut through rock some eighty feet further up
the slope. For passengers detraining in Davos, the shops
were reached by climbing a single winding street. The way was clearly marked.

The place to wait for Susan, Caroline decided, was in
their black Saab on the Promenade itself. From it they
could watch the train pull in. If Susan was in fact aboard she would almost certainly follow the signs to the Prom
enade. It would not do to wait for her outside the station
because the street she must climb ran the wrong way
against them. They would not be able to follow in their
car.

Carla Benedict, however, was on foot. And in foul
humor. She'd been in bed when Paul rang their room,
having unenthusiastic sex with Gary, mostly to stop his
whining
about his having to stay by the phone in Davos
while she went up to Klosters. To look things over. To
see if any familiar faces were showing up in town. To see
who might be driving a black Saab with a blue ski pod
on its roof. But now she wasn't going. Instead, she
fumed, she now had to play chaperone to Paul's pain-in-
the-ass little play toy. Make sure she doesn't get lost, or slip on the ice, or get sold a Japanese watch. Paul owes
her for this, by God. A week in Hawaii. Two weeks. Without Russo. No more mercy-fucking.

She spotted Susan at once. Stepping off the train. In a
fog. Following the crowd down the steps and through
the underpass to the street. Then standing there trying
to figure out where to go next. Come on, dummy. Fol
low the signs. Why do you think everyone else is.
...

But everyone else wasn't.

The one in the
fur
hat. Hands in his pockets. He was
waiting. Moving only when Susan moved. Waving o
ff
a
taxi driver who looked at him questioningly but keep
ing his right hand in his pocket. Now following her. Up
the hill.

Carla began humming to herself.

There was a large variety store at the top of the hill,
positioned to get first crack at the
tourists' money. All
the window displays had
sale
signs in German. Susan
went in. Carla watched as she browsed, finally stopping
at a display of carved wooden heads that wore fierce
expressions and had long, wild hair fashioned from
horses' tails and
real horses' teeth and were said, by
those who sold them, to ward off evil spirits. Susan was
smiling now, trying to choose among them. At last she
selected one, paid for it with a credit card, paused twice
more to look over a food display and a rack of junk
earrings, then left the store. The fur hat followed. Carla
brushed past him at the entrance, her fingers nimbly
tracing the outline of an automatic pistol in that right-
hand pocket.

Now she was sure. He was a tail, no question, and he
was armed and ready. But why would he be following
the girl? And who was he?

She considered watching and waiting. But that went
against both her habit and her temperament. When in
doubt, take 'em out Or at least force the issue. Hadn't
Anton told her to make her presence felt? To let it be
known that Paul was not alone in Switzerland?

Her humming picked up in tempo.

Josef Brugg had fallen to a prudent distance behind the Lesko girl. The red plastic bag she carried made it
all the easier to pick her out among the shoppers and
strollers.

“Excuse me.” He heard the voice, a woman, Ameri
can, behind him. He turned. A tiny woman. Wearing a
fur jacket that seemed too large for her.

“No English,” he lied.

“Are you a policeman?” she asked, wide-eyed.

He frowned. “Nein. Nicht polizei. No English.”

Josef tried to step past her. She sidestepped with
him, babbling something about being lost. But then she
slipped on the snowy surface. She would have fallen had
they not grabbed each other. He moved to straighten
her but now she seemed stuck to him. Her left hand, he was shocked to realize, was suddenly in his pocket. It
had gripped his pistol. He felt the movement of her
thumb as it snapped off the safety, now twisting it vio
lently so that the muzzle was lined up against his crotch.

“How would you like your pecker shot off?” she
asked in German.

He stood frozen.

“Put your arm around me. Walk with me.” She
cocked her head toward a service alley between two
shops. “That way.”

“There she is,” Ray Bass pointed. “Got a red bag.”

Caroline saw. Susan was ambling along, reading a
map or pamphlet as she walked. Now she was stopping,
making half turns as if to get her bearings. She lifted her
head, focusing on a point halfway up the western slope of the valley. “Come on, honey. Keep comin' this way.
You got some old friends to visit.
...
Oh, darn.” Susan
was crossing the Promenade. Now she was leaving it.
“What's up where she's goin?” Caroline asked.

R
ay checked his own map. “Not much. Just houses.
Oh, wait.” He traced his finger over the grids. “There's
a tramway there goin' to a restaurant up the mountain.”
Ray reached for the door handle. “Let's go, darlin'. We'll
have to leave the car.”

Caroline hesitated. Something down the road had
caught her eye. “What's all that, you think?” Looked
like a man and woman dancing. Or wrestling. A crowd
started to gather.
             

“Maybe it's how the Swiss have babies,” he said im
patiently. “Darlin’, let's get this done.”

They hurried on foot down the Promenade, rehears
ing as they went.
Susan? Susan darlin'? . . . My golly, I don't believe it! . .
.
Ray here says, look, there's that
pretty Susan, and I said can't be
. . .
but sure enough
here you are. My golly, I just can't believe . .
.
Ray
here losin' your address and all . . . Where's your handsome fella? . . . He
is?. . . We'll go surprise him
later. . . . Meanwhile it's almost lunchtime and me
and Ray were headin' up this tramway to try some of
that hot raclette cheese they got, and why don't we
all
. . .
?

    
“Let go or shoot,” the big Swiss said to Carla.

    
He had her in a bear hug, lifting her a foot off the
ground, her eyes now level with his, her arms pinned to
her sides, the knuckles of one fist digging into her lum
bar vertebrae.