The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (72 page)

Loftus. Face all bandaged. Nudging him, saying his
name through wired teeth. Billy the bartender, pulled
up in a chair. Zivic, the Russian, putting away a needle.
A needle?

“Come on, Lesko.” Loftus patted his cheek.

“What . . . ?” Lesko looked at this wrist where the
cold spot had been. “What was that?”

“Just a stimulant,” Zivic said. “To help you wake up.”

“Lesko.” Loftus patted him harder. “You have to
concentrate. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, goddamn it.” Lesko slapped away the hand.
“What?”

“You're going to Switzerland. Right away. This after
noon.”

“How come?” He could feel his heart beating faster.
“What happened?”

Loftus held up a finger. “First you have to promise
me. You stay calm. You listen. You go nuts like you did
with me, Billy here will have to break your knee and
you don't go.”

He looked through hooded eyes at Billy McHugh.
For a moment he thought this must be another dream
because Billy's face had changed. The friendly bar
tender was gone. His face showed no expression. His eyes looked cold and dead
.

“Tell me,” he said quietly.

“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Bannerman.” An in
spector from Zurich had joined the local police at the
hospital.

“Let's save time,” he said crisply. “You know who I
am, where I'm from, and you know my personal history.
You know, or will learn, that neither Susan Lesko nor I
have ever been involved in drugs. We came on a ski
holiday. Nothing more.”

“And your two friends, also from Westport. They too
are here on holiday?”

Computers, thought Bannerman. They did for ano
nymity what the Xerox copier did for confidentiality.
He got out none to
o
soon. “I have enemies. They were
concerned about me taking this trip unprotected. They
came in my interest.”

“Bodyguards? And yet they claim to be unarmed.”

“You've detained them?”

“We're questioning them. As for enemies, evidently
Miss Lesko has one or two as well.”

“Evidently,” he scowled. “Up where she was found,
did you find any tracks or bootprints where she was
thrown off that trail?”

“All signs were obscured by the rescuers.” He
pointed to the bag Paul carried. “I would like to look through her belongings.”

Paul carried it to a bench and carefully doled out its contents. There was the red plastic bag that might have
saved her life. A carved wooden head, bought on a
credit card. A brochure from the Schatzalp Restaurant.
A small bag containing two Klosters ski pins in the shape
of snowflakes, one of them probably for him. Maybe she
wasn't all that mad at him anymore by the time
she. . . .

Not much else. Keys. A dozen postcards. A package
of mints of the sort one finds at restaurant cash registers.
A blue American Express receipt. For seventy one Swiss
francs. About $50 American. He stared at the receipt, at
Susan's signature, until the inspector took it out of his
hand.

“Seventy one francs,” the inspector said, frowning.
“It would be hard for two people to spend so much for a
simple raclette at the Schatzalp. More likely three. Per
haps Miss Lesko plus two American assassins allegedly
retired to the
peaceful environs of Westport, Connecti
cut.”

‘Take that up to the Schatzalp. Ask the waiters if
they remember three people who had raclette. Until then, you're wasting your time. And mine.”

“In your opinion.”

“You want a second opinion? One you'll like better?”
   The inspector waited.

“Call Urs Brugg.”

Bannerman didn't know what made him say that. Or
even, clearly, what it meant. Perhaps it would give the
inspector something to think about. Keep him busy.

“As it happens, Mr. Bannerman,” the inspector said
coldly, “Urs Brugg is the only reason all three of you are
not already under lock and key.”

He stopped once more at Susan's, bedside as a nurse was drawing the bed's curtain for the night. He took her
hand. He had to force himself to look at her.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered. He tried to say more
but his throat became full.

Bannerman reached to her good eye and closed it. It
seemed to flicker at his touch. Perhaps it did not. The
eye was now still.

The nurse released the curtain, still not fully drawn,
and hurried away. Later, hours after he was gone, she
would tremble at the look she saw on this man's face.

Back at the Klosters apartment, Bannerman called the Des Alpes Hotel to leave messages for Carla and
Gary. He had no idea how long the police might detain
them. He wanted to alternate them on station at the
hospital's front entrance, security guard or no. If they
were not released soon, he would have to go himself. He
might in any case. He would rest if he could, as he'd
promised Anton.

It felt odd, he reflected, to hear Anton giving him an
order. Of course Anton had every right. He had the job
now. The final authority on anything affecting the secu
rity of the group. And cool, collected Paul Bannerman
had been right on the edge of losing his grip. Having
Anton take control had felt more than odd. It felt good.

The telephone rang. Carla, maybe. He picked it up and said his name.

“This is Lesko,” said the voice on the other end.
“How is she?”

Bannerman would have known the voice from Mol
ly's wire taps. Except now it was pitched lower, little
more than a hoarse whisper. He could hear a rage and a
hatred held barely under control. And he heard pain.

Bannerman told him all that the doctor had said.
Coma. Waiting for tests. Twenty-four hours would tell.
He chose not to mention the battering of her face.   -

“Who did it?” Lesko hissed.

“I'm not sure.”

“Then fucking guess. Who did it?”

“Lesko,” Bannerman sighed, “it depends on
whether this was done to you or to me. Nobody was mad
at Susan. I don't know whether Susan had worse luck
being my friend or your daughter.”

Lesko took a breath. He had the sound of a man
biting his tongue. “What about who did the hit? You got
anything there?”

”N
o
”

“No? What's no?”

The question caught him o
f
f guard. He had, he real
ized, answered it almost dismissively because the habit
of his fifteen years was rarely to concern himself with
triggermen but rather those who sent them. Chasing
after dime-a-dozen hired hands was a waste of time and
energy. But a policeman,
he realized, would not think
that way. In this case, and in the case of his mother,
come to think of it, neither did he.

“There are no witnesses so far. No descriptions, but
the police are working on it,” he said lamely. “There
seem to have been two of them. It looks like Susan had
lunch
with
them
just
prior
t
o
….
”

“Lunch? So someone saw them together?”

“We don't know that yet.” Bannerman explained
about the American Express receipt and the other con
tents of her purse that helped to trace her movements.

“So who did Susan know in Davos?”

“No one,” he said, frowning. “Unless she ran into
...
I don't know. Someone she knew from the States.”

“Come on, Bannerman. Wake up.” Lesko's voice was
rising. “Her friends from the States don't hang around
Davos and they don't try to kill her. Who did she know
in all fucking Europe well enough she'd buy them
lunch?”

Bannerman felt the blood drain from his face.

“You there, Bannerman?”

“I'm here.”

“We're going to the airport right now. I'll get there
in about ten hours. Do you think you can maybe give
this a little thought in the meantime? Maybe keep an
eye on her for a change?”