The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (78 page)

“Stop it.” Elena was at his ear. “It is not what you think.”

Her shoe was off and in her hand. She hooked his
drawn-back arm with one hand and with the other
brought the shoe down hard against his temple. Lesko
saw a burst of colored light and he heard himself roar.
She hit him again, this time with all her strength.
Through the flashing lights, Lesko saw Bannerman's
hated face rising up toward his own, then nothing.

“It is the girl's father.” Elena spoke in rapid German
to the nurse and two orderlies who rushed to the sound
of the violence. “He was overcome. He went mad for a
moment.” In his emotional state, she explained, he
lashed out at a man who did nothing more than bring
his daughter on a holiday to Switzerland. Certainly not
a matter for the police. Is there a room perhaps, where
she might take him and calm him?

The nurse looked doubtfully at Lesko, who was try
ing drunkenly to sit upright, and then at Paul, who assured her in German that there was no damage that
would not quickly pass.

Molly appeared at the glass partition. Behind her,
Billy McHugh. Bannerman waved them in.

“Did they get past you?” he asked quietly.

“They didn't come out the front,” she whispered,
“but the only other exit's the Emergency Room. Carla
and Gary are covering it.

Paul grimaced. Carla tends to leave bodies all over
the street. And he wasn't sure how much help Russo
would be. “Give me your keys. Billy, you come with me.
Molly, you stay with Lesko.” He flicked his eyes toward
the woman talking to the nurse. “I take it that's Elena.”

Molly nodded, surveying the wreckage. “And I take
it there wasn't love at first sight between you and
Lesko.”

“She'll explain.” He peeled the plastic glove over its
contents and slipped it into his pocket.

The girl at the message desk flagged Bannerman as
he passed. A call from Mr. Zivic in America. Very ur
gent. Paul hesitated, then took it, first handing the keys
to Billy and waving him on.

“Anton?”

“How is she?”

“Better, but I can't talk.”

“Paul. Listen. Are those Americans from the train
still with you?”

“Yes.” There was no time to elaborate.

“I have definite confirmation that the Basses of Lumberton, Mississippi, are at this moment in Brussels. Your
instincts were correct. There are several possibilities concerning the identity of your two Americans. The most likely is that they are the team of Harold and
Lurene Carmody.”

“They've already tried and missed, Anton. I'll get back to you.”

“And call Roger Clew. He's most anxious. Molly has
arrived?”

“They're all here. Anton. . . .”

“She told you I sent her to Chevy Chase yesterday?”

“There hasn't been time. Anton, I must hang up
now.”

“Call when you can.” Anton broke the connection.

The girl at the desk gestured toward the largest of
several floral arrangements that were awaiting distribu
tion to patients.

“That is for your lady,” she said.

“Who from?” He paused at the door.

“The card says, ‘Prayerfully, Palmer Reid.’ ”

“I'd say we got company, darlin’.” Harold Carm
o
dy
had his wife's arm as they climbed the steep, narrow
street that led from Davos Hospital to the Promenade,
where they'd left their car.

Lurene nodded that she'd seen him. “It's real sloppy
company if you ask me.” He was probably the only man
in Davos wearing a chesterfield and he walked with
both hands in his pockets like Peter Lorre. “You don't
suppose Elena sent him after us?”

“Weren't time. Anyhow, he sure ain't Swiss.” He
could have come over with the father, Harold guessed. He could be almost anyone. The question wasn't worth
trying to sort out. The point was he was watching them
and Harold Carmody did not want anyone getting a look at their car, even though he'd stripped off that
dumb pod, which they turned out not to need.

“Well,” Lurene shrugged, “we said we were going
out for a breath of air. Let's do just that until we get a
chance to lose him or gut him.”

“Darlin’,” Harold shook his head. “I don't know how
casual we can afford to be right now. All that bangin'
and smashin' back there by Susan might mean that sup
pository wasn't as slow releasin' as you think.”

“The suppository was just fine, Harold.” She made a face at the implied doubt of her expertise. “More likely,
that big ugly Lesko just tripped over a chair on his way in.”

“Well,” Harold let out a sigh, “unless you're
willin'
to
bet your life on that, I say we leave this other feller in a
doorway or an unlocked car and get on away from
here.”

“Fine by me. How do you want to do it?”

The street they were on angled upward toward the
Promenade in a series of dog-legs, past old stone and stucco buildings that had once been private homes but
had long since been converted to warehouses. No pe
destrian traffic down this way. No commercial vehicles in motion this early. No people lived here and no tourist
was likely to come up or down this way. It was a good
place. Some fifty feet ahead of them the street veered sharply left. Harold knew that it veered right again
another hundred feet beyond.

“I'll wait ‘round that corner up ahead. You go on to
the next corner and let him see a little piece of you
turnin' out of sight.”

“All right, but don't dawdle with him,” Lurene said
sternly. “Never mind asking any questions. You just kill
him and be done with it.”

“I wasn't of a mind to socialize, darlin’.”

Carla Benedict, who said “I'll be damned” when she
saw them slip out the Emergency Room, was tempted
to take them then and there. She felt sure that she could handle the man and that Gary Russo could at least keep
the woman occupied. But an ambulance or police car
might appear at any moment. Better to let them move on a bit.

The big question: Where was their car? It might be
out front, where Billy and Molly were waiting, and they
might be abandoning it. They were climbing the hill up
toward the Promenade. Maybe the car's up top. Maybe
they're going for a taxi. She could see no likely vehicle
parked on the street they were taking.

“I'm going to try to get above them,” she told Russo.
It would take a sprint up another way but she could do
it. “You follow. For Go
d
's sake, don't lose them.”

Russo looked up the narrow street and frowned.
“They'll spot me in the first block.”

“You worry about keeping
them
in sight. But keep your distance. And walk in the roadway, Gary, not on
the sidewalk.” She patted the shoulder of his chester
field and took off down a side street at a measured run.

Lesko was a mess. He held a towel dipped in ice
water against the side of his head, where Elena's shoe
had reopened the cut made by Loftus's gun four days earlier. His eyes were red where Bannerman's fingers
had jabbed them, and his throat felt as if a hole had been
poked through it.

Elena was explaining, trying to explain, what he'd
seen when he parted the curtains around Susan's bed.
Lesko heard the words but their meaning came slowly
to him. His mind held the picture of Bannerman's fin
gers, those same fingers, digging deep into his daughter
as her wired up body writhed in response. It was a scene
from a sick porn movie.

“He was saving her life, Lesko.” These words came from Molly Farrell.

Lesko was beginning to accept that. It was the way
Bannerman had behaved that convinced him more
than anything being said. There was no fear in his ex
pression, no embarrassment, no sense of being caught in
the act. He just went on with what he was doing even after Lesko threw a punch that must have half-para
lyzed him. And those
thumb
jabs at Lesko's eyes and throat.
The guy was hurting bad but he was cool, precise. He'd
also pulled those jabs. Lesko knew that. Bannerman
could have split his eyeballs like grapes if he'd wanted
to.

“Where is he now?” Lesko looked at Molly.

“He and Billy went after the man and woman.”

“He's going to kill them?”

“Not if he can help it. Not right away.”

“I want them.”