Free The Bannerman Effect (The Bannerman Series) by John R. Maxim

rents out apartments. The woman there told us Susan got hurt real bad.”
    Zurich, thought Bannerman. That was better. Less transparent than a sudden appearance in Klosters. And it gave them more distance in case they detected any strangeness in his manner.
    “It's bad. It's just as well you didn't come. She may not make it.”
    “God in heaven,” she gasped. “Paul, what happened?”
    Bannerman, through gestures, asked Helge to confirm that this was same voice she'd heard earlier in the evening. Helge nodded.
    “Sorry,” he said, his voice weary, ”I thought you knew. Someone tried to kill her.”
    “Oh, my stars. We thought ... we just assumed a ski accident. Paul, me and Ray can be there in two hours.”
    “No,” he told her. “No use ruining your own vacation. Anyway it's late and the doctor says there won't be any change until at least this time tomorrow. Of course, ífyou're coming this way in the morning . . ,”
    “Just say it, Paul. What can we do?”
    “I guess you might stop in, spell me for a while. I'll need some sleep by then.”
    Bannerman could hear a muffled conference on the other end. He could make out none of the words but he could guess their content. A weighing of risks. The morning might be better. She could be dead by then. If not, he would be exhausted. They might still decide to come at once but he dared not press them to wait.
    “Paul?” Caroline came back on the line. “Ray says no way we're not coming. We'll be there at first light if not before.”
    “Thank you,” he said. He broke the connection.
    Helge stared up at him.
    “It was these people?” she asked.
    “Perhaps. I'm not sure.”
    She shook her head. “She called before this. She knew what happened to your lady. Now she calls and she does not know. I think you are sure.”
    “Helge”—he spread his hands—”I need time. In the morning I will have help. If they see police they will not come. My friends are better than police.”
    She looked at her hands. ”I was beaten once,” she said quietly. “It was a young man I was seeing. He was drunk.”
    Bannerman blinked but said nothing.
    “His father was rich. The police did not arrest him. He left me with these.” She touched a bump where her nose had been broken and traced a scar high on her cheek.
    “I'm sorry. I truly am.”
    “Your friends are better, you say?”
    “Yes.”
    ”I will wait for them as well.”
    Bannerman could think of nothing to say. He reached out, he did not know why, and touched her hair. It seemed to please her. He walked from the room and returned to Susan's bedside. He allowed himself to doze.
    Elena Brugg's telephone rang. Reluctantly, she reached for it, first making the sign of the cross. It would not be Lesko. He would be on his flight by now. More likely it would be Uncle Urs with news of the girl. She said her name, then held her breath.
    “Good evening, Elena.” An oily voice. In Spanish. Or-tirez? No, not possible.
    “Who is this, please?”
    “You forget old friends so soon, dear lady?”
    “Ortirez.” She spoke the name drippingly. “Where are you?”
    “At my house,” he said, his manner cheerful, “enjoying a fine lunch on this beautiful day.”
    She could hear birds in the background. And children. “What do you want, Colonel?”
    “Ah, but I am now a general. And I live in a grand house. Indeed, it was once your house, Elena.”
    “You are scum, Ortirez.” This man a general. The uniform must have cost him millions.
    He laughed aloud. “Such brave words. But from such a distance.”
    “Then come to Zurich and I will say them to your pig face.”
    “Ah, but I am there in spirit, Elena. This very day I have made you a present of the daughter of Detective Lesko.”
    Elena put a hand to her mouth. It was as she feared. She had suspected the trafficantes, certainly. But Ortirez? He was a fool and a brute, not given to poetic methods of killing. He would have poured gasoline on the girl and watched her