“Except you don’t believe it,” said Bannerman softly. “So you want us to find the truth.”
“Win or lose,” agreed his visitor tightly. “Will you try?”
David Bannerman glanced at his sister. She gave a fractional nod, which made it unanimous.
“We’ll try,” said David. He walked to the window and looked over the grey slate rooftops of the Scottish capital towards the medieval bulk of Edinburgh Castle.
“Let’s go over the basics again. Your son’s name is Mark, he’s a newly qualified lawyer, his bride’s name is Susan, she’s an American citizen from—”
“From New York,” nodded Andrew Adams. “They met when Mark was in the States on a graduate exchange scheme. Susan is a nurse.”
They’d met at a university party and been engaged within a month. The wedding was in New York; then Mark Adams had brought his bride back to Europe, to honeymoon in Switzerland. They had collected a Volvo in Edinburgh and had driven across Europe to the Bernese Alpine resort village of Grindelwald, close under the legendary Eiger mountain. Telephone calls to both sets of parents had said everything was fine. But it was now forty-eight hours since Mark had vanished. The last thing known was that he’d gone walking near the mountain while his bride had a hair appointment at the village beauty salon.
It was early spring; there’d been late snowfalls and risks of avalanches. The young lawyer had simply disappeared without a trace.
“I should be there,” said Andrew Adams in a weary voice. “But there is my wife to consider—”
Mark Adams’ mother had a weak heart and had collapsed on hearing her son was missing. She was in hospital, too ill to be moved. The other set of parents, now in regular telephone touch from New York, were getting ready to fly over to be with their daughter.
“But you say Susan wants everyone to wait until she has more news,” frowned Helen, puzzled.
“That’s what she says,” Andrew Adams nodded. “And all we can get from the police is that this was just another tourist accident.” His mouth tightened. “I know what that means. They’ll leave things until summer; they’ll look for a body when the snow melts.”
“There’s probably not a lot we can do,” warned David.
“Maybe not, but forget the cost.” The stockbroker clenched his fists. “On the phone Susan sounds near collapse. But something’s wrong. She’s no fool. It’s as if she’s holding something back. Something she’s frightened to tell me.”
“Give me a moment,” said Helen Bannerman. “I’ll be right back.”
By the time she returned, her brother had gathered more details and the stockbroker had produced a wedding day photograph of the couple. Mark Adams was a dark-haired man in his twenties with a plump, cheerful face. His bride Susan was about the same age, slim and attractive, with blonde, shoulder-length hair.
Andrew Adams left. Once he’d gone, the Bannermans exchanged a wry glance. “Better see when we can get a flight,” suggested David.
“I already did,” said Helen mildly. “I spoke to that redhead you know at the airport.”
“And?” said her brother warily.
“We’re booked on the next Swissair flight, at one A.M.” She grinned. “For you, says your redhead, anything.”
The night flight to Basel touched down at four A.M., and a chauffeur-driven BMW was waiting for them. Then they were off on the eighty mile drive to Grindelwald, most of it over snow-covered roads. Along the way Helen snatched some sleep, her head on Bannerman’s shoulder, and he looked down at his sister with the kind of smile he wouldn’t have let her see if she’d been awake. They were close, they always had been — they just didn’t like admitting it to anyone.
David Bannerman was exactly thirty years of age, Helen was two years younger, and an outsider wouldn’t have taken them for brother and sister. David was tall and whipcord thin with blue eyes, broad cheekbones, and fight brown hair. Helen was barely medium height with brown eyes and dark hair. Attractive lather than goodlooking, verging on plump, she often did the real thinking between them.
They’d inherited the Banner Agency from their father, a retired Edinburgh police inspector, who had signed it over to them when he and his wife retired to Florida. Bannerman Senior had built up a reputation for handling the odd and unusual, something that had continued.
This time? David shook his head. They’d find out soon enough.
They reached Grindelwald in the grey light of dawn, the last of the journey over a narrow, snow-covered mountain road where the tire chains bit with a soft, steady rattle. Their destination, a blend of old-style chalets and modem concrete hotels, was a village huddled spectacularly close under the famed north face of the Eiger, six thousand feet of nearly vertical Alpine rock climbed by the brave in midsummer but accepted as almost unapproachable during most of winter.
Susan Adams was waiting in her bridal suite — a two-room section of a quiet guesthouse. Her fair hair tied back with a thin leather thong, she wore tailored grey trousers and a loose blue sweater and was trying hard to keep control. She ordered breakfast for them and made them eat while she talked in a quick, tight, level voice.
“The police have searched almost nonstop. They brought in dogs, even a helicopter,” she told them. “They think Mark must have ignored the warnings about wandering off the regular paths. They keep talking about crevasses and rockfalls.” She shook her head. “We’d agreed to split up for the morning, and Mark planned to explore some of the trails outside the village. I had my hair done and did some souvenir shopping — then we’d arranged to meet for lunch. He... well, he didn’t show.”
There was a knock at the door, and Susan Adams went to open it. She returned with a round-faced man who wore a brown wool suit and had close-cropped grey hair.
“This is John Gelling,” she said. “He has helped me a lot.”
“There hasn’t been much anyone could do,” said Gelling gravely. His voice had a faint, hard-to-identify accent. “But I’m staying in the guesthouse, so I did what I could.”
“What do you think happened?” asked Helen bluntly.
“Much the same as everyone else does.” Gelling spread his hands sadly. “I’m sorry, but I think the best thing you can do is persuade Susan to go back to Britain. No one can do anything more here.”
“I can’t. I won’t.” Susan Adams gave a determined shake of her head.
Gelling sighed, made a slight grimace towards the Bannermans, then quietly left the room. Once he had gone, David Bannerman gave a small shrug.
“He could be right, Susan.”
“John Gelling means well, and he was out with the search parties.” Her voice was a whisper. “But I’m not leaving. I know Mark is alive — he must be. There’s—” she stopped short and moistened her lips.
“Go on, Susan. There’s what?” David looked at her for a moment, then his voice hardened. “You know why we’re here. You know how Mark’s father feels, what this has done to his mother, what it must be doing to your own family.” He ignored his sister’s gathering frown. “We were sent to help you. Our kind of help doesn’t mean holding your hand and making soothing noises.”
“I—” She swallowed.
“Be real” Bannerman saw her indecision and took a gamble. “What are you holding back? What is it the police don’t know?”
Susan gave a sob and buried her head in her hands.
“Ease back, Dave,” ordered Helen grimly. She laid a hand on the younger woman’s arm. “Susan, see sense. Use us.”
Reluctantly Susan raised her head. There were new tears in her eyes.