At the Italian border, they spoke with control officers who also hadn’t received any information about Duncan. Their hearts sank with the realization that no one at the checkpoint had been keeping an eye out for him or his car. Why had the RCMP assured them that the Interpol bulletin would be distributed throughout Europe when it obviously hadn’t been? In Bolzano (whose police also hadn’t received the Interpol circular) Lynda called the RCMP and explained that none of the authorities in the places where her son had most likely traveled were aware of his case. The officer promised to file the report again with Interpol.
They pressed on to Lake Garda. The southern end of the deep glacial lake was fifteen kilometers wide, and they feared he may have windsurfed offshore and been in an accident or caught in a storm that drowned him and sank his body to the bottom. They spent a day driving around the lake, looking for his car, inquiring at windsurfing rentals.
On September 7 they drove to Switzerland, and at the frontier they learned that Swiss border control also knew nothing about Duncan. It was so frustrating, even nauseating, to realize that in spite of what their government agencies had been telling them and the press since August 23, no police or border control officers in Europe were even aware that Duncan was missing.
“I guess we’re just not going to get any help from the police,” Lynda said as they left the border and headed to Bern. It was a bitter thought, as they’d always gladly paid their taxes with the belief that the state reliably helped citizens in need. Again she called her contacts at External Affairs and the RCMP and asked them to distribute the missing person notice.
In the vicinity of Interlaken—a popular tourist destination—they spent days driving narrow mountain roads, looking for spots where Duncan might have lost control of his car and plunged into the woods. It was exhausting work—driving, stopping, peering into the woods, driving on… One night in Bern, Lynda phoned her parents in Canada to give them an update. Her father had just spoken with an expert on Lyme disease who explained that in rare cases it could cause personality changes and even amnesia. Had Duncan become disoriented as an aftereffect of the infection he’d contracted that spring?
For another week they peregrinated the Alps, stopping at police stations, tourist information offices, hockey clubs, rest stops, and border crossings, putting up posters, telling their story again and again. Because of the language barrier, what would have been easy to explain to a native English speaker was often insurmountably difficult to convey. Many officials didn’t understand their story; others finally comprehended it, but couldn’t understand why Canadian External Affairs wasn’t conducting the search.
“Your consulates have people who speak Italian and German,” said a policeman in the town of Lecco, Italy. “It would be much easier for them.”
“Too busy going to cocktail parties,” Lynda replied.
Driving such long distances reminded her of her early intuition that something had happened to Duncan around Innsbruck. Given that he’d only had August 9 and 10 to see something interesting, he wouldn’t have wanted to spend much time driving away from and then back to Nuremberg. If he’d quickly arrived at an attractive place, he would have stopped to check it out.
Greater Innsbruck, a spectacular area that had twice hosted the Winter Olympics, was Duncan’s sort of place, and the route to Italy went right through it. After departing Fuessen at noon, he would have approached the city around 2:00. He must have stopped to check it out, and after a bit of sightseeing, to eat dinner and spend the night.
Chapter 3: “Just get rid of those people.”
On September 14, the MacPhersons drove to Innsbruck police headquarters and met an officer named Heinz Dorn, who, infuriatingly, had still not received the missing person report. They told him it was imperative that the Tyrolean police learn about their son, as he’d almost certainly visited the state around the time of his disappearance. They believed he’d spent the night of August 8 in Innsbruck, and they wanted to search the city’s hotel registrations. They also wanted to broadcast a notice on the news.
Dorn wasn’t encouraging. He said “it would take an army to check all hotel registers in Innsbruck,” and that because Duncan was an adult, he had a right to privacy, so it was unlawful to broadcast a notice about him.
They had better luck at the Innsbruck Hockey Club. The head coach, Ossi Praxmarer, listened carefully to their story, and then persuaded his team’s sponsor, Goesser Beer, to buy air time on the Austrian National Broadcasting Corporation (ORF) for a notice on an evening news program called Tirol Heute (Tyrol Today). The segment was scheduled for September 20.
On September 19 they drove to the Canadian Consulate in Munich. Fearing that the “big, strong boy to whom nothing can happen” attitude prevailed among Bavarian police, they hoped the consulate could persuade them otherwise. The receptionist was a caring Englishwoman named Felicity Lamb who’d already heard about their search. Consul General George Blackstock wasn’t available, so Felicity asked the next in command, a trade officer named Nick, if he would meet them.
“I don’t care how you do it, just get rid of those people,” he said. Felicity was shocked by his reaction, and surprised to learn that the typical consular officer didn’t know how to help the MacPhersons. In spite of Nick telling her to “get rid” of them, she arranged an interview with two other consular officials, though it quickly became clear that they had no idea what to do. One of them said nothing; the other occasionally asked questions like, “Do you believe that Duncan had a map?”
The next morning the MacPhersons tried again to meet with Consul General Blackstock, but he was apparently unable to tell Felicity when he would have time. Lynda sensed he was hoping they would grow weary of waiting and go away. Lunchtime came and went, and just as they were indeed about to give up, he appeared. He was very friendly and solicitous, in jarring contrast with the fact that he’d just made them wait several hours. Inviting them into his office for coffee and cookies, he said he was so sorry about Duncan, and proceeded to engage them in an aimless conversation. It struck Lynda that there was something odd about his having so much time to chat. And then he really surprised her.
“I would like you to join me at my house for dinner this evening,” he said. She declined with the excuse that they’d already accepted an invitation from Felicity.
“But I insist,” he replied. “I’ve already told my housekeeper that I’m expecting guests for dinner.”
“We really don’t want to impose,” she said. “We haven’t had time to do our laundry, so we don’t have a fresh change of clothes for dinner.”
“That’s quite alright,” he said. “My housekeeper will do your laundry.” Clearly he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
And so they followed his chauffeured car, and as they entered the grounds of his lovely villa, they couldn’t help wondering what he did for Canadian interests in Munich that justified such a comfortable life at taxpayer expense. Just before dinner was served, his housekeeper announced a call for him. He withdrew into his study, and when he returned a few minutes later, he said, “Your son’s car has been found at the dead end of a blind alpine valley.”
From Lynda MacPherson’s Journal, September 21, 1989
He [Blackstock] told us that the car was found at the Stubai Glacier parking lot—about 40 km southwest of Innsbruck. We were, of course, somewhat emotional—relieved on the one hand that we’d finally got some information, but also apprehensive. The news of his car stirred up many thoughts of what we might find. In any case, we told Blackstock we were going to drive to the place that night. He didn’t think we should go until morning. We really didn’t care what he thought—we were going. We did eat dinner (the housekeeper had everything ready and we didn’t want to hurt her so we decided to eat & then leave). Blackstock said he’d have to go with us—we told him we didn’t need him to go with us; however, he insisted. I phoned Mom & Dad—they’d already heard the news on the radio—it seems they knew about it 4 hours earlier than us. In fact it seems as if they heard the news at about the same time that Blackstock invited us to his office for coffee! Did he already know the car had been found? But, because he had ignored us for 2 days while were in the Consulate, was he beginning then to cover his ass? We think so. I mean, after all, isn’t that what being a diplomat is—do nothing, but make sure you look good? I expect he sent a signal to External Affairs about how nicely he treated the MacPhersons…. We ate dinner hurriedly and were anxious to get going. Blackstock was beggaring around, gathering up his stuff—in a real panic because he couldn’t find his pajamas—had the housekeeper going crazy. Finally, at about 9:00, he was ready…. I am not sure I knew anymore what I was doing—I was in a daze. I just wanted to get going without any further delays. All that we had on our minds was getting there, praying that our nightmare was over and that somehow all of this wasn’t real, it was only a bad dream, there’d be some explanation for everything, and, as foolish as it was, I guess we hoped Duncan would be found & that he’d be alright. I guess we also thought of the other side of the coin—what if we do find him and he’s not alright?