Dead Men Don't Ski

by Patricia Moyes

  "It was at the Olympia," said Spezzi. "I examined it myself. There was nothing of interest in it, apart from the fact that the lock on his briefcase was broken—it could have happened long ago, or today, who can tell? There were no fingerprints on the luggage, apart from those of the barman at the Olympia, who took it in."

  "What was in the briefcase?"

  "A half-written medical treatise on virus diseases and some pornographic magazines," said Spezzi, with delicate distaste.

  "Not a very promising haul," Henry smiled. "Anything useful in Hauser's pockets?"

  "No," said Spezzi, shortly. "The keys of his apartment, money, a cheque book, a handkerchief. Just what you would expect to find."

  "Oh, well," said Henry, "I suppose it was too much to hope for." He glanced at his watch. "It's getting late. I'd better leave you to get on with your interviews."

  Spezzi looked slightly sheepish. "There is a favour I would ask of you," he said. "You understand it is necessary to question all the people concerned. Now—" he smiled, diffidently—"my English is not good. I would be deeply grateful if you would undertake to interview the English guests. I will be present, of course, just as I hope you will be present when I speak to the others."

  Henry looked profoundly unhappy.

  "I understand, my friend," said the Capitano kindly, "These fellow-skiers have become your friends "

  "And they don't know who I am or why I'm here," said Henry. "Oh, well, I suppose being disliked is all part of the job. All right, I'll do it. Incidentally, can your chap take shorthand in English?"

  "I fear not."

  "Then perhaps you wouldn't mind if my wife sat in with us and took notes for me?"

  "I should be charmed," said the gallant Capitano, looking round automatically for a hand to kiss.

  So Emmy and the young carabiniere were summoned, and installed in opposite corners of the room on small, hard chairs, each with a notebook poised. The Capitano relaxed in the swivel chair behind Rossati's desk, while Henry perched on the window-sill and wished himself a thousand miles away.

  "Where shall we start?" he asked.

  "First, we need facts." Spezzi drew a snow-white writing-pad towards him. On it he wrote, neatly, "Time sequence of events." Henry, who tended to conduct his investigations mainly on instinct, was much impressed.

  "I suggest," said the Capitano, "that we start with Signor Rossatu."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Any man, Henry reflected, might be forgiven for appearing agitated and unhappy in Signor Rossati's positions A death in the hotel is never a comfortable thing for the proprietor to cope with at the best of times, let alone a murder in which a large percentage of his guests are obvious suspects: add to that the humiliation of being interrogated in his own office, perched miserably on a small upright chair while an arrogant policeman lounged at the desk, and almost any degree of anxiety and exasperation would be only too understandable.

  Signor Rossati, however, appeared to be standing up well under the strain. He sat watching the Capitano, rubbing his fat pink hands together, with an expression at once respectful and alert on his circular countenance.

  Spezzi spoke slowly and quietly. "First, we wish to establish the movements of everyone concerned as precisely as possible, Signor Rossati," he said. "Suppose we start with Herr Hauser. When did you first see him today?"

  "Today—it was at nine o'clock, near enough—"

  "He had breakfasted?"

  "He was eating breakfast. I myself take breakfast in my private suite, and come down to the office afterwards. But today he sent Anna, the waitress, to fetch me to the dining-room "

  "Do you usually allow yourself to be disturbed at that hour?"

  Rossati looked slightly uncomfortable. "Herr Hauser was a valued client of the hotel. One is prepared to make small concessions."

  "And what did he want with you?"

  "He asked me to prepare his bill. He was planning to leave Santa Chiara by the evening train, he said, and would probably be out for the rest of the day."

  "Did anyone overhear him saying that?"

  "Anyone?" Rossati made an expansive gesture. "Everybody, caro Capitano. All the guests were there—isn't that so?" He appealed to Henry, whose presence he seemed to accept without question. Henry nodded briefly.

  "In what language did he speak?" asked the Capitano, suddenly.

  "In German, of course."

  "Of course. They tell me in the village that you prefer to speak German, Signor Rossati. Is that so?"

  "I—" Rossati was clearly rattled now. "I speak both languages, as you know, Capitano. I have no political views —none whatsoever..."

  "Yet you prefer to speak German?"

  "Well, I ... for us people of this region, Capitano, both languages are equally "

  "But you have not spent your whole life in these parts, have you, Signor Rossati?"The Capitano's voice was quiet and easy. "From your accent, I would say you are a Roman."

  There was a tiny pause. "I was born in Rome, Capitano."

  "No connection with Austria or Germany at all?"

  "Since I have been here, it is inevitable that—"

  Spezzi smiled. "You misunderstand me, Signor. I do not suggest that you have connections with those countries. On the contrary. I merely ask myself why a Roman, speaking no German, should become so proficient in the language after a few years ... how long is it, exactly, that you have been here?"

  "Three years in March..." Rossati's voice was almost a whisper.

  "So proficient in three years," Spezzi went on, "that he should actually prefer to use it. But perhaps you would rather not discuss that just now. There is plenty of time. For the moment, we want facts."

  In the silence that followed, Rossati, as red as a beetroot, loosened his collar with a plump forefinger.

  The Capitano went on, as softly as before. "So, Hauser asked for his bill at nine o'clock, in full hearing of all the guests, and speaking in German. What did he do then?"

  "He finished his meal, and we came in here together," said Rossati. His voice shook slightly. "I prepared the bill, and he paid it."

  "By cheque?"

  "No ... as it happens ... in cash..."

  "May one ask what it amounted to?"

  This innocent question seemed to upset Rossati quite immoderately. After an agonised moment of doubt, he said, "He paid a large part of it last week."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Just what I say, Capitano. He had been here for just three weeks—three weeks today—but last weekend he prepared to leave and he paid his bill. Then he changed his mind and stayed longer."

  "Have you any idea why?"

  "None. None, I assure you. He is a man—I should say, he was a man of means, Capitano, and he enjoyed being at my little hotel. So he decided to stay on a further week."

  "So he paid one week's bill in cash this morning. And after that?"

  Signor Rossati relaxed visibly: clearly, in his view, the worst was over. "He went upstairs—to pack, I imagine. I noticed the porter bringing his luggage down at ... at about half-past ten, I suppose it must have been. It was just after Anna had taken Mrs. Buckfast's coffee to the terrace, and she always M

  "His luggage was at the Olympia cafe," said Spezzi. "When did it go down?"

  "That I cannot say. Before lunch, I imagine. The porter will be able to tell you."

  "And when did you next see Herr Hauser?"

  "He made a telephone call from my office at about eleven o'clock."

  Spezzi leant forward, interested. "Where to?" he asked.

  "It was to Innsbruck, Capitano. More than that I cannot tell you. I left him alone, naturally, while he was on the line."

  "I see. And did you see him again?"

  "Not until this evening." Rossati was speaking easily and fluently now, without hesitation. "I presume he must have gone down to the village for lunch, for he was not here. Indeed, I thought that he had left for good. But when I went into the bar just before five o'cloc
k, to see all was in order before the skiers returned, he was there."

  "Did you speak to him?"

  "A word, no more. I think I said I was surprised to see him, and he reminded me that he was not leaving until the last train. I myself was hurrying, for I had an appointment in the village."

  "May one ask what it was?"

  "But of course, Capitano. It was with the bank manager. And after that, I had arranged to meet a friend in the Olympia, but unfortunately he did not arrive. I was still waiting there when—when Signora Tibbett brought the news..."

  Spezzi, who had been jotting notes on his pad, looked up. "Before we go any further," he said, "I'd like to have a clear idea of your own movements throughout the day. We have got as far as nine o'clock, when Hauser paid his bill in here. What did you do then?"

  "My day is a routine, Capitano. All the staff will tell you. Every day is the same—or very nearly so. When Herr Hauser had paid his bill, I returned to my room to finish my coffee. Then, as always, I came in here to make up the account books of the hotel."

  "Did you notice the skiers going out?"

  "Frankly, no, Capitano. There was plenty of coming and going in the hall—there always is at that hour: and since I need to concentrate, I pay no attention unless I am actually disturbed by somebody who wishes to speak to me."

  "And were you, today?"

  "No, Capitano."

  "I see. And after that?"

  "The skiers were all away by ten o'clock. Then I went to the kitchen, as I always do, to arrange to-morrow's menus with the cook, and to check that all was ;well with today's meals. It was as I came out to return to my office that I saw Anna taking out Mrs. Buckfast's coffee, and Beppi —that's the porter—carrying Herr Hauser's luggage downstairs. In the office, I typed the menus for today's lunch and dinner, and made out my marketing lists. It was while I was doing this that Herr Hauser came in and made his telephone call."

  "I see. And these duties took you until lunchtime?"

  "Yes. I also dealt with my mail—Mario brings the letters up from the village when he comes to start the ski-lift. This morning there was not much post—the usual bills and receipts, and a couple of requests for rooms."

  "At what time do the skiers return?"

  "At about half-past twelve—those who are lunching here. Today, it was only the beginners' class—except for Signor Tibbett, who was not with the others."

  "That's right," said Henry. "I lunched in the village."

  "And of course poor Fraulein Knipfer was here," added Rossati.

  "Did you speak to any of them?"

  "I always go into the bar at lunchtime for a word with the guests, Capitano—just to make sure they are all happy. Today there were only Mr. Passendell and the young English lady."

  "And were they happy?"

  "I think so. How can I say? They made no complaints."

  "What were they talking-about?"

  "What does every skier talk about?" asked Rossati, beaming. "The snow. The morning's sport. The progress they have made. The instructor."

  "Nothing else at all!"

  "No, Capitano."

  "And what did you do then?""I took lunch in my sitting-room, as always.""Then how
  "I am sure because Anna brings me the lunch-chits to enter on the bills.""Were there any non-residents lunching here today? M "No, Capitano. Sometimes we have other skiers, or visitors who come up to see the view—but it is early in the season for them. No—today there was nobody.""And after lunch?"

  "Nothing, Capitano. I had a little rest in my room, and read the newspaper. Soon after four, Beppi called me to see one of the attic rooms, where there is a little dampness on the ceiling. A hotel is like that—always something to be fixed, always more expenditure. Then I went to the kitchens again, to be sure that all was in order for dinner, and to fetch a fresh bottle of brandy for the bar. It was while I was taking it in that I saw Herr Hauser, as I told you. Then I took the lift down to the village."

  Spezzi made a note, and then said, "Thank you, Signor. You have been most helpful. Just one or two more questions. Herr Hauser had been here often before?"

  "Oh, many times. Several times each year, since I have been here."

  "Did he generally stay as long as three weeks at a time?"

  "He ... no, it was usually one or two weeks..."

  "I see. Signor Rossati, do you own a gun?"

  "A gun?" Rossati beamed indulgently, as at an idiot child. "Whatever would I want with a gun, Capitano?"

  "Hauser was shot. Somebody must have had a gun." Rossati's smile grew wider. "That is simple, Capitano. There was only one person in this hotel with a gun, and that was Herr Hauser himself. I saw it many times."

  "He showed it to you?"

  A tiny pause. "I ... saw it. It was a small black automatic pistol. He kept it in his briefcase."

  "Have you any idea why he carried it?"

  Rossati shrugged. "How can I know? He travelled much. Perhaps he had enemies ... clearly he had enemies, for he is dead."

  Spezzi was leaning forward now, intent. "Who else besides yourself knew about this gun?"

  "You ask impossibilities, caro Capitano. How can I say? It is not the custom in an hotel such as this for the guests to lock their bedroom doors—"

  "Not even Herr Hauser?"

  "No. I cannot remember that he ever did so."

  Spezzi looked at Henry, and raised his eyebrows. "You are sure of that, Signor Rossati?"

  "I cannot say that he never locked it. Only that I never recollect him doing so. Why should he? Nobody else did." Rossati's smile ran down his chin like warm olive oil.

  "So anybody could have known about the gun, and anybody could have stolen it?"

  "Si, Capitano."

  "Did you steal it?"The question came out like a bullet, but Rossati was completely unperturbed.

  "I? But why should I? Herr Hauser was a valuable client..."

  "When did you last see this gun?"

  Rossati hesitated. "I really cannot remember, Capitano. This week, last week ... I cannot say. I knew Herr Hauser always had it with him."

  Spezzi looked annoyed, but it was impossible to get a more precise answer out of the proprietor, so he contented himself with a scowl, and said, "One last question. What was your personal impression of Herr Hauser as a man? Did you like him?"

  "He was a valuable client."

  "And therefore you liked him? m

  "Of course. It would be bad for business to do otherwise."

  Spezzi looked at Henry. "Do you wish to ask Signor Rossati any questions?" he said. Then, turning to Rossati, he explained, "Sighor Tibbett is connected with the English police. He is helping me in my investigations."

  If this was news to Rossati, he didn't show it. He merely nodded, and transferred his bland gaze from Spezzi to Henry.

  "Just one question," said Henry. "When you go to the village to* see your friends, Signor Rossati, which bar do you normally use?"

  "I go very seldom, signor. I—"

  "But to which bar?"

  "The ... the Bar Schmidt, as a rule, signor. It is ... it is for the villagers rather than for the tourists, you understand..."

  "But last night you were meeting your friend, who didn't arrive, at the Olympia?"

  "My friend was one of the ski instructors, signor," said Rossati, very quickly. "They prefer the Olympia."

  "I see," said Henry. "That's all."

  "Thank you, Signor Rossati, you may go now." Spezzi glanced at the bell-push on the side of the desk. "When I ring, please ask—" he turned to Henry. "Which of the English party will you see first?"

  "Look here," said Henry, "I don't want to interfere with your plans, but it's nearly ten o'clock, and if I start on the English people now, we'll be here all night. Can't we leave it until the morning?"

  "If you wish." Spezzi didn't sound pleased. "Very well, Signor Rossati. Tell the guests they may go to bed when they wis
h, but they are not to leave the hotel, tonight or in the morning. We will start at nine-thirty. Now, have you prepared rooms for my assistant and myself?"

  "But of course, caro Capitano. I will show you myself..."

  Rossati leapt up with surprising agility and selected two keys from the board on the office wall. "This way, if you please..."

  When the two policemen had been shown their rooms, Spezzi returned to the office, accompanied by the Sergeant who had been in charge of the search for the gun. The latter reported gloomily on his lack of success.

  "Never mind," said Spezzi, consolingly, "It was only what we expected." He made arrangements for the terrain below the ski-lift to be searched in the morning, and then a sleepy Mario was called and ordered to start up the lift in order to convey the carabinieri back to the village.

  "There's just one thing," said Henry. "If I were you, I'd definitely prohibit the Immenfeld run for a few days. We don't want anyone making a getaway."

  "I have already done so," said Spezzi, somewhat coldly.

  When he and his aide had retired to their rooms, Henry and Emmy looked at each other, and grinned.

  "Come on," said Henry. "I need a drink."

  The bar was deserted except for Jimmy, Roger and Franco, who were standing together at the far end of the room, elbows on the bar, heads close together, talking earnestly. Behind the bar, Anna yawned and polished an already gleaming glass. Everything was very quiet. All three men looked up as Henry and Emmy came in.

  "Hallo, there," said Jimmy. "Come and have a drink. You've been in there long enough, I must say. What was it, third degree? Are you the chief suspects?"

  "I've told you what they are," said Roger sourly, gulping down a brandy in one.

  Jimmy laughed, a trifle self-consciously. "Don't mind old Roger," he said. "He gets the most extraordinary ideas sometimes, and he's pretty pickled, anyhow. For some obscure reason, he thinks—"