“Rick, I’d like you to meet John and Mary Smith,” he said in English. “They just checked in.”
The man noticed Rick’s look as he shook hands. “Yeah, I know. The names. We get that reaction a lot. Nice to meet you Rick.”
“Flavio tells us you are an American.” Mary Smith shook Rick’s hand. “And that you met at school in New Mexico.” She had a genuine smile, without all the nuances that often came with Italian women.
“That’s right. And you two are on vacation from the States? It’s a long way to come to ski.”
“John’s in the Army, and we’ve been at the base in Vicenza since September. This is the first chance we’ve had to ski so we’re looking forward to spending the week here.”
Rick knew about Caserma Ederle, outside the city of Vicenza in the upper Po Valley, but had never met anyone who was stationed there. “Thank you for your service.” His words were meant for both of them and they smiled in appreciation. “Where are you from?” he added. It was the standard question for expats of any country when meeting, especially Americans.
“We’re both from Colorado, and met at CSU.”
“I reminded them,” said Flavio, “that our ski team never lost to Colorado State when I was there.”
“But you didn’t mention that our football team never beat them.”
“I do not concern myself with the minor sports, Rick, you know that.”
“I feel like I’m back in the Rocky Mountains,” John Smith said as he stood up. “We have to get our skis rented before dinner, so we’d better be on our way. Flavio, thanks for the suggestion of a rental place, we’ll be sure to ask for Bruno. Rick, nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine, I look forward to chatting with you again.”
They all shook hands again and the couple hurried out of the room.
“Nice people,” said Flavio, returning to Italian. “Now I want to know everything you two detectives have been up to. Where’s Luca?”
“He took a call when we walked in—here he is.”
Luca’s normal smile was gone, replaced by a dark look that Rick had not seen the entire afternoon. The policeman tossed his coat and hat on a bench and slid into the booth where his friends sat. “A body has been found wearing a light blue ski jacket, dark pants, and a blue bandana. Almost certainly it is that of Signor Taylor. The crime scene team is on its way from Trento, and when it arrives I will accompany them to where the body was found, which unfortunately is halfway up the mountain under the gondola cables.”
“Could he have fallen from the gondola?” asked Flavio.
“He almost certainly fell from the gondola, but since the body is inside a sack, I must conclude that he was already dead when he was pushed out. The crime scene people and the medical examiner will determine it, but it’s hard to think of another scenario. I doubt if he was dragged to where he was found. The boys who found him were almost lost, they were so far off the trails.”
Luca looked at the bar, as if deciding whether to have something to drink. Reading his mind, Rick said: “Perhaps a shot of brandy is called for. It will be cold on the mountain.”
The suggestion drew a weak nod from the policeman. “I’d better not, but you’re right about the cold. Good thing I have my new hat. The sergeant told me they’ll have snow boots and a suit ready for me. It will be my first ride on a snowmobile.” He looked at Rick and sighed deeply. “So, my American friend, our investigation has turned from missing person to homicide.”
And there is no lack of suspects, thought Rick. Luca rose to his feet and turned to pick up his coat. “Riccardo, I must ask a favor since my English is not good. I can see from your face that you know what it will be.”
“If you’d like me to go with you to tell Cat Taylor, of course I will.”
“Grazie,” said Luca as he picked up his coat and hat and walked into the lobby toward the door.
Flavio’s eyes followed the policeman. “This is a tragedy, Rick, and it will bring back some painful memories for the people of Campiglio.” He took a couple breaths before continuing. “Five years ago, right about this time, a local girl—I remember her name was Fiametta—disappeared. A few days later her body was found. She had taken her own life. The reason, as the police were able to piece it together from her parents, was that a year before, she had undergone an abortion. Its anniversary had plunged her into deep despair. Enough to…”
They remained silent for a few moments before Rick spoke. “How sadly appropriate was her name, Fiametta. A ‘little flame’ whose light disappeared too soon.”
Flavio nodded his head slowly. “That time we went from a disappearance to a suicide. Now, five years later, Campiglio goes from a disappearance to a murder.”
***
Flavio leaned back in his chair and studied his friend’s face. They were almost finished with a second bottle of wine—a rich, dark Bardolino from the hills along Lake Garda. Rick had recounted the various interviews of the afternoon over the first two courses of asparagus risotto and veal with lemon sauce. Flavio let him talk, sensing that it was having a therapeutic effect on Rick, and knowing that his friend was dreading his second meeting with the dead man’s sister.
“So the interviews were fine as far as they went, but of course, when we did them, Luca was investigating a disappearance. Now that we’re into homicide, everything changes.”
“Riccardo, I know Luca appreciates your help, and not just the translations.”
Rick shrugged, took another drink from his wineglass, and glanced out the window. There was just enough light from inside to see that the snow had stopped falling. That, he thought, was at least some good news for Luca.
Flavio waved to the Smiths, who were leaving their table at the other side of the room and walking toward the door of the dining room. That left about four other tables still occupied, including the one where Rick and Flavio sat. The wait staff moved around the room, clearing the tables and setting them for breakfast. “Here’s Luca.”
The policeman spoke with one of the waitresses who nodded and hurried into the kitchen. “They kept a meal for me,” he said as he slipped into his seat. “God knows I can use it.” Rick filled the new arrival’s glass with the Bardolino and waited for him to continue. After a long swig of the wine he did. “It’s definitely Signor Taylor, not that I had any doubt. His ski pass, with name and photograph, was hanging around his neck.” Luca noticed the bread basket, pulled out a packet of bread sticks, and tore open the top. “After checking the site, it is clear that he was dropped from the gondola, so they are bringing the body down now. They’ll put it in a local mortuary, where the autopsy can be performed tomorrow.” The change in Luca was noticeable, from relaxed and smiling to businesslike. He snapped off a piece of bread stick with his teeth and thanked the waitress when a plate was put in front of him.
“I told Flavio about all our meetings today, Luca. I didn’t think it mattered, but now that the case is homicide…”
“No, no, Riccardo, it’s perfectly all right. Flavio may be our secret weapon in the investigation, since he knows so many people in this town.” Luca’s familiar grin returned. “This vitello is excellent. And once again Flavio has chosen an excellent wine.”
Rick was not thinking of the meal. “Luca, she’ll have to identify the body, won’t she?”
“Yes, Riccardo,” he answered quietly, “first thing in the morning. I don’t know how long it will take to bring the body down, and there are photographs that must be taken before they do.”
Rick looked at the wine in his half-filled glass, swirling it slowly. He looked up at the other two men. “It’s time to start talking about suspects, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure each of us, in his thoughts, already has,” said Luca as he pushed his empty plate to one side, took his notebook from his pocket, and laid it in front of him, unopened. “We must begin by re
constructing the crime. While the formal autopsy will have to confirm it, it appears that he was killed by a blow to the head, probably sometime yesterday morning. And of course somewhere other than where he was found. So he was already dead when the body, inside a canvas sack, was dropped from the gondola. My local colleagues tell me that there was only one time when the body could have been dropped, and that was on the last run up the mountain. The work crew comes down on that run, passing the empty gondola going up. Apparently on this occasion it wasn’t completely empty.”
“So the murderer would have been familiar with the schedule of the gondola,” said Rick. “Which would seem to rule out Cat Taylor. Not to mention that she would have trouble hauling a dead body onto the gondola.”
“Assuming,” said Flavio,” that there was only one person involved.”
“You’re both correct,” said Luca. “But getting back to the reconstruction…the drop was either yesterday evening or Saturday evening, the day he disappeared. The local police who went up there with me were sure it was Saturday, given the amount of snow covering the sack. The snow-cover also rules out this evening, and the discovery by the boys was too close to today’s last gondola run, anyway. So we’ll assume Saturday. Unfortunately that means thousands of skiers got on that gondola since the drop, all but obliterating any trace of evidence from when the body was taken up.”
They thought about that for a moment before Flavio spoke. “Whoever dumped the body had to ski down once he reached the top. So he had skis as well as the body on board. And boots.”
“I am not a skier,” said Luca,” but that seems like a lot to bring along when you’re dealing with a body.”
“Snowshoes?”
“No, Rick,” said Flavio, shaking his head.“It would have taken forever to get back to town. Had to be skis. I could make that run almost blindfolded, but so could just about anyone who grew up in Campiglio.”
“Where would the trail end, Flavio?”
“Almost anyplace on the north and east sides of town, Luca. If you know the mountain you can come out almost anywhere, including at your own back door if you live near a trail.” He tapped a finger on the window. “One ends about a hundred meters from here.” The eyes of Rick and Luca moved toward the glass, but beyond the few flakes visible from the room’s light, it was only blackness.
Rick looked at his empty wineglass and decided not to fill it. He was already starting to fade after what he’d consumed so far. It had been a long day and with another visit to Cat to come, it wasn’t over. “So we know from the crime scene that the murder took place sometime Saturday between the early morning when Cam left the apartment and when his body was dropped in the late afternoon. That time frame will be important for establishing alibis.” Luca and Flavio nodded in agreement. “What about motive?”
“Not robbery,” said Luca before taking a sip from his glass, “unless they wanted his expensive Kolmartz skis and poles, which I suppose is possible. He didn’t have his boots on, but they would have made the sack much heavier. He also didn’t have his hat. Everything else was on the body including his wallet with about a hundred euros inside, and his cell phone. So the motive was likely something other than robbery.” He glanced at the faces of the other two, and got no reaction. “For suspects, we have to begin with his sister.”
“But we agreed,” Rick said, “that she couldn’t have taken the body on the gondola and skied down.”
The other two men noticed Rick’s quick reaction. “Rick,” said Flavio slowly, “she could have been in on it with someone else.”
Rick reached for the bottle of wine and then pulled back. “That’s true. And her main motive could well be an inheritance. My first strong impression of Cat Taylor was that she comes from money and is used to having it. Likely there are aging parents—aging and wealthy parents—and only two siblings to inherit. She will get it all. But who would have helped her?”
“The guy across the hall, Lotti,” said Flavio. “She doesn’t know anyone else in town.”
“She knows Bruno. She told Luca and me that she rents her skis from him. And their relationship could go beyond ski-fitting.”
“What’s important is we can’t rule her out,” said Luca, taking charge of the discussion. “The next logical suspect would be the real estate developer, Melograno. He was trying to get a loan to develop that property. Taylor may have turned him down when they met the previous day. Not usually the motive for a murder, but it’s possible, I suppose.”
“Umberto has the reputation of using any means, but usually money, to get what he wants,” said Flavio. “There was something last year about him trying to bribe a regional official, but I don’t remember the details.”
Luca nodded. “The local police mentioned that to me. Nothing came of it.”
Flavio chuckled. “Hmm. I wonder why nothing came of it? But it’s quite a jump from bribery to homicide. Umberto’s always been a bully, but murdering someone…I don’t know about that.”
“Riccardo and I saw one of the mayor’s wood sculptures in his office. Coincidence?”
Flavio thought a moment before answering. “Probably. Many people have bought Elio’s work. He’s the best wood-carver in town. But more important than having one of his carvings is that Umberto is Elio’s main political backer, and the next election is coming up in a few weeks. It doesn’t hurt to have the mayor in your pocket if you’re a real estate developer.”
“And if we’re talking about suspects, what about the mayor?” asked Rick. “His ex-wife was dating the victim, and possibly was doing it even before the marriage formally ended. Could be a motive there.”
Flavio’s frowned and shook his head slowly. “This is turning into a South American novella.”
“My wife watches them all the time,” said Luca.
“But you don’t?” asked Flavio.
“Of course not. Everyone want coffee?” They nodded and Luca asked the waitress to bring it, checking the wine bottle before she left. There was still a glass or two in it, so it was left on the table. “Now, before moving to the rest of the inhabitants of Campiglio, there is Gina Cortese. No real motive for murder that I can think of. How about you?”
Flavio shrugged. “She found out about his girlfriend in Milan?”
“Weak,” said Luca. “Possible, but weak.”
Their coffee arrived and they each stirred varying amounts of sugar into their small cups while staring at the dark liquid.
“Perhaps something will come to one of us during the evening,” said Flavio, though his voice indicated he considered the prospect unlikely. “I forgot to mention a related development, something that will interest you, Riccardo.”
“I can’t imagine what,” said Rick as he drained his small cup.
“Since the dead man and his sister are Americans, your consulate in Milan is sending up a vice consul to assist Signora Taylor. A nice touch, but I hope he doesn’t get in the way of the investigation.”
“It’s the basic consular function, helping American citizens far from home who are in trouble,” Rick explained. “My father did it for many years before he moved up in the ranks. It’s mostly with Americans who’ve lost passports or been victims of pickpockets, but it can be more serious, like this case.”
“Do we have that for Italians, Flavio?”
“I suppose if I’d gotten into trouble in Albuquerque I could have asked the Italian consul to bail me out. The nearest one was in Los Angeles.”
“Flavio,” said Rick, “you know very well who would have saved your ass if you’d gotten into legal trouble in the States, and it wouldn’t have been the Italian consul.”
Luca turned to Flavio and waited for his answer. He was enjoying getting his mind off the case, even for a moment.
“I never got into any trouble, Rick, as you well know. If I remember correctly, it was you who—”
Ric
k held up his hand. “Luca isn’t interested in frivolous stories of American university life.”
“Well,” muttered Luca, “in truth, I wouldn’t mind—”
“See, Flavio? So, Luca, when is this American consul arriving in Campiglio?”
“Not sure. Probably early tomorrow morning. If I could ask you another favor, Riccardo?”
“If he’s a consular officer, Luca, he’ll speak Italian. You don’t need—”
“No, no, it’s not that. The problem is that tomorrow I have to write and fax a report to the prosecuting attorney, now that it’s a homicide At least she hasn’t insisted on coming up here to get in my hair. But also I have to deal with some reporters tomorrow morning, two from Milano and one from Trento.”
“Who from Trento?” asked Flavio. “Not Sandri, I hope.”
“I’m afraid so.” He picked up his coffee cup, saw that there was not even a drop left, and set it back in the saucer. The two Italians shook their heads sadly.
Rick was tempted to ask about this Sandri, but his mind was on Cat Taylor. “I’ll be glad to deal with the vice consul for you tomorrow, Luca.”
***
“I was so hoping that…” Cat’s voice trailed off.
She sat with her hands clasped and stared at Rick without seeing his face. Once again she treated the policeman as if he were invisible, even though Luca had carefully stated the facts for her. As Rick translated he marveled at how Luca was dealing with the situation. There was a combination of patience and empathy in the policeman’s words which Rick tried to convey when he put them into English.
“I’ll start making a list of things to be done. Perhaps it’s best to immerse myself in details, to keep my mind off the reality of his death.” Her eyes moved to the wood beams on the ceiling and back to Rick. “That doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“Whatever works for you, Cat.”
Her hair was not brushed, and she was without makeup. A heavy, wine-colored robe covered most of her body, but below it and at the neck he could see flannel pajamas decorated with tiny brown bears. On her feet were furry slippers that covered her ankles. It was sleepwear a twelve-year-old would wear, Rick thought, but perhaps it gave her comfort. It was also likely that she was not expecting to see Lotti this evening. And she’d hoped not to have this visit.
Death in the Dolomites: A Rick Montoya Italian Mystery Page 7
