Rick turned his head and noticed that an extra place had been set at Lori’s table. “I see what you mean.” He poured more wine into their glasses. “I’m not sure if he would approve of our choice of wine, so it’s just as well.”
“The wine is more than adequate, Riccardo. And now that this wonderful primo is taking the edge off our appetite, we can return to the business at hand. Let me begin with what I learned at the station. The blood in the field is confirmed as that of our victim, so it is virtually certain that he was killed there. This brings in the question of how the body was transported from the murder scene to the gondola base. Concerning the autopsy, the only new information from it regards the murder weapon.”
Rick glanced up from his broth, spoon in hand. “You know what the weapon was?”
“Not precisely, but the forensics people are almost sure it was a bottle. The wound was smooth, and there were specks of paint.” He noticed Rick’s frown. “I know, paint on a bottle doesn’t sound right, but they seemed to be convinced. And there was something else. Grooves, or at least some kind of wavy pattern in the glass of the bottle, made a distinct impression on the skull.”
“A bottle with grooves?”
“I have some men going over what was picked up in the field and along the road, when we first searched the area. The bottle could have been tossed away by the murderer as he drove from the field.”
“It could have been something Flavio sells. Here he comes, we’ll ask him.”
Flavio walked toward them, dressed in jeans and a sweater, waving off the waitress. “Lori went up to change. I’ll, uh, be having lunch with her.” He sat down in his chair and squinted at the bottle.
“Don’t say anything about our choice of wine,” said Rick. “Luca has some serious questions for you regarding the investigation.”
Flavio turned the wine bottle so that the label was facing away from him before giving Luca his full attention. “How can I help?” He listened to the explanation of the autopsy report and snapped his fingers. “That’s easy. It’s a prosecco bottled and marketed for the holidays. People pay extra for the same wine when it comes in a fancy bottle with grooves and painted decoration.”
“Isn’t there a parable in the Bible about new wine in old bottles?”
“There is, Luca, but it doesn’t apply here. I can give you a list of wineries that produce holiday prosecco, but I’m not sure it will help much. It’s sold everywhere, and wine shops don’t keep track of who buys which bottles. A whole case, maybe, but a single bottle, there’s no way to trace it.”
“What kind of person would buy one of these bottles?” asked Rick.
“Could be anyone. Come the holidays, even people on a tight budget tend to buy a nice bottle or two of wine. It’s the best season of the year for my business.”
Luca finished the last of his dumplings. “Well, I can at least have the sergeant check the wine stores in town to find out if anyone bought any in large quantities.”
“This hotel bought a case from me, if I remember right. In fact…” He got up from his chair and walked out of the dining room, allowing Luca and Rick to finish their broth. He returned with a bottle and placed it on the table with a flourish. “Exhibit A, the only one left after capo d’anno. There are other wineries that do the holiday bottles, but this is the one we sell.”
More pear-shaped than straight, the bottle was made of dark green glass with surface grooves wound around the widest part to the base. The glass was thicker than in normal bottles, adding to the weight. The decoration, holly and Christmas balls, looked like they had been painted by hand.
“Very fancy,” Rick said, running his fingers over the bottle. “I can see why these would sell well at holiday time.”
“And it’s a very good prosecco.”
“We would expect nothing less, if you are distributing it, Flavio.”
Luca tapped on the table next to the bottle, thinking. “A bottle is not the kind of weapon someone would normally bring to a crime scene if he intends to commit murder. Unless there is some strange statement that our criminal wants to make, it is more likely that the bottle was a weapon of opportunity.”
“But,” said Rick, “there had to have been a reason to bring the bottle there in the first place. And it had to have been the murderer, since Taylor was heading out to ski and not likely to be carrying a bottle of prosecco. So it was to celebrate something, or at least to give Taylor the impression they were driving up there to celebrate. So two possibilities: They were there because of the land or it was just a coincidence that the murderer and victim were on that plot of land.” He looked at the faces of the other two men. “I can see that you agree with me that it’s not a coincidence.” He paused while the waitress cleared their soup bowls and replaced them with clean plates. “That would point to Melograno, since Taylor was dealing with him on the loan.”
Luca repositioned the plate in front of him. “There were other people who knew about the loan. They could have gotten Taylor up there on some other pretense, to make it look like Melograno did it. How about Lotti from across the hall? The sister could have told him.”
“The sister could have told anybody,” said Flavio.
“Exactly,” answered Luca. “And then there’s Muller. He met Taylor once at his hotel, he admitted that. He may have had more contact with the man than he claims.”
Rick shook his head. “But why would Muller be in that field with Taylor and a bottle of prosecco?”
“My American friend, Taylor was the key to Melograno getting the land. But the other side of the same coin is that Taylor was the key to Melograno not getting the land.”
“I need to think about that one a bit, Luca.”
“And the arrival of our secondo gives you that opportunity.” The waitress was approaching the table with a serving platter in one hand, spoon and fork in the other. “Flavio, your lady friend has appeared.”
Flavio’s head turned to see Lori wave before sitting down at her table. He waved back. “Got to go. But you’ll find this interesting, Riccardo. Lori called the consulate as we were going out and told them to put down the morning as vacation on her time card since she wasn’t helping Cat. Can you believe that?”
“Yes I can. What is surprising is that you find such honesty remarkable. But I suppose you are still smarting from the employee who embezzled your money. By the way, you didn’t tell us how you spent the morning.” He glanced at Luca who, as expected, was enjoying another exchange between the two friends.
Flavio got to his feet. “Skating.”
“Did you say skating? Ice skating?”
“Yes, Riccardo. Lori wanted to skate.”
“Did she wear one of those little skirts?”
“I’ll see you two tonight.” He turned and walked across the room to Lori’s table.
The main course was stracotto di manzo, pot roast, with mashed potatoes. The waitress deftly transferred the meat slices to their plates, using the fork and spoon as if they were attached to each other like tongs. It was the perfect secondo to follow what had been a tasty but rather light primo, with enough thick, dark, sugo from the meat to drizzle over the mashed potatoes. As with any good stracotto, only a fork was needed to cut it.
“What you were saying, Luca, if I understand correctly, is that by eliminating Taylor, Muller eliminates Melograno’s way to finance the sale.” Rick put a piece of beef in his mouth. “But why would Taylor have gone up there with Muller?”
“To seal the deal with a bottle of bubbly. There would have been something in it for Taylor.”
“Taylor was being bribed by Muller? But he was such a straight arrow in his business ethics.”
The policeman sipped his wine and flashed a wry smile. “That’s according to his sister. There may have been a darker side to our Signor Taylor that his sister was unaware of, or didn’t want to admit. If you were
completely Italian, instead of half, that would have occurred to you.”
Rick put some mashed potatoes on his fork and ignored the jab. “Am I mistaken, Luca, or have we narrowed the field of suspects in this murder down to two?” Rick noticed that, without realizing it, he had said “we” instead of “you.” Luca did not appear concerned by it.
“Well, two primary suspects because of possible motives and their connection to the crime scene. There could be others, such as Lotti or Grandi, and the main suspects could have been helped by someone else, like the electrician, or the mayor. In fact, since there were two key parts of this crime, the murder itself and later dropping the body from the gondola, and everyone has an alibi for one or the other, or neither, it appears very possible that there was an accomplice. The body could well have been handed off to someone.” He took a piece of bread to get some stray meat sauce. “Which returns us to the issue of transporting the body. Everyone has a vehicle that could have done it: Muller has his Grand Cherokee, the mayor his city-provided Land Rover, even Gina Cortese, the ski instructor, has a small SUV, the sergeant told me.”
“And Lotti has his car with snow chains and almost certainly a trunk large enough to hold a body. All but Melograno, whose Mercedes is in the shop.”
“Which is something I have to check on tomorrow.”
“What’s on your schedule for the afternoon?”
Luca had left a small clump of mashed potatoes on his plate, perhaps so he could tell his wife that he was not overeating. “I have to talk with the public prosecutor, and another reporter has appeared to dig into the story. And I’m going to interview some of Pittini’s co-workers to see if they can tell me anything about who could have attacked him.”
“That’s right, Pittini. I’d almost forgotten about him.”
“He shouldn’t forget you, Riccardo. I spoke with the doctor who said your first aid on the scene likely kept him from losing a dangerous amount of blood.”
“What did the doctor say about his condition?”
“No change on the concussion. But the knife wound is healing well.”
Rick felt himself shiver. Not since the attack had they discussed the possibility that he was the intended target of the attacker. And he didn’t want to bring it up now.
“And you are heading for the mountain after lunch?”
“I am. Cat wanted to ski, to get her mind off things.”
“That’s very noble of you, Riccardo.” He looked out over the porch that ran outside the window of the dining room. The sun glistened off the snow. “It appears to be a fine afternoon to take to the ski trails.”
Chapter Eleven
Gazing down, Rick came to the conclusion that afternoon skiers were more languid and reflective than those who took to the trails in the morning. Fatigue played a part, as did the effects of food and wine at midday, but there was something about the afternoon which invited the skier to take in the experience as a whole and not think only of the joy of speed. Perhaps the angle of the sun caused it, or a shift in the wind direction. Whatever it was, skiers paused more frequently to enjoy the scenery, stopped more frequently to talk. Reaching the bottom was something faced with reluctance, even when there was time to return to the top.
He and Cat were floating inside one of the egg-shaped cabine that ran high above the clumps of skiers. It had passed through a wooded area as it steadily climbed, eventually bursting into the open spaces of the glacier where the cable slowed for an intermediate stop. This would be their last run, and they stayed on, as did the skiers who occupied two of the other four places in the cabina: teenage girls who stared silently through the windows while listening to music through ear buds.
“Can you make out what they’re listening to?”
Rick shook his head. “Could be rap, could be Rossini. All I hear is a faint crackle.”
“Do they have Italian rap groups?”
“I’m afraid so.”
They faced each other, knees and boot tips touching, ski poles leaning against the empty middle seats. Cat wore the same outfit Rick had seen in the picture with her brother: a one-piece blue suit with white boots and a matching knit hat. Her blond hair poked from the sides and back of the hat. She had turned out to be a competent skier, as Rick had expected after her mention of family vacations in Vail. Fortunately for Rick’s ego he was more competent, thanks to college outings to the less elegant slopes of the southern Rockies. His ski apparel was more appropriate to Sandia Peak, New Mexico, than Vail, Colorado—a pair of heavy rain pants pulled over blue jeans, and a red parka which he still clung to from his college days. The outfit had served to keep him warm thus far on Campiglio’s trails, especially on this afternoon when the sun was unencumbered by clouds. Just before they began their first run, Cat had pulled a small tube from her pocket and spread sun cream on his nose and cheeks.
“You’ve been sweet to take care of me, Rick.”
He lowered his eyes and touched his hand to his forehead. “It is my duty to help damsels in distress, Ma’am.”
She giggled. “Stop that. I mean it. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“I enjoy being with you, Cat. Let’s leave it at that. And I’m glad you picked me instead of your neighbor to unburden yourself.” He wasn’t sure how that comment would be taken.
“Daniele? Oh, please. He’s a nice enough person, I suppose. But…”
Something better came along. He knew girls who did that kind of thing in high school, but ran into fewer of them now that he was in his thirties. He should give her the benefit of the doubt, in a stressful time she needed someone from her country, not just a guy who spoke her language. It’s how his mother would have explained Cat’s behavior, and Mamma knew a thing or two about finding herself in a strange country.
“Have you talked to him lately?”
She took off a glove and retrieved a strand of hair that had escaped from her cap. “He came to my door this morning and we talked. Wanted to know if he could help, and I told him that Lori was taking care of my needs. And I have to admit that Lori’s been very helpful. There are things about the Italian authorities that I would never have known about, let alone been able to deal with. Daniele didn’t know that the consulate had sent someone. He was impressed.”
The cabina was starting to slow as it neared the end of the line. They went from light to shadow as it slid through the opening in the cement building that housed the gears and pulleys as well as a small snack bar. When they were shunted off to a slower cable the doors slid open automatically. As they had practiced on earlier runs, Cat grabbed their poles and stepped out first, followed by Rick who then pulled their skis from tubes on the outside of the door. When they reached the snow and sunshine, Rick dropped the skis in four parallel lines and Cat stuck the poles next to them. She smiled at him before adjusting her goggles.
“We make a good team, Rick.”
“Easy for you to say, Cat. I had to carry two pairs of heavy skis.”
She laughed and stepped into her bindings. “This will be the final run, let’s make it last.”
“I agree.” He snapped into his skis and they both adjusted their wrist straps. Neither appeared ready to push off, they stood leaning on their poles watching skiers on either side of them start the descent. They also took in the view. They were at the highest point of Campiglio’s system of interconnected trails, the saddle between two jagged peaks. Ahead in the distance was La Presanella, an isolated set of mountains under a snowcap year round. Behind them was Monte Corona and other smaller crests in the Gruppo Brenta. To the east, far out of sight, the terrain opened for the Adige River that had started near the Austrian border. It flowed past Trento and through Verona before veering left to make its own way to the Adriatic rather than losing its water and name to the mighty Po.
Cat finally pushed off, slowly sliding from the shelf where they had stood. Rick watc
hed her make a first turn before following in her tracks while keeping his eyes on her back. Even in the bulky ski suit, the shape of her body was evident. He stayed behind her for a few more turns before moving next to her, and together they crisscrossed the slope until reaching the bottom of the run where other skiers were getting on a chairlift for the return to the top. It was the spot where he and Flavio had met Gina Cortese two days earlier, but he didn’t mention this to Cat.
After a few days of skiing with Flavio, Rick was familiar with the trails, so he led the way as they continued down. They glided between the trees, though the trail was still broad enough for easy, wide turns. Most of the skiers had stayed on the higher runs which still caught the afternoon sun, so they had the trail almost to themselves.
They came over a hill and descended into a small valley where a four-seat chairlift raised them to the side of the mountain that descended into Campiglio. As Rick remembered, there were a few steep drops before the trails between the trees widened and smoothed out, and he pointed the way for Cat. It was on the second drop that Cat’s ski stubbed on a mogul and she tumbled for about twenty meters before coming to a stop. Fortunately, Rick was behind her, and he was able to stop to pick up the loose ski before pulling up next to her. She was brushing snow from her goggles when he came to a stop.
“You okay?”
“Fine, nothing broken.” She massaged the thigh on one of her legs. “Everyone has to fall once in an afternoon, don’t they?”
He pulled her to her feet and dropped the ski next to her. “At least once. You’re not testing yourself unless you take a few tumbles. You have to push the envelope.”
She stamped open the binding of the rogue ski and then stepped into it. “I wasn’t pushing anything, Rick, I just fell.”
“Mogul mugging. It happens all the time, Cat. But take it easy the rest of the way, you may have twisted something.”
She took his words to heart, bending less and making wider and slower turns. Rick hung protectively behind her in case she fell again, but she stayed on her feet and he decided she’d been unaffected by the tumble. Even so, when they reached a fork in the trail, and stopped for a rest, he recommended they go for the easier final descent.
Death in the Dolomites: A Rick Montoya Italian Mystery Page 17
