Death in the Dolomites: A Rick Montoya Italian Mystery

by David P. Wagner

  “And he is a suspect in the stabbing of Pittini.”

  Luca rubbed his eyes. “Ah, yes, Pittini. The poor man is still unconscious. Though after talking more with the men here at the station, I’m more open to the possibility that it was some jilted boyfriend or husband. The man apparently was quite a bounder. Unless you were the intended victim, of course.”

  Rick was trying to decide if Luca was making the piccolo scherzo, when the policeman continued.

  “And when he realized he’d stabbed the wrong person, he went out and found himself a snowmobile.”

  “You aren’t joking, are you Luca?”

  “I wish I were, my American friend, but we have to consider that possibility.”

  “So I should be more careful.”

  Luca shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt. And now, Riccardo, who have we missed?”

  “If Muller is involved in some way, we must include his wife and son. At the very least they could have known about it. I can’t see Auntie Mitzi wielding a prosecco bottle or pushing the body from the gondola, but there may be some other way she was involved. The son, he could have done either or both. But it doesn’t make sense that Taylor would have been up there with young Vittorio, even if there was someone else along.”

  Luca tapped his pencil. “There is another possibility that we have not yet considered.”

  Rick perked up. He had started to become frustrated that the case was going nowhere, as well as feeling claustrophobic in the windowless room.

  “The man whose life you saved, Riccardo. He was, after all, on duty the night that the body was put on the gondola. He could have been somehow involved, and the knife attack was intended to keep him quiet.”

  “If it was, they succeeded.”

  “For the moment, at least. He could come back into consciousness at any time. So let’s think about that possibility as we continue. Let’s also focus on the vehicle that would have taken Taylor’s body from the field to the base of the gondola. I don’t want to try to ask for a search warrant from my prosecutor. She would want more evidence for the judge, but there may be ways to check the vehicles of our three main suspects by more informal means.”

  Rick smiled. “This could include me talking to Muller about his Jeep Cherokee?”

  “Well, he was proud of it, and pleased that you showed interest. You could ask to see it.”

  “Sure, I can do that. What about Melograno? His car’s in the shop.”

  “All businesses, including auto repair shops, need to be inspected from time to time by the authorities to protect consumers.”

  Rick grinned. “No doubt, Luca. But what about the mayor and his city Land Rover? You can’t really pull him over to check his license and registration.”

  “We’ll figure something out.”

  Rick got to his feet. “Let’s figure it out somewhere else, this room is starting to close in on me again.”

  “Of course, Riccardo. The sergeant has checked on where our various suspects will be this morning, so we can make our rounds accordingly.” He pushed his papers together in an attempt to create some semblance of order, but soon gave up. Instead he stood and picked up his jacket and hat from where they sat on another chair. “Why don’t we go get a coffee and plan our next move? We can go to Mitzi’s bakery and perhaps have something with the coffee.”

  “Fine with me, it’s been a while since breakfast.”

  Luca was slipping on his coat. “I missed you this morning at breakfast. You must have been up very early.”

  “It’s a habit.” Rick pulled on his leather jacket and picked up his hat.

  “Those raisin rolls they had were delicious, Riccardo, did you try them?”

  “I had a chocolate éclair.”

  “Really? I didn’t see any éclairs on the buffet table.”

  Rick opened the door for the inspector. “You just have to get up earlier, Luca.”

  ***

  They were passing the chocolate shop when the muffled sound of the Lobo fight song came from Rick’s pocket. He fumbled for a few seconds before fishing out his phone and checking the number. “Let me answer this, Luca, it shouldn’t take long.” The policeman gave him a “take your time” wave and strolled in the direction of the chocolate smell. Rick pressed a button and was about to give the usual greeting when the voice at the other end stopped him.

  “Are you being careful?”

  “Of course I am, Zio, why do you ask?” In fact Rick knew why: Luca’s reports had made their way to his uncle’s office in Rome.

  “I wasn’t concerned about the attack on the man. In fact I was pleased to see that your quick response may have saved his life. But this avalanche business, Riccardo, is something entirely different.”

  With his mother, Rick would have played down any danger, blamed it on a misunderstanding, assured her that there was nothing to be concerned about. He would not try that with his uncle, and not just because the professional policeman would have seen right through it. Their relationship since Rick’s move to Rome had been devoid of artifice, unique in a country where subtlety and nuance was the norm in human interaction.

  “Luca, I mean Inspector Albani, thought of the possibility that it was just a lost snowmobiler, but I know the guy was trying to get us. I could sense it. The only motive I can think of is that the murderer believes we are getting too close.”

  “So it was a warning. They know that both you and Albani are working on the case and they don’t think much of Albani. By getting rid of you, or scaring you off, the investigation is delayed or perhaps goes cold.”

  “I never thought of it that way, Zio. But if that’s the case, they’re underestimating Luca.”

  “From what I’ve heard about him, I would agree. A tad eccentric, perhaps, but highly competent. Are you getting close to finding who is responsible?”

  “Luca and I were just going over it. I think we’re closing in, but we can’t seem to get the break we need. I hope we get one soon.”

  “The longer it goes, the colder the trail becomes, and so I hope you do. Riccardo, I have to go. I’ll be anxious to hear all about it when you get back to Rome. I hope you’re taking notes.”

  “It’s all in my head, Zio. A presto.”

  “A presto, Riccardo. Fai bravo.”

  Rick closed his phone, glad that his uncle had finished by telling him to be good rather than to be careful. He looked around for Luca, and when he didn’t see him, started walking toward the chocolate shop. Halfway there Luca came out of its door, a small sack in his hands. When he saw Rick, he quickly slipped it into his coat pocket.

  “La bella Signora Taylor?”

  “No, it was Commissario Fontana. You must try to keep my name out of your reports.”

  “That is not easy to do, my American friend. You keep getting yourself involved.” He glanced up and tugged at the cap of his hat. It was not snowing, but the sky gave the impression it was going to try to sometime soon. “When you ski today, make a point of staying out of trouble. Then your uncle will have nothing to cause him any worry.”

  “I’ll do my best, Luca.”

  The morning group of pensioners was sitting in silence today. They watched intently as a yellow front loader, its cab marked with the seal of the town, moved slowly around one end of the piazza. It was equipped with a deep bucket that dug into the small mountain of snow before backing up and raising its load to a waiting truck. The vehicle beeped when it was put in reverse, but another man, perhaps the driver of the parked truck, stood by to keep pedestrians out of harm’s way. As Rick and Luca walked by the bench, the old men began to discuss how many runs it would take to get rid of the accumulated snow. Hands waved and voices raised, a clear indication that the snow removal was the most interesting event of recent days on the square.

  “They’ll be talking about that into next week,” said Luca as t
hey rounded the corner and started down Campiglio’s main shopping street, which was beginning to come to life. Some shopkeepers were removing the locks that held their protective saracinesche to the sidewalk and rolling them up and out of sight with a metallic crash. Others brushed the sidewalk in front of their stores. All studied the sky, as if it would give a clue as to how business would be on this day.

  Mitzi’s bakery had been open since before dawn for the workers who needed a shot of coffee and something sweet before heading to their posts on the mountain. One man stood at the bar dressed in the heavy blue overalls of the corporation that ran all the trails and lifts. He watched Rick and Luca approach the bar, looked around as if to check who might be listening, and turned his attention to Luca.

  “Are you the policeman?” The man’s stubbled beard matched his baggy eyes, and his words had the guttural accent of the mountains.

  Luca was shaking the snow from his hat. “I think you know the answer, Signore. Everyone in Campiglio seems to know who I am. And who are you?”

  “I work with Guido Pittini. Have you discovered who stabbed him?” He kept his eyes on the inspector, as if Rick were invisible.

  “If we had, I’m sure the word would already be around town. Do you have any theories?”

  The man was about to speak when Mitzi came through the door behind the counter. He looked at her, gave Luca a hard stare, and threw down what was left in his cup. “No. No I don’t.” He walked quickly to the door and was gone.

  “Buon giorno, Ispettore, Signor Montoya,” said Mitzi as they all watched the man disappear from view. “I see you met Rino.” She picked up the empty cup and placed it in the sink behind the counter.

  “We were having a nice chat, Signora Muller. How are you this morning?”

  “As well as can be expected with all the violence going on in Campiglio these days. But it doesn’t appear to be having a negative effect on business. And what can I get for you gentlemen?”

  “Cappuccino for me, please,” answered Rick.

  “Lo stesso, per favore. And while you’re making them, we’ll choose something to go with it.”

  While Rick and Luca perused the selection, Mitzi banged at the espresso machine. As was normal in bakeries, on top of the counter was a plastic case with a hinged front, allowing clients to get their own pastries. This one had a small heating element, so that each pastry felt like it had just come out of the oven. Rick took a paper napkin from the fanned stack next to it and immediately chose a chocolate-filled croissant. Luca took longer to decide, and perhaps thinking of the chocolates in his pocket, went with a plain brioche brushed with a thin, sugary glaze. When each took their first bite, Mitzi was bringing their cappuccini to saucers already in place. She placed a large sugar bowl between them and pushed its two spoon handles in their respective directions. After a sip of coffee, Rick was the first to speak.

  “This is excellent, Signora. I expect that you supply the pastries for your husband’s hotel?”

  She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. “I supply pastries, as well as bread, to several hotels and restaurants in Campiglio. It is the largest part of the business. My son is out delivering bread now.” She crossed her arms across her ample chest and looked from one man to the other. “Do you really suspect my husband in this investigation?”

  Luca choked slightly on his brioche but quickly regained his voice. “We are questioning everyone who could have had any connection with the murdered man, Signora. That is normal procedure in these cases.”

  “And you won’t tell me who is suspect and who is not.”

  As she spoke, Rick studied her round face and decided there was more to Auntie Mitzi than her motherly smile and almond cookies. Perhaps she could be an effective mayor if she managed to beat Grandi, though if Flavio were to be believed, her victory was unlikely. “You know this town as well as anyone, Signora. Where do you think the inspector should be concentrating his efforts?”

  She turned on the water in the small metal sink and began rinsing out the cups that were stacked there. “I am the wrong person to ask, Signor Montoya. As you know, I am a candidate for mayor, so I don’t want to alienate any voters by giving their names to the police.”

  Rick could spot a clever answer when he heard one. Any attempt to assure her that whatever she said would be held in confidence was laughable in a town this size. Apparently Luca thought the same; there was no more talk of the murder as they finished their coffee. Rick insisted on paying and Luca did not protest. As she handed him his change, Mitzi thanked them and said: “If you’re planning to talk to my husband again, you won’t find him at the hotel today. He’s in Pinzolo at the Hotel Miramonte. He owns it too.”

  Luca thanked her and glanced at Rick who was staring at the rows of cakes behind the glass. “Do you want to get something for your afternoon snack, Riccardo?”

  “No, no, Luca. I was just…” He looked up at Mitzi’s wooden smile. “Thank you, Signora. We will get some of your famous cookies on a future visit.”

  “Don’t wait too long in the day, Signor Montoya, they sell out early.”

  He thanked her for the advice and they went from the enveloping warmth of the bakery to the crisp air of the street, buttoning their coats and adjusting their hats as they stood on the sidewalk.

  “So, Riccardo, it appears that Signor Muller is in Pinzolo. Would you like to join me there this afternoon? You can talk to him about his car while I go to the mechanic to check on Melograno’s car.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t, Luca. I promised Cat I would take her skiing. But I promise to go see Muller this evening. And that way it won’t appear connected to the investigation; I can show up at his hotel because I’m interested in his Jeep, and that’s all.”

  “That’s true. It won’t be as contrived.”

  They checked the traffic in both directions, like school kids, before crossing the street to Bruno’s store. According to the hours posted on the door, it had just opened, but there was one customer there already, a man trying on ski boots. He was being fitted by a woman who watched as the man clomped around the rug. Bruno stood at the cash register watching, but looked up when Rick and Luca came through the door. His expression stiffened, but quickly took on a rigid smile accompanied by a nod to Rick. If he’d wanted to hide, there was nowhere to go. He came out from behind the counter and shook hands with Rick. Luca had wandered to the sale table where he had previously found his beloved hat.

  “Salve, Bruno.”

  “Ciao, Riccardo, come stai?”

  “I’m well, thanks. I need some gloves.”

  Bauer looked relieved. “For skiing?”

  “No, just a warm pair for walking around town. Maybe lined leather.”

  “Of course. I have—” He watched Luca fingering items on the sale table next to the shelf where gloves were on display.

  “That’s my friend Luca Albani,” said Rick. “You sold him that hat a few days ago.”

  “Yes, of course. We sell a lot of hats, but I remember him. The policeman, correct?” He rubbed his goatee with the back of his hand.

  “That’s right, up from Trento investigating Cam Taylor’s death.”

  The whole hand now massaged the goatee. “And Caterina, she is doing better after the tragedy? She seemed to be recovering when I saw her with you in the bar.”

  “She’s coming along. I didn’t know that you and Gina were seeing each other.”

  “You know Gina?”

  “She didn’t mention to you that we’d met?”

  “Perhaps she did. Let me show you some gloves.”

  Bruno led the way to the gloves section where Luca was waiting with a pleasant smile and an outstretched hand. “Signor Bauer, I must thank you again for this hat. It is both warm and stylish.” Bruno shook his hand and mumbled a response. “But please don’t let me keep you from showing Riccardo some gloves.
He’s been walking around for days with his hands in his pockets.”

  It didn’t take Rick long to find a pair in a color that somewhat matched the stained patina of his leather jacket. Bruno had moved behind the counter, snipping off the price tag, when Luca approached. “You’re open every day in the winter, Signor Bauer?”

  “Except for Monday mornings, Inspector. The ski season is when we make most of our money.”

  “I can understand that. You must take in considerably more outfitting skiers in the winter than hikers in the summer. And you are here all the time?”

  “Most of the time.” He handed the gloves to Rick. “I take an occasional break to ski, but I usually put in a ten-hour day.”

  “Weekends too? For example, last Saturday?”

  Bauer took a deep breath, as if trying to remember. “The days tend to run together when you work all of them.”

  “I’m sure they do. That was the day Signor Taylor disappeared.”

  He tried to make his shrug appear casual. “I think I came in at the usual time, about nine, and was here until we closed. I left in the late afternoon for a while since I hadn’t had lunch.”

  Rick silently watched the exchange, noting how Luca had shifted smoothly from innocent inquiries into what could only be described as an informal interrogation. Bauer knew what was going on, but seemed determined not to acknowledge it.

  “A sandwich at a bar?”

  “No, I went home. It is just a few blocks from here.”

  “Did you see Signor Taylor that morning, by any chance? He lived just across the street.”

  “No, I never saw him mornings.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  Again Bauer paused to think. “It must have been when he came in last week with his sister to rent her skis. I don’t remember what day it was, but I can look it up if you wish.”

  “Don’t bother, we can ask Signora Taylor.” Luca looked around the store, which remained empty except for the one man, still clomping about, but now on his third pair of ski boots. “Riccardo, we should let Signor Bauer get back to his clients. Is business good, Signor Bauer?”