Death in the Dolomites: A Rick Montoya Italian Mystery

by David P. Wagner

  “It could be better, Inspector.”

  ***

  “Let’s stand here in front of the store, Riccardo, where Bauer can see us.” Luca adjusted his hat, a ritual Rick noticed each time they emerged into the open air. “He doesn’t have much of an alibi. But the only motive I can think of is that he was annoyed with Taylor for being with Gina Cortese, which doesn’t seem very strong.”

  Rick shrugged as he pulled on his new purchases. “People have killed for less.” He held out one gloved hand, like a woman checking out her new manicure, then squeezed it into a fist before holding it up to his face to sniff the new leather. “Where to next?”

  The inspector checked his watch. “We should be just in time to catch Gina Cortese between her classes. They told me she would be up here.” He waved a finger toward the western side of the town.

  They crossed back over the street and took the sidewalk past shops and apartment entrances until they reached an alley that led up to a set of scuffed wooden steps. At their top an open expanse of snow spread out where three ski trails ended and a four-seat chairlift picked up the skiers to take them back up to the top.

  Among the kilometers of trails that cut through the forests on the three sides above Campiglio, the most difficult ones ended here. Thanks to a gentle final slope, one wide section at the end of the trails was filled with beginners, mostly children, taking their lessons. They were divided into small, chattering packs, each herded by an instructor. The kids had to learn to get up the hill before they could try to get down, so a short lift next to the line of trees served that purpose. Its cable had plastic discs dangling from the ends of poles that the operators patiently slipped between the legs of each small skier to take them up. Most kids mastered it immediately, riding the pole to the top before letting go, but along the way a few lost their balance and crumpled to the ground. They formed a line of wriggling snow-covered debris awaiting rescue.

  Wearing a headband and goggles, Gina Cortese was easy to pick out from among the various instructors. Her diminutive charges, five in total, lined up behind her as she skied diagonally in wide arcs, urging them to imitate her exaggerated moves. Rick and Luca waited at the bottom of the run, their civilian clothes contrasting with that of the skiers around them. Gina reached the bottom, gave some final instructions to her class, and pushed herself toward the two men who were starting to stamp their feet to keep warm. She had spotted them on the way down, which was easy to do.

  “You are waiting for me, I suppose?” She pushed her goggles to the top of her head.

  “That is correct, Signora Cortese,” Luca answered. “I had a couple more questions. You have the time now?”

  “I do. My next lesson doesn’t start for fifteen minutes. I imagine you want to ask me about Elio. He’s got to be one of the suspects in this.”

  She gave the policeman a probing look, awaiting an answer. Rick was trying to remember who this Elio was, and from the initial expression on his face, so was Luca, who then responded. “Ah, your ex-husband. You believe the mayor should be a suspect in this crime?”

  “If he’s not involved directly, he has to know who did it. He knows everything that goes on in Campiglio. Even before he became mayor he had his nose into everybody’s business.”

  “And what would be his motive?” asked Rick, wondering if she would mention her relationship with the dead man before her divorce from the mayor.

  “Hell, I don’t know. You’re the detectives, you can figure something out. Cam was a banker, perhaps Elio had some financial deal that didn’t work out. Nothing would surprise me.”

  Luca digested her comment. “Refresh my memory about last Saturday, Signora. You didn’t see Signor Taylor that morning, if I remember correctly?”

  Her expression tightened. “No. That’s my busiest day of classes. You can check the ski school calendar. They start at ten and I came here immediately after breakfast.”

  “You have breakfast at home?”

  “No, I always have it at Mitzi’s. It’s close to my morning lessons.” She lifted her ski pole and pointed.

  “Yes, we just came from there,” said Luca. “Did Mitzi herself serve you?”

  “I can’t remember. Sometimes it’s Mitzi, and sometimes Vittorio, her son. I don’t know which it was that day. No, wait, it was Vittorio. I remember now since he was talking with Bruno when I got there.”

  “Bruno Bauer?” said Rick.

  “Yes, his store is across the street. He told me the other night that you’d met.”

  “Yes, I know Bruno. In fact we just came from his store.”

  “You are covering the town well,” Gina said, sliding her skis forward and back. “First Mitzi, then Bruno. You don’t think that he could be involved, do you?” She looked at Luca.

  “We went to his store since Riccardo needed new gloves.” Backing up the inspector’s statement, Rick held up his hands and flexed the fingers.

  Gina leaned forward on her skis and stretched her back before turning to Rick. “Riccardo…It is Riccardo, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Riccardo, every time I meet you I become upset. First when you two told me about Cam’s disappearance. Then when you and Flavio saw me across the mountain. Even the other night, when I saw you with Cam’s sister, it reminded me of his death. It’s happening again. And now I have to worry about Bruno.” She pulled her goggles down, either in annoyance to show she wanted the interview to finish, or to hide tears behind the tinted plastic lenses.

  “Gina, I’m sorry it had to be this way. But I’m certain you want to find his murderer just as much as we do.”

  “Of course I do.” She stared at the snow while taking the grips of her poles and jumping lightly in preparation for departure, but then looked at Rick. “There was an avalanche yesterday in which two Americans were almost buried. That wouldn’t have been—”

  “Cat Taylor and me. How did you hear about it?”

  “This is a small town, Riccardo.” She pushed on her poles and slid away toward a group of instructors.

  ***

  Upon reaching the top of the wooden stairs, Rick stamped his feet to bang off the accumulated snow and restart circulation. His cowboy boots were warm, but they were not intended to be worn while standing in snow for long periods. Luca appeared less affected by their trek.

  “Well, Riccardo, what did you make of Signora Cortese on this occasion?” They stepped carefully down the stairs to the narrow street.

  “She has her alibis, but that’s nothing new. I was surprised when she mentioned seeing Bauer at Mitzi’s bakery the morning of Taylor’s disappearance.”

  Luca nodded as they walked. “He should have mentioned it himself. It confirms where he was at that time of the morning. She could be lying to protect him, but if she did, it wasn’t very smart since I can ask Mitzi’s son if he was there that morning.”

  “Unless Mitzi is in on it, and…” Rick waved his hand in front of his face as if he were clearing smoke. “No, never mind, that would make it all too complicated. My guess is that Bauer just forgot. And you noticed how she immediately tried to bring her ex-husband in as a suspect?”

  “I did. Out of spite rather than anything concrete, I would guess. She just wants to make things difficult for him.”

  Rick recalled the seemingly friendly manner between the ex-couple in the bar, but said nothing to Luca.

  They reached the main thoroughfare where workers were stringing a banner from light poles on opposite sides of the street. The few cars that were out at this time of day were stopped while ropes holding the canvas sign could be pulled taut and tied into place. Two men teetered at the tops of ladders while struggling with the ropes, and another man stood in the middle of the street directing them to slide it one way or another. When it was properly centered, the man on the ground gave a thumbs-up and waved on the cars.

>   “I didn’t know that Campiglio was on the World Cup ski circuit,” said Rick, reading the banner.

  “Nor did I. Is that something important?”

  “It’s the best skiers in the world. It says it will take place on the trails that finish where we were talking with Gina. I trust they won’t allow any children’s lessons in that area when the professionals are hitting the finish line.”

  “I wouldn’t think so.” He checked his watch. “I’m afraid we won’t find Signor Melograno in his office now. My sergeant called this morning and was told that the man had various appointments at properties around town. We could run into him, but I’ll try to catch him this afternoon. I may have more questions for him after talking to the garage and seeing his vehicle.”

  “All those blood stains in the trunk?”

  Luca looked sharply at Rick, and then his mouth formed a grin. “I keep forgetting your American sense of humor. Perhaps by the end of the week I will be used to it.”

  “At the end of the week I have to get back to Rome, Luca.”

  “Then we must solve this crime by then. But I am sensing a breakthrough. Perhaps it will come when I go to Pinzolo.”

  Rick wished he could be so optimistic. “I hope you’re right, Luca. Where are you off to now?”

  “I must return to the station for reports and to deal with my public prosecutor. It is not a part of the job that I prefer, but it must be done.”

  “I’ll see you at lunch at the hotel.”

  “Probably not, I will get something near the station. You will be skiing this afternoon again with the lovely Signora Taylor, my friend?”

  “That’s right. But right now I thought I might go by Grandi’s store. I have two nephews with birthdays coming up, and I saw some toys there. It won’t hurt to deal with the mayor on something other than crime.”

  “Very true, Riccardo.” He glanced at the sky, which was taking on a menacing gray tone. “Enjoy your skiing. And watch out for renegade snowmobiles.”

  ***

  Rick studied the display in the window of Grandi’s shop. In one corner an ornately carved presepio, complete with a thatched-roof manger, was surrounded by cows and sheep. Each figure, human and animal, had been painted in meticulous detail. The Montoya family nativity scene was from Naples, known for its religious carvings, but whoever carved this one could compete with the best of the Neapolitans. Rick pushed open the door and entered the shop, going from crisp cold air to the rich, warming smell of wood. The toy section was to the left, and he started walking to it when he heard the familiar deep voice of the mayor.

  “Signor Montoya. And where is your assistant?”

  Rick ignored Grandi’s attempt at humor. “Inspector Albani is working at the station. I am not here regarding the investigation, Signor Grandi, unless there’s something new which you need to pass to the inspector.”

  “No, no. I was hoping you brought some news. Can I help you find something?”

  “Birthday gifts for my two nephews in America. One turns nine, the other ten.”

  “That should be easy. We have a number of toys for that age group.” He led the way to the display of wooden cars and trucks. “We have these, or you might be interested in some kits, if they are into working with their hands.” He pointed at some boxes stacked on a side shelf. “Or, you could get the two of them one big toy and they could play with it together.” He noticed the frown on Rick’s face, and added: “I see. That might not work. Separate gifts would be better.”

  Rick picked up one of the wooden cars and turned it in his hand. It was a Fiat 500, the traditional model rather than the new one. “I am without a car at the moment, Mr. Mayor, since I’m living in the center of Rome, but I’m thinking of buying something for weekends outside the city.”

  Grandi looked at the model in Rick’s hand. “Un Cinquecento?”

  “No, something larger, for the mountains. I’d like to drive up into the Apennines to hike, as I did in America. Are you happy with your Land Rover? A friend of mine had one and said that the shift is a little bit stiff.”

  “It does take some getting used to, but I’m fine with it. It’s out in back, would you like to try it?”

  This was going better than Rick had hoped. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “None at all, my assistant can cover the shop.”

  Though he was wearing a thin sweater, Grandi didn’t bother to get a coat or hat, but given his size, he likely didn’t feel the cold. As they walked out the door of the shop it hit Rick that if the Land Rover was used to transport the body, the man would not be so quick to show it. Someone could have driven it without the mayor’s knowledge, but who would have an extra key? The Land Rover was parked just off the piazza in a space marked with the sign SINDACO. One of the perks of being mayor.

  “This does not look anything like my friend’s Land Rover,” Rick said as he eyed the shiny chrome and sleek design. “His was kind of boxy. But a much older model than this one, of course.”

  “This is three years old, ordered by my predecessor. He should have waited until after the election so I could make the decision. Want to get in?” He opened the driver’s side door.

  “Sure.” The interior was that of a luxury car, its dashboard futuristic, with a screen dominating the space between the front seats. Rick felt like he was sitting in a cockpit. He opened the door and climbed out. “Impressive. Lots of room in the back?”

  “You mean the trunk? That’s the best part.”

  Grandi walked behind and pulled a handle, causing half the rear panel to swing up while the other dropped down. Perfect for tailgating, was Rick’s first thought. Or transporting bodies. The back seats had been laid flat, and the entire space was covered with a thick, soft blanket.

  When he saw Rick studying the blanket, he said: “I often use it to transport my work,” then stepped up and slammed the rear doors shut with a thump.

  Rick thanked the mayor, made excuses about needing to return to the hotel, and promised to be back to pick out toys for his nephews. As he walked up the hill to the hotel, he thought about what he’d seen. The Land Rover, with four-wheel drive and snow tires, was perfect for transporting a body, no doubt about that. And Grandi was big enough to heave one in and out of it. If there had been any blood stains, the blanket covered them, but they could already have been cleaned anyway. However, the fact that the man had willingly shown off his vehicle should indicate that he had nothing to hide. Unless he merely wanted Rick to think he had nothing to hide. Bottom line: not much gained except to confirm that Grandi had the tools to pull off the murder. Add motive and lack of a good alibi, and the man continued to be a prime suspect. But how to prove it? The next logical step would be to get a warrant to search the Land Rover, though he wasn’t sure if Luca wanted the political heat that would inevitably come with such scrutiny of the mayor. Rick passed the narrow street that led to the church, and for a moment entertained the idea of dropping in to say a prayer for guidance. It couldn’t hurt. Instead, he continued up to the hotel.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Inspector Albani finished scanning the used car pages and put the copy of Quattroruote back on the table in front of him. Muller, he’d decided, subscribed to every Italian car magazine and wrote off the cost by sending the old issues to tables in his hotel lobbies. He checked his watch and looked around. This hotel, unlike the one in Campiglio, was all glass and metal, as modern as one could find in Italy. Curiously, the furniture looked like something out of an English drawing room: dark wood with large amounts of fringe and stuffing. Fortunately it was reasonably comfortable, given that he’d been waiting a long time for Muller to get out of his meeting. If indeed there was a meeting. He was about to reach for another car magazine when Muller appeared and walked quickly toward him. Once again, he was impeccably dressed. Luca started to get to his feet.

  “Please stay s
eated, Inspector. I’ll just sit over here.” He chose the chair across from the policeman that kept him at the same eye level, despite his diminutive stature. “You’ve come down to Pinzolo just to see me? Must be something important.”

  “Actually, Signor Muller, I have something else to deal with in this lovely town, but your wife told me this morning that you would be here, so I thought I would drop by. I was hoping there might be something else you could have remembered that might have a bearing on this case. Or the attack on Pittini.” He leaned forward and smiled broadly.

  Muller looked at the policeman like he’d been asked the question in a foreign language. “Inspector, I answered all your questions the last time we met, and I thought I’d convinced you that not only do I know nothing about his murder, I barely knew the man himself. Should you not be talking with people who might have had some motive to see Taylor dead?”

  Luca was going to bring up the point that Muller did indeed have a motive—to eliminate the funding source for his competitor in the purchase of the property. Instead he decided to follow the thread of the man’s question. “And which people would that be?”

  Muller took a few moments to answer. “I would imagine that Taylor’s private life is the issue, Inspector,” he said finally.

  “Are you referring to his relationship with Mayor Grandi’s former wife?”

  “If she was indeed former when—” Muller put one hand over his mouth and held up the other. “I should not make such speculation. How do they say in the court? ‘Strike that from the record?’ Yes, that’s it.”

  “So you think I should be talking to Grandi.”

  The shrug motion was shared by most of his small body. “Perhaps it would be better use of your time than talking with me. Or my wife.”

  It would be expected that Mitzi had called her husband to complain about being questioned, even if the questioners had bought coffee. “What about Pittini’s attacker? Any new insights on who that might be?”