Death in the Dolomites (23 page)

Rick recognized the number. “Luca, I'm very glad you called.”

“Where are you, Riccardo? I'm here at Melograno's office and didn't find either of you.”

Rick quickly explained what had happened.

“I'll be there as soon as I can,” Luca said. “Be careful.”

Rick slipped the phone back into his coat and got out of the car. Melograno glared at him through hollow eyes. Rick was not smiling either. He now found himself in the middle of a deserted field with a man who could be involved in a crime. Bruno had, by his attempt on Rick's life, revealed himself as the murderer, but Melograno had to be involved. And having Grandi present, did that help or did it make it worse? There could be three men involved, and two of them were here in the snow with him. He hoped Luca would hurry.

“As I was saying, Umberto, Signor Montoya was looking for you, but I remembered you saying you were coming up here, so I gave him a ride.” Grandi looked at the heavy paper Melograno was now rolling up. “Plans for the building?”

Melograno's eyes darted from one man to the other, but eventually rested on Rick. “Yes, the plans. This will finally be built. Nothing will stop it now.”

“Your loan request has been approved, Signor Melograno?”

“What difference does it make to you?”

“It could have some bearing on the investigation.”

“Investigation?” He spit the word out. “If it hadn't been for you,
Mister
Montoya, there would be no investigation. That buffoon from Trento could not investigate his way out of his own bathroom.”

“Umberto,” said Grandi in an overly soothing voice, “Signor Montoya has been doing his best to help.”

Melograno slammed the roll down on the hood of the Toyota, causing snow to fly into the air and get picked up by the gusting wind. “Signor Montoya has been nothing but trouble. And he continues to be trouble.” He walked to the rear door of the Toyota, opened it, and pulled out a long object from the seat. Rick took in a quick breath, but let it out slowly when he saw that it was a cardboard tube. Melograno pushed the rolled paper into the tube and tossed it on the seat. He left the door open and walked back to the front of the car, still staring at Rick, who was now positioned between the two men.

“Are you going to continue meddling, Montoya?”

Rick had to stall for time. He wasn't sure how this scene was going to play out, but wanted to have Luca there when it did. Better to keep the man talking. “I'm sure you want this crime solved as much as anyone, Signor Melograno. After all, Taylor was the person who got you the loan. You owe it to him.”

The man's head turned slightly to one side but his eyes stayed on Rick. “So you know that the loan was approved.”

“Well, I thought—”

“You see, Elio? He has been pushing his nose into my business.” The mayor listened in silence “What kind of a town is Campiglio when some foreigner can snoop into the private affairs of one of its most prominent citizens? And one of your strongest supporters, Elio. Who knows what this so-called investigation could turn up?”

Rick looked at the mayor, whose face showed annoyance but also confusion. Was Grandi wondering which side to take?

Rick asked, “Does Mayor Grandi know what Taylor discovered when he was researching your loan, Signor Melograno?”

Grandi kept his perplexed look, but Melograno's face turned to rage.

“I knew it. I was right not to trust you Americans. Taylor told everything to his sister and now she has told you. Just as I feared.” The wind whipped his unkempt hair as he backed up to the open door and reached inside. “You will not stop me now. And Elio does not want to risk his office because of the lies turned up by some nosy investigator.”

“Umberto,” said Grandi, his voice almost drowned out by the wind. “What does this mean?”

“It means, my friend, that I will have to finish what Bruno could not.” He ducked into the backseat again, but this time his hands did not grasp a mailing tube. Instead he held a long, double-barreled shotgun, which he pointed directly at Rick's chest. Rick's eyes ran down the barrel to the top of the wooden stock as his mind flashed back to the three pheasants mounted in Melograno's office. “A lovely firearm, is it not, Signor Montoya? Its stock was lovingly carved and finished by our mayor here, a true artist in wood. I enjoy showing it to people, as Elio knows.”

Rick kept his focus on the shotgun, but he could hear the mayor moving at his side.

“Unfortunately,” Melograno continued, “it has a tendency to fire by accident. Elio will be able to confirm that too, should it happen now when I am showing it to you. Isn't that right, Elio?”

He glanced at Grandi while Rick's eyes darted between the gun and the man's face. Suddenly Melograno's eyes widened. As Rick's head turned instinctively toward the mayor, a large dark object flashed through the falling snow.

The wooden bear caught Melograno above the right eye with a sickening thud. The blow caused him to drop the shotgun, which disappeared into the snow with a dry thump. In an instant Rick was on his knees, pulling it from the white powder. He looked up to see the huge reeling body of Melograno, his face slowly changing from disbelief to anger. Rick didn't hesitate. He shoved the muzzle of the gun into the man's gut, getting the hoped-for effect. Melograno was doubled over in pain when the carved wooden stock crashed over the back of his head. His expression froze and he crumpled face-first into the snow.

Grandi crunched his way to the body. He stared down at the head wound, its dark blood mixing with the white snow starting to cover it. “Why didn't you shoot him? He was ready to kill you.”

“I don't know much about shotguns. I could have hit one of us by accident.” Rick noticed for the first time that his breath was forming small clouds of vapor before disappearing into the wind. He took his eyes off the man on the ground and looked at Grandi. “Melograno seemed quite sure you were going to back him when he aimed the gun at me.”

The mayor took a heavy breath and let it out slowly. “Any politician needs supporters, Signor Montoya. Usually support comes with some strings attached, that's part of politics anywhere, including America.” He kept his eyes on the body of Melograno. “But I would not go that far.”

So, Rick thought, you're a sleazy politician, but just not that sleazy. Thank goodness for that. For the first time he loosened his grip on the shotgun. “And where did you learn such accuracy, Signor Sindaco? You were right on target with that bear.”

“Years ago there was an ice football league in the region, if you can believe that. I played for the Campiglio team. Quarterback.”

“You still have one hell of an arm.”

Two police cars plowed to a stop behind them.

***

“So we both came to the same conclusion, but using slightly different evidence, am I right, Riccardo?”

Rick and Luca sat at opposite ends of the long table in the meeting room that had been the policeman's temporary office since arriving in Campiglio. Luca was again in his shirtsleeves, and had loosened his tie. A pencil turned in the fingers of one of his hands, but his eyes were on Rick.

“That appears to be the case, Luca.” He leaned forward and tried to rub the fatigue from his eyes. “You heard from his employee that Melograno had put one of the choice apartments in the building back on the market and concluded that it had been held for Taylor. You decided that the bank would not have allowed Taylor to have a personal interest in the loan, so something must be amiss.”

“Exactly. He was getting the apartment at a lower price, in exchange for approving the loan.”

“And now that Taylor was dead, he could sell it at full price.”

The policeman shuffled his papers and held up a page from the local newspaper. “Which would be about a quarter million euros.”

“Lots of money, but it wouldn't make sense, because if there was a bribe to get the loan, it would have been paid before the loan went through. I don't know much about bribes, but I would assume they are taken up front, not on a promise to pay later”

“Especially when dealing with someone like Melograno.”

“Exactly, Luca. There may have been a bribe earlier in the process, to get the loan, but if a free or cut-rate apartment for Taylor was in the works, there had to be something else.”

“Blackmail.”

“Exactly. I think when my banker friend looks deeper into the loan file, we'll find that the investigator who checked on Melograno found something critical in the man's background. Serious enough that if made public would have been devastating.”

“He said as much before he pulled the gun on you in the field.”

“Yes he did.” Rick leaned back in the chair. “So with Taylor dead, Melograno thinks the blackmail information cannot be exposed. And as a bonus, he can make more money from the sale of Taylor's apartment.”

Luca nodded. “Melograno lures Taylor up to the field in Bauer's vehicle to celebrate the deal and bludgeons him to death with a bottle of prosecco. Then he puts the body in the trunk and gets Bauer, who owed him money, to dispose of it.” The pencil had moved to his writing hand and he used it to circle the real estate ad in the newspaper. “It might have worked if those kids hadn't strayed off the trails. The body could have been there for years.”

Rick rubbed the back of his neck, fatigue setting in. “But then Melograno started to wonder if anyone else knew his secrets, and he logically thought of Cat, and by extension me.”

“So the avalanche could well have been meant for both of you.”

Rick preferred not to think about that.

“So you're done, Luca.”

The inspector spread his hands over the papers and files. “Not quite. I have to tie all this up for the public prosecutor.” He looked across at Rick. “And we can't forget the attack on Pittini. Which could really have been intended for you.”

“Don't start that again, Luca.”

“I can't rule it out. It was likely Bauer driving the snowmobile. He very well could have been after you that night as well.”

“If so, he's not a very good assassin with three unsuccessful tries. It's no wonder Melograno opted to take things into his own hands.” Rick got to his feet and his eyes moved around the room. “But let's try to solve the stabbing somewhere else, preferably where I can get a coffee.” He picked up his coat. “They really have to put a window in this room.”

Chapter Fourteen

As the glass door closed behind them, Rick and Luca removed their hats and shook off the snow which had accumulated during the walk from the station. Rick slipped off his gloves and brushed his shoulders where the snow was already melting in the warmth of the bakery. Mitzi burst through the door behind the counter, rubbing her hands on her apron.

“Ah, Inspector Albani. And Signor Montoya. You have had a busy day. What can I get for you?” Her smile was more than normal for welcoming a customer into her shop.

“Word gets around quickly, Signora,” Luca said. “A coffee for me, please. Riccardo?”

Rick nodded that he'd have the same. He moved slowly along the glass of the display case, admiring the cakes, cookies, and pastries. The glass shelves were full, and especially colorful, perhaps in preparation for the weekend visitors who would start arriving early the following afternoon.

“Shall we get something to go with the coffee, Riccardo? Perhaps some of Signora Muller's famous almond cookies.”

Rick continued to study the gleaming case before looking up. “Huh? Oh, yes, the almond cookies. Absolutely.”

Mitzi interrupted her coffee-making to pull a small plate from a stack against the wall, centering a paper napkin on it. As the two men watched, she used plastic tongs to transfer four cookies from their stack under the glass to the plate, then placed it on the counter between the two men. From her face, they knew she was dying to say something, and she finally succumbed.

“Umberto Melograno is not a nice man, but we didn't expect this.”

Rick had never studied German, but could recognize
schadenfreude
when he heard it.

He took a bite of one of the cookies and decided that Flavio was right in singing their praises. Would they get stale on the train if he decided to take some back to Rome? He turned his thoughts back to Campiglio. “Are you planning to turn the business over to your son if you win the election, Signora?”

She was taken aback by the question. So was Luca, who looked at the woman's face as they waited for a reply. “Well, I hadn't really thought of it. Most people haven't given me much of a chance to win. But now, with…” She stopped in mid sentence before beginning again. “Vittorio has taken very well to working here, and in the long run I would love for him to take over. His baking skills are more than I could have hoped for with any employee. And I know he's changed.” The last comment was directed at the policeman, a clear reference to the boy's earlier brushes with the authorities. “And Vittorio has returned to the faith, I'm proud to say. He goes to the church every day at this time.” She pointed to the clock on the wall, as if to prove the boy's piety.

Rick took a second cookie and drained his coffee cup.

***

The door opened silently and Rick slipped inside, crossing himself as he surveyed the cold interior. It was larger than a typical country chapel but still consisted of one main room with a semi-circular apse extended at the far end. The side walls wore a chalky white, except for a few places where the paint had been removed to reveal fragments of old decoration. Rick's eyes were drawn to the apse. Two pairs of stone columns flanked its opening, likely recycled from some ancient Roman building. Despite the dim lighting, the colorful figures on the ribbed ceiling of the apse, perhaps recently restored, showed a vibrancy that contrasted with the drabness of the rest of the church. That was the idea, to have the worshippers kneel in awe at the sight of Christ looking down on them in all his majesty. Rick could make out other figures, saints for sure, likely including San Vigilio himself, who had given his name to the sanctuary. The only furniture in the church, besides the altar, were four rows of rustic wooden pews. In one of them sat Vittorio Muller, head bowed in prayer.

Rick's boots clicked softly on the stone floor. The seated man did not react to the sound, nor did he appear to notice when Rick slipped in next to him. His hands were clasped and he leaned forward, elbows on the back of the next pew. He kept his gaze on the row of robed figures above him, but his eyes were dull, almost lifeless. After they had been sitting together for almost two minutes, the young man slowly turned his head toward Rick.

“You're the American,” he finally said. “With the policeman.”

“Yes.”

Vittorio's tired eyes searched Rick's face, then he slowly nodded and returned his attention to the altar. After a slow sigh, he spoke. “You know, don't you?”

“Yes, Vittorio. And I understand why you did it.”

There was no attempt to wipe the tear that crept down his cheek. “Fiametta should not have died.” The voice was hoarse and firm. “I'll go, I knew I would have to eventually.” He turned around, understanding what was going on. Luca and a uniformed policeman stood in the back of the church, just inside the door. “Not here. It would not be right.” He stood, touched his chest to form a cross, and walked to the side door.

Rick turned back and held up a hand to Luca.

When he emerged into the graveyard, the scene was what Rick expected. Heavy snow had begun to cover the smaller headstones on the ground, and the wind was pushing gray drifts against the stone walls. Luca and the other policeman stood back patiently, collars turned up to protect themselves from the icy wind. They watched Vittorio, who knelt in the snow before the girl's grave, one hand touching the photograph on the stone slab before him. After moving his lips silently he rose to his feet, adjusted the plastic flowers in the metal vase, and walked slowly toward the policemen.

Rick began to follow him, but something made him stop and turn his eyes up toward the side of the church. The day was losing light, and the storm was gaining strength, but he could still see them. As they had done for centuries, and would be doing for centuries to come, the skeletons performed their dance of death.

***

Rick poked through the bread basket and found a piece of crusty
pane rustico
. “I thought that the encounter with Vittorio was going to take away my appetite, but I'm
affamato
. Though I can't stop feeling sorry for the kid.”

“So will a judge,” said Flavio. “I know Luca is obliged to tell us that people can't just go around stabbing other people, but if there ever was a justification for violence, Vittorio had it. Fiametta, the girl he loves, gets involved with a married man who then gets her pregnant, forces her into an abortion, and abandons her. What man would not want revenge?”

“He will, at the very most, get a minimum sentence,” Luca said. “I may not have the highest opinion of my public prosecutor, but she will look at all the aspects of this case.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “You are correct, Flavio, we police must frown on stabbing, no matter what the motive. But at least Vittorio had the right man, and it wasn't Riccardo.”

“One more attempt on Rick's life wouldn't matter. He's used to it by now.”

“If my mother finds out about all this, I
will
have to fear for my life.”

“Your uncle will not tell his sister, Riccardo?”

“Fortunately not, Luca.” He chewed on the bread without enthusiasm. “How did Bruno get caught up in this?”

“It was the store, Rick,” answered Flavio. “Melograno had lent him the money to do the renovations. But business was not good, as everyone in town knew. So my guess is he was having trouble paying off the loan. Umberto was in a perfect position to extract a big favor from the guy. He could have put Bruno out of business if he wanted.”

“We did notice that,” said Luca. “Not many customers in the place.” He saw Flavio looking toward Lori's empty table. “Flavio, your
consolesa
is not dining with you tonight? Is it because you prefer the company of Riccardo and me?”

Rick chuckled. “Hardly, Luca. She is having dinner with Signora Taylor. I invited Cat to join us here at the hotel, but she declined, said she needed to take care of some final details with Lori.”

“I don't get it,” said Flavio, shaking his head. “Cat Taylor looked for any excuse to avoid spending time with Lori, and now she chooses to have dinner with her.”

Luca swished his wine and leaned back in his chair. “Gentlemen, I am reminded of my Aunt Giulia.”

Rick and Flavio exchanged glances, and Flavio heaved a sigh.

“Giulia,” Luca went on, “is married to my mother's brother, and is the mother of my cousin Federico who is several years younger than I. They live in a small town about two hours south of Rome. I've only been there once. When Federico was growing up, at family events Aunt Giulia never wasted an opportunity to extol the pious virtues of her son. He was going to be a priest, and a smart one too. No doubt about it, he was destined for the priesthood and he would not be just some parish priest. Something in the curia, perhaps even a red hat someday. I remember Federico as being a quiet kid who sat in the corner by himself at family gatherings. I assumed he was pondering the life of saints or preparing future homilies. When he finished the
liceo
, he went off to seminary in Rome.”

Rick picked up the wine bottle and refreshed the other two glasses before filling his own.

“
Grazie
Riccardo.” Luca took a sip and continued. “Or so we thought he had.”

“I think I can see this coming,” Flavio said.

Luca held up a hand. “About that time, I was working on a case in the Borgo, near the Vatican, and was in a nightclub trying to track down a shady character. I didn't find the guy, but I did run into my cousin Federico. He was in there with a friend and their two female companions. Let's just say he wasn't trying to convert anyone that night.”

“That's a fascinating story, but—”

“The story isn't done, Riccardo. We met for coffee the next morning and he told me that he was glad I'd seen him at the nightclub. It had forced him to come to terms with himself, to stop living a lie. He had dropped out of the seminary and was studying accounting, which was his true calling. That weekend he would go home and tell his parents the truth.”

Luca drank some wine while Rick and Flavio watched, sensing that the story was still not finished. They were correct.

“Aunt Giulia has never spoken to me again. At every family gathering since then, whether a wedding, funeral, or christening, she avoids me as if I have some dread disease. She talks to everyone else, but not to me. I've come now to accept it.”

Luca spread his hands to indicate he was done. Rick and Flavio looked at each other and then back at the policeman, who was savoring another drink from his glass.

“Don't you see? Signora Taylor is my Aunt Giulia.”

“That could be it,” Rick finally said. “She didn't like her brother very much, but the one part of him she was able to admire was his business ethics. Then it turns out he was a blackmailing scoundrel, but instead of blaming her brother, she takes it out on you for discovering his sins. She doesn't want to be around you.”

Luca hesitated, glancing at Flavio before answering. “Or, Riccardo, she doesn't want to be around
us
. You were as much involved in this investigation as I.”

Flavio laughed. “That's great, you find her brother's murderer and that's the thanks you get. But as strange as Luca's aunt story was, it does make a certain sense.” He picked up his wineglass. “Let's forget the vagaries of the Taylor family, drink to the successful end of Luca's investigations, and change the subject to what is on the menu.”

After the toast, Flavio held the floor, and Rick was glad that he did. The analysis of Cat's behavior rang true. He was the messenger and he was getting the blame.

“This exquisite Valpolicella,” Flavio was saying, “from the hills north of Verona, will be the perfect accompaniment to one of the specialty dishes of the Trentino region.” He paused for dramatic effect. “
Pizzoccheri
.”

At that moment the waitress arrived with a large platter, and with her serving fork and spoon began dishing out a pasta which looked different from anything Rick had ever seen. Had Flavio timed this?

“…made with buckwheat flour, thus the brownish coloring, tossed in butter with, as you can see, a bit of chard, slices of potato, and very importantly, soft
casera
cheese. Look how nicely the cheese has melted. And we shall add some grated cheese to enhance the taste. I prefer
grana padana
on this dish, but this
parmigiano reggiano
will certainly do no harm. It never does.”

The girl served the three and departed. Discussion of the investigation or anything else came to a temporary halt as they lifted their forks.