Death in the Dolomites (5 page)

“My pleasure, Signor Sindaco.”

“I have some chairs over here. Why don't we sit while we talk?” He gestured toward a round table surrounded by four chairs. The card on it read nine hundred euros for the set, but the decorative inlay on the tabletop, which matched the chair backs, may have justified the price. “Needless to say,” Grandi said when they were seated, “I am very anxious that this business be cleared up as soon as possible.” His eyes jumped from one face to the other as he spoke, a serious look on his own.

“I could not agree more,” said Luca. “We all hope this is simply some terrible misunderstanding.”

“The man is here with his sister, I understand? You've spoken to her already, I trust.”

Rick had the sense that the mayor knew exactly who they'd seen. “She was the first person Inspector Albani interviewed.”

Grandi nodded in approval. “Excellent. Do you have any leads? Any idea where the man could be?”

“Nothing yet, Signor Sindaco,” said Luca. “We were just going around interviewing people who had seen Signor Taylor before his disappearance, when I got word from the station that you'd called.” The policeman was smiling, but Rick hoped the mayor would get the message that there was work to be done if Cameron Taylor was to be found. Apparently he didn't.

“Yes, of course. No one has been able to help so far? Who else have you spoken to?

“Just Signor Melograno. He apparently had a meeting with the missing man.”

“I'd heard that Umberto was looking for a loan, that's probably what the meeting was about.” He looked at the policeman for a reaction but none came. “The missing man is a banker, is he not?” This time Luca nodded, but stayed silent. It seemed, at last, to work. “But I should not be keeping you from your investigation. I just wanted to emphasize how important for Campiglio it is that this man be found, our only industry here is tourism, and as you can appreciate—”

“I understand completely,” said Luca, “and you can be assured that we are doing everything in our power to find him.”

They got to their feet. “If there is anything I can do to help, anything the municipality of Campiglio can assist with, you will let me know.” It sounded like an order.

“You can be sure of that, Signor Sindaco,” Luca said, extending his hand.

***

“That was a waste of time,” said Rick as they adjusted their hats outside the store.

“I'm not sure I would say that, my friend.” Luca looked around the street as if he were seeing it for the first time.

“I saw something interesting in Grandi's shop. Perhaps it is of no consequence, but interesting nonetheless.” Rick waited for Luca to continue, and after adjusting the new cap, he did. “Among the carved animals for sale on one of the shelves was a bear. Not as large as the one in Melograno's office, but the resemblance was striking. Given the price on the one at the shop, I think Melograno must have paid quite a lot for the bigger model.”

“Maybe Grandi sells a lot of bears. I noticed that one of them is on the coat of arms of Campiglio.”

“True. And this is a small town. That was the other benefit of meeting the mayor, Riccardo. We were reminded how small this town is. And that, I dare say, could be the key to finding our missing man. Someone here knows something, and likely there are others who know that that someone knows something, so we just have to discover which someone that someone is. Did I explain that right?”

“I think I got it. Where to now?”

The policeman looked at his watch. “According to the sergeant, Signora Cortese should be finishing her classes right about now, and can be found in the bar at the bottom of the lift over…” He twisted his head around, getting his bearings, before pointing to the east. “Over there. He said we should be able to walk to it easily. But then everything is within easy walking distance here.” He slapped Rick on the back. “This isn't Rome, is it?” They began to walk, and Luca continued to chatter. “There is something to be said for the small town, isn't there, Riccardo? I grew up in Rome, just outside the walls near San Giovanni in Laterano, and getting anywhere was problematic. Always buses, taxis, or the metro, if the metro happened to go somewhere you wanted to reach, which wasn't often. Look around us. Few cars, everyone walking, the air is fresh. I now wonder why our friend Flavio left here to move to Trento. True, Trento isn't very big, either, but this place, well, it's so—what's the phrase?—
misura di uomo
. That's it, human-sized.”

They had left the center of the town, such as it was, and were walking along a sidewalk below the mountain. On their left the mountain rose steeply behind houses, its upper reaches visible through the trees as they walked. On the other side of the street a treeless park formed a white bowl in the center of the alpine valley, its curving paths cleared to give access to a small frozen lake. Three solitary skaters moved around the ice under the light snowfall, reminding Rick of a snow globe he had as a kid. Whatever happened to it? Could Mamma have given it away along with his Topolino comics?

On their left, past a few apartment buildings, a field opened up where two skiers took off their skis, hoisted them over their shoulders, and walked stiffly off in heavy ski boots. Beside the field rose a large structure concealing the machinery for the ski lift that served this part of the mountain. High above its roof the egg-shaped capsules descended from the mountaintop or rose toward it. Fortunately for Rick and Luca, who were without snow boots, there was a cleared stairway leading to the entrance.

The bar at the top of the stairs looked out over the end of a
pista
. It was an unpretentious establishment: scuffed cement floors, no wall decorations, and a dozen wooden tables and chairs served by a bored barman. On the snow outside the windows a few skiers, all of them young, pushed hard on their poles to reach the waiting line for another ride to the top. They knew it was getting late in the afternoon and the lifts would be closing soon. The trick was to come back down just before the line closed, get on one of the last
cabine
to the top, then make that final, relaxed run before the ski patrol did its sweep of the trails.

It was not difficult to spot Gina Cortese. The ski instructors sitting at a table in one corner of the bar were dressed the same, their matching ski coats sporting the round patch of the
Scuola Italiana di Sci.
All the faces were evenly tanned and all the bodies were athletic, but she was the only woman. A variety of drinks stood on the table, from coffee to mineral water, but in front of her was what appeared to be a small glass of grappa. As Rick and Luca watched, she ran her hand through her hair, then shook it out with a rapid snap of the head. Despite her efforts, and its relatively short length, the hair remained matted from a day spent under a knit cap. Rick stood back while Luca approached the group.

“Signora Cortese? I wonder if I could have a word with you?”

“If you need good skiing lessons, Signore, you should talk to one of the rest of us.” The man's comments brought laughter from the group.

“Perhaps he needs lessons in something other than skiing,” said the one sitting next to her.

She got to her feet, seeming to ignore the comment, but then lashed out an open hand against the back of the man's head. The man cowered, a look of anger on his face, while the group reacted with a roar. She picked up her glass in one hand and the jacket in the other. “Let's go over to that table. We can talk about when I could schedule you this week.” She looked more closely at the policeman. “Or is it for some family member?”

“We can sit over here.” Luca gestured toward the table where Rick was already standing. “In fact, Signora Cortese, I do not want to set up lessons, though I have never learned to ski. I am Inspector Luca Albani, and this is Riccardo Montoya.” He flashed his police ID.

She took the seat offered by Rick and gave them a puzzled look. “Police? Why would you need to talk to me? I paid off that traffic ticket a month ago. Is that what this is about?”

Luca held up his hands defensively. “No, no, we are not interested in your traffic infractions, I can assure you. We would like to ask you about Signor Cameron Taylor. We understand you are a friend of his.”

A half sneer crossed her lips as she took a sip from her drink. “Cam? He
was
a friend, until he stood me up last night.” The smile disappeared. “Wait, has something happened to him?” Her eyes went from Luca to Rick and back.

“We don't know, Signora. He has been reported missing and we hoped you could help us find him. His sister said you were with him two nights ago.”

“Yes, I was. Friday night, we had dinner.”

“Could you give us more detail?” asked Rick.

She gave a worried glance back at her colleagues at the other table, but they were now deep in another conversation. “He picked me up at my apartment at about eight thirty, and we went to a restaurant near my place where they serve fondue. Then we went to a nightclub. Then he took me home.”

“Did you see anyone else at those two places?”

She looked at Luca as if trying to figure out what was behind his question. “It's a small town, and I'm from here, so we saw some people I know. That always happens.”

“Did you see him the next day?”

“Yesterday? I had classes all day starting at ten. Saturdays are always busy since people come up just for the weekend. Today too. I didn't see him on the mountain yesterday or today.”

“You had run into him the day before,” said Rick.

“Yes, that was a coincidence. He was with his sister, so I imagine she told you.”

“And he was supposed to see you last night.”

“That's right. Dinner again.” She looked at them both, waiting for another question. Rick noticed that the skin around her eyes was paler than her cheeks and nose, the result of wearing snow goggles all day in the sun.

“Did you just meet Signor Taylor? We understand you saw him Thursday night. Was that the first time?”

She took a drink before answering, and not a small one. “No, we met about a year and a half ago.” As the interview progressed her answers had become shorter. “Do you think something has happened to him?” she finally said. “I mean…something bad?”

“We don't really know,” answered the detective. “Did he seem worried about anything when you last saw him? Did you notice something that could tell us where he might have gone?” She shook her head and remained silent. Luca looked at Rick and back at the woman. “If you think of anything else that may give a clue as to where Signor Taylor might be, please give me a call.” He pushed a card across the table to her. “And if I could have your cell phone number in case I have any other questions?” She unzipped a pocket inside her coat and pulled out a card which was passed to Luca.

After thanking her, the two men walked to the door while buttoning their coats. Rick glanced back to see Gina Cortese walking slowly back to the other table, her eyes on Luca's card, her ski boots scuffing along the cement floor.

“Either Signora Cortese is a very good actor or she was surprised to hear about Taylor's disappearance,” said Luca when the door closed behind them. “Did you see the way she batted that guy? Impressive.” He happily placed his new hat on his head and looked at the sky. It was starting to get dark, but there was enough light to see the snow falling. “Should I use my ear flaps?”

“Not cold enough yet, Luca.” Rick did not relish the idea of walking beside him with the flaps down. “Wait until it gets really cold.” They started down the path to the sidewalk. “I had the same impression,” Rick continued, “that she didn't know about Taylor going missing. News seems to travel fast in this town, but I guess if you spend the day on the mountain you don't keep up with things.”

“Like the mayor does. Very true.”

The sidewalk was filling up with skiers who had finished their runs for the day, skis over their shoulders. They passed a woman changing into snow boots as she sat in the open back of a large Toyota SUV, while a man snapped their skis onto the roof rack and locked it with a small key. Rick noticed the Milan plates. It seemed to him that every other vehicle in the town that wasn't local was either from Milan or Verona. He looked back at the policeman and noticed a smile on his face.

“What are you thinking, Luca?”

“I was remembering our meeting with Mayor Grandi and thinking how coincidental it was that the next person we talked to was Gina Cortese.”

“Okay, Luca, explain.”

“Well, my American friend, the sergeant told me that our esteemed mayor, up until recently, was married. The divorce came through a few short months ago.” He pulled his collar up and Rick wondered if the gesture was an attempt to justify bringing down the ear flaps.

“And his former wife is…”

“Exactly. The lovely Signora Cortese.”

“And curiously, she has known Cam Taylor for more than a year.”

“Riccardo, you must promise me that you will listen more carefully to your uncle when he advises you to go into police work.”

Chapter Five

On the steep northern mountainside above Campiglio, four teenage boys on snowboards went from one small clearing in the trees to another. They were dressed in the standard uniform of the shredder: baggy pants, jackets that looked at least two sizes too large, and stretched knit caps that could have come from a charity shop. Each time they stopped, they looked down at the town before deciding on the next opening to continue their descent. There was little agreement over the best route.

“We never should have gotten off the trail. We'll never find our way back to it now. And it's starting to get dark.” The boy's voice held a slight edge of fear. Through the waving trees, far below, they could make out the first few lights that had come on in the town.

“Relax. As long as we keep going down, we get there. So just don't go up.”

The other two found that funny, laughing as they flipped their boards over with a loud flop and started to cut between the trees again. After twenty minutes and numerous pauses they could see one of the towers of the
funivia
, rising from the trees like a giant steel insect. Its thick cables were so high above them to be invisible in the darkening sky. There was a slight hum coming from the wires, as if messages were being transmitted along them.

“There may be some clearings under the
cabine
,” said one of the boys, “let's get over there under the cables and we should be able to get down faster.”

“I hope so. If I get home much after dark my mother will kill me.”

Ten minutes later the foursome broke into a strip of clearing underneath the cables, its trees cut down years earlier when the towers had been erected and the cables strung in place. New trees were starting to sprout up, and there were uneven sections where boulders jutted from the snow, but the relative open area would be considerably faster going than the thick forest. A light snow, which had been falling all afternoon, swirled in the gusts in the center of the clearing. As the boys slid down the hill, they cut through the deep drifts built by winds crossing from one valley to the next, the same winds which had cut bare spots around boulders. They moved deftly to stay on the snow, threading between the obstacles.

“This is way better than the main trail, and—Lando, are you okay? Did you catch a rock?”

Behind him the second boy in the line had fallen hard. He pushed himself to his feet with a groan, snapped his boots out of the board and rubbed his leg. “After I fell I hit this rock, but it wasn't a rock that made me fall. I ran over something.” He trudged back to where he had taken his spill and scraped his boot over the snow. A piece of dirty white canvas appeared. “There's something under here.”

“Forget it, let's keep moving.” It was the boy who had worried of his mother's tendency toward infanticide. The other boy bent down and pushed away the snow with his gloves, revealing more of the thick materials, and then a zipper.

“It looks like a sack.” He looked up at the others. “It could be full of Nazi gold, hidden here by the Mafia.” Two of the others laughed, kicked off their boards, and joined in the dig until the top of the bag was completely uncovered. One of them pulled off his glove and reached for the zipper.

“Wait a minute, shouldn't we tell the police or the ski patrol?”

“Then they'll pull our ski passes for being
fuori pista
. Let's just look to see what's inside, then we can decide what to do.” He reached over an pulled on the zipper. It was either frozen or rusted from being under the snow, but after some harder tugs it finally opened with a low growl.

“
Cazzo
!”

***

The square had begun to fill with the late afternoon crowd, many still wearing ski outfits but shuffling about in soft, puffy boots or sturdy street shoes. The tall streetlamps had come to life, their yellow light picking up the flakes as they fell to the ground. The old men that Rick and Luca had seen earlier were gone, replaced by clumps of teenagers who talked loudly and kept their eyes moving about the square to see if anyone of interest had appeared. Except for their clothing, they could have been standing in any
piazza
in Italy.

“It is very comical, Riccardo.”

Rick looked at the policeman. “And what is that?”

“I was just thinking. If this snow were coming down in Rome, the city would be in chaos. Buses would not run, traffic would be snarled, everything would come to a halt. I have been there when the snow came, and it was not enjoyable. But here, look at everyone in the
piazza
. There is a smile on each face.” Rick was about to respond when Luca continued. “Do your towns in America have squares like this, Riccardo?”

Rick instinctively glanced around before answering. “Where my father comes from, in the Southwest, we do have them, but they are usually square or rectangular, and at the center of a grid. The Spaniards liked geometric street plans. It was something they picked up from the Romans, I think.”

Luca smiled as he adjusted his hat, which was serving its purpose to keep the falling snow off his head. “There's no getting away from us Romans. Despite our inability to deal with snow.” He checked his watch. “I think we have time to call on the last person on our list before dinner. This should be a good time to find Signor Lotti at his apartment, and we already know the way.”

By the time they reached the apartment, darkness had fully covered the valley. The streets were full of cars leaving the town center, skis strapped to racks on roofs, starting their descent to the Po Valley or beyond. They were watched from the sidewalks by those fortunate enough to be starting their holiday week. Unlike the rest of Italy where shops were closed, Sunday evening was a busy time in Campiglio. Tourists who weren't shopping or strolling the streets sat in bars sipping a hot chocolate or something more potent. Rick and Luca worked their way through the people to reach the apartment. The policeman found the nameplate and pushed the button.

A man's voice crackled from the intercom. “Who is it?”

“Signor Lotti?”

“Yes. Who is it?”

“Inspector Albani.”

They waited, and when Luca was about to push the button again the voice returned. “Apartment 4B.” The door buzzed open, they walked into the lobby and pressed for the elevator. When they reached the top floor and emerged, they saw a man peering out from the door.

Daniele Lotti's appearance was not what Rick expected. Would an elegant and beautiful woman like Cat Taylor be dating—if that was the right term for their relationship—someone like this guy? He was tall with red curly hair, immediately reminding Rick of a basketball player at UNM who only got to play when the game was clearly won or lost. Lotti stared at the two men, his ping-pong ball eyes darting from one to the other.

“Is this about Cam Taylor?”

“Yes, it is, Signor Lotti,” said Luca, “may we come in?”

“Certainly, certainly.” He stepped aside and Rick could see that the apartment was the mirror image of the one across the hall. The furnishings were also the same. Lotti, it appeared, had saved money by purchasing everything in sets to cover all the rooms in the two apartments on the floor. They walked to the living room and took seats in the same wooden furniture as in the Taylor apartment. Even the view out of the picture window was the same, though now almost covered with darkness.

“When did you see Signor Taylor last?” asked Luca once he had introduced Rick, and all three were settled in their seats.

Lotti sat with his arms folded tightly across his chest. It looked like a show of defiance, but Rick guessed it was more that he didn't know what to do with his arms. He wore a bright red cotton turtleneck which clashed with his hair, its collar stretched out so that it accentuated a long neck. His legs splayed out in front of the chair like they were glad to have the space. Rick guessed at least a size twelve for the loafers, maybe thirteen. Lotti stared at the ceiling as he framed an answer.

“The last time I saw Cam? Last week. On Tuesday. We had lunch in Milan.”

“You haven't seen him here in Campiglio?”

Lotti did not seem bothered by Rick asking a question. “No, I arrived Friday night. Later than expected since the
carabinieri
were stopping everyone at Dimaro and requiring chains. It was the first time I'd put mine on, so it took a while. I expected to see him yesterday, but he wasn't there. As you know. His sister told me he was missing.”

“Do you know Signor Taylor well?” asked Luca.

“Fairly well, I suppose, though we are not close friends. We met at one of the monthly luncheons of the American Chamber of Commerce in Milan. I did my graduate studies in the States, so my company has me attend the chamber meetings. They're mostly conducted in English.”

“Did he say anything at the lunch that could give a clue as to why he's disappeared? Was he worried about anything?”

“Not really. We chatted about the usual topics, business gossip. Or perhaps you could call it networking.” The last word was in English, and he grinned briefly at Rick as he said it, the first time he had shown anything but seriousness. “He was looking forward to the week of skiing, I do remember that.”

“And to the arrival of his sister?” asked Luca.

Lotti's face froze. “Uh, yes, of course,” he finally answered.

“Do you know Gina Cortese?”

Lotti did not appear surprised by the question. He shrugged. “Met her once. Cam talked about her, but he likes to brag about all his exploits.” His face froze as he realized what he'd said about his friend to two strangers, but he quickly snapped out of it. “Do you have any idea what's happened to him, Inspector?”

Luca studied the man's face and shook his head. “If you think of anything, please give me a call.” He passed his card to Lotti and stood up, followed by Rick. Lotti stared at them before getting to his feet.

“That's all? I mean, yes, certainly, Inspector, I'll call you if anything comes to mind.”

***

“Not what I expected,” said Luca as they emerged onto the street and he placed his cap back on his head.

Rick adjusted his Borsalino and looked at the darkened sky. The snowflakes, now getting larger, burst into view as they reached the light of streetlamps. “Not what I expected either, Luca.” The word “doofus” came to mind, but Rick wasn't sure how to translate it. “Did you notice something in his apartment?”

“The furniture? Yes, it was like—”

“No, Luca, not the furniture, something in the air, literally.”

“
Non capisco,
Riccardo.”

“Cat Taylor's perfume. And strong enough to indicate that she had just been in Lotti's apartment.”

Luca nodded and grinned. “She was there when we rang the door buzzer, which is why it took him a few seconds to answer. Very good, Riccardo. Perhaps I am coming down with a cold and my nose didn't pick it up.”

“You won't get a cold now that you have that hat.”

Luca touched his recent purchase and flashed a smile as wide as its brim. They walked slowly along the crowded sidewalk. Ahead of them, three pre-teen boys followed three girls of similar age. The girls talked in low voices, glancing back toward the boys from time to time and giggling. When they turned around, the boys quickly moved their attention to the store windows. Rick was trying to decide if the two trios actually knew each other, when Luca spoke. His serious mood had returned.

“I've had a few missing persons cases, Riccardo, and usually that person disappears because they want to. Once you've asked everyone if the person seemed nervous or upset or depressed, and the answers are negative, it's hard to know what to do next. I wouldn't say that to the man's sister, but with you…”

“Thanks for confiding, Luca. There doesn't seem to be any reason for this guy to take off on his own. He's here for a holiday, the ski conditions are ideal, he's got the beautiful ski instructor for when he's not on the slopes. What's there to make him leave town?”

“Exactly, Riccardo.” He stared at the slushy sidewalk as they approached the square once again. “That's why I'm worried.”

***

At the moment they stepped into the hotel, Luca's cell phone rang.

“I'll meet you in the bar,” he said to Rick, and walked into a corner of the lobby, putting the phone to his ear with one hand and shaking the snow off his hat with the other.

Rick walked into the bar and spotted Flavio sitting with a man and a woman in their late thirties whom Rick immediately pegged as Americans. The man was muscular and wore his hair very short. The woman had looks which in some circles would be characterized as perky, with a pleasant smile and hair styled to be practical rather than alluring. They did not wear matching sweaters, but looked like the type of couple who would. Flavio spotted Rick and waved him over.

“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.