Death in the Dolomites (3 page)

“Melograno.”

“That's it. Funny that people would be called pomegranate. Although I had a friend at boarding school whose last name was Pear.” She stopped and looked at Rick. “You didn't translate what I just said for the inspector?”

“No I didn't. What about Thursday night?”

“Cam had picked up some food after his meeting in the afternoon so we ate here. Then he went out and I read a book and went to sleep early. Of course I woke up in the middle of the night. I told you I have a problem—”

“With jet lag. Yes you did. Do you know where your brother went that night?”

“He went to a bar, but I don't know which one. Since he's spent a lot of time up here in the last year he's become familiar with the nightlife, such as it is, in this town.”

“Did he mention who he talked to, or anything about what happened in the bar?”

A satisfied smile came to her face. “Normally he wouldn't tell me anything, but the next morning I found out that he'd met a woman in the bar, and they'd hit it off quite well.”

Rick was about to ask if the woman was in the apartment when Cam woke up, but decided against it. “How was it you found out?”

“When we went skiing we ran into her. Or she spotted Cam and ran into us. I don't understand Italian, of course, but I could tell by her tone of voice, and his, that there was something there. When he introduced me to her he said they'd been together the night before.”

“What was her name?”

“That, I remember. Gina Cortese. The name fits her.”

Rick wasn't sure what she meant by the comment, and from Luca's expression he didn't either, despite a good translation. “So he picked up this Gina Cortese in the bar.”

“No, I didn't mean to give that impression. He already knew her from previous visits here. In fact he said he'd met her the first summer he came up to Campiglio for the hiking, a year and a half ago. That was when he decided to rent a place. I doubt if Cam's latest girlfriend in Milan knows about her, but that's typical of my brother.”

“Do you know if this woman is from here or only comes for holiday?”

“She's from here, she has to be.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She's a ski instructor, complete with the blue ski coat they all wear, with the round patch. I took some lessons last year and my instructor wore the same outfit. Her class was waiting while she and Cam made goo-goo eyes at each other.”

It took Rick a couple seconds to come up with an Italian equivalent for “goo-goo eyes,” but Luca didn't appear to notice the delay. “So you skied again that morning. And the rest of Friday?”

“I stayed in for the afternoon, after eating lunch here, and Cam went back up. That night he had dinner with Miss Cortese.”

“You ate here in the apartment?”

“I thought you were only interested in my brother's movements?” Rick shrugged. “Well,” Catherine continued, “I went to a restaurant with Daniele. Daniele Lotti, he owns this apartment and the one across the hall, and he arrived in town Friday afternoon. Cam knows him from Milan, which is how he came to rent this apartment.”

“So a friend from Milan. Also a banker?”

“No, he works for a drug company, Cam met him through the American Chamber of Commerce. Daniele studied in the States.”

“Notre Dame business school?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, thank goodness.”

“So you'd met him before this trip.”

“Yes, in Milan and up here. Shouldn't we get back to talking about my brother?”

Rick and Luca noted her tone. “Certainly,” said Rick. “Did you see your brother that night?”

“Yes, I was still up when he came in. He asked me if I was going to ski the next morning and I said I would pass and see him at lunch. I needed a morning off. ”

“So he went out skiing the next morning.”

“I have to assume so. His ski clothes are gone from his closet, and his skis, boots, and poles are not in the building's storage room in the basement. But his scuffs, which he wears down the elevator, are in his boot locker down there. So he put on his ski boots and walked out to the street carrying his skis, like we always do.”

Luca said something to Rick while she watched. He translated. “The inspector wonders why you waited until Sunday afternoon to notify the authorities.”

“I expected you to ask that,” she said, shifting in her chair. “I thought my brother had run into that woman again and they'd decided to spend the day together. And when it got late in the evening I assumed one thing had led to another.” Rick nodded and Luca kept his eyes on the small pad, filling its pages with notes. “But when I got up Sunday morning and he wasn't here, I began to get worried. In the afternoon I called the embassy in Milan.”

“Consulate,” Rick corrected. It was a pet peeve.

“Whatever. Cam had given me their number on my first trip to Milan last year, in case I needed it in an emergency. Since it's the weekend, I got the duty officer, and he called the police.” She glanced at Luca. “And now you are here.”

“Please tell her, Riccardo, that—” Rick held up his hand and leaned forward toward Cat, indicating that he was going to be translating in the other direction. “—tell her that we ordered a search of the mountain by the ski patrol. They had not found anyone yesterday evening on their final run, so they did another one this morning, with special care, and came up with nothing. If she can provide me a photograph of her brother, I will give it to the local policemen, who will be glad to be doing something other than issue parking citations. We will attempt to find someone who remembers seeing him yesterday morning.”

She listened to Rick's translation and spoke. “You must find my brother,” she said with more passion than she'd shown since their arrival. Luca noticed it, but she didn't see the faint smile on the policeman's face, since her attention was on Rick alone. “Let me get you a photograph. I have one from my last trip here.” She jumped to her feet. “It's perfect since he's wearing the same ski clothes he had on yesterday morning.”

She walked quickly out of the room and Rick noticed again that her slacks were a perfect fit. He looked at Luca whose smile had widened. Rick was about to speak when Cat returned with a picture inside a cardboard frame and passed it to Rick. Luca leaned to get a look while she returned to her chair.

The photograph was taken by one of the commercial photographers who stationed themselves on the mountain at places with the most picturesque backgrounds. It showed Cat and her brother leaning on their ski poles, a whitened peak behind them. He wore black ski pants and black boots, a light-blue ski coat, and a dark-blue baseball cap with the gold letters ND on the front. Sunglasses hung from leashes, covering the top of a red sweater visible above the zipper of the coat. Around his neck a blue print bandana was tied, almost in the style of the Old West. Cat wore a one-piece puffy suit, blue with a matching belt, and white ski boots. Her goggles were pushed up to the front of a knit cap that covered most of her blond hair. The resemblance was more than clear. The siblings had the same cheekbones and nose, and they wore similar smiles, no doubt perfected by posing for countless family albums and school yearbooks.

“I can't make out your brother's hair,” Rick asked. “Is he blond like you?”

“His hair is darker, almost brown.”

It was Luca's turn to ask a question. “His skis, they look silver, but is that just the snow on them?”

“They are silver,” she answered after Rick translated. “He special-ordered them from the Kolmartz factory in Austria. Those skis and the Notre Dame cap are his most prized possessions.”

“Do you have Kolmartz skis too?”

“Heavens no. I always rent skis with Bruno, his shop is just across the street.”

“I think that's the place where I rented my skis,” said Rick.

“Did her brother have his cell phone with him?” Rick translated the question.

“He usually carries it when he skies, even though much of the mountain is a dead zone. Just habit. The phone is not here in the apartment, so I assume he has it with him. Of course he hasn't answered it when I've tried to call.”

“But he could have called you,” said the policeman through Rick.

She turned to Rick. “Doesn't the inspector understand that Cam not calling just could be one reason I notified the consulate? Is he understanding what's going on here?”

Rick decided not to translate, instead asking his own question. “Did he always ski on the same trails in the morning?”

“When I'm not with him he usually gets on the chairlift right behind the apartment, since the runs up there are too difficult for me. He's a very good skier. When I'm with him we walk to the gondola just up the hill from here. The trails there are more my speed.”

Luca said something in Rick's ear while she watched. When finished, Rick asked, “Cat, do you have his office phone, and the name of his supervisor at the bank?”

“Didn't I give you that? I think there are some of his cards in this desk.” She went to a desk set against one wall, bare save for a laptop computer and a small lamp. From the drawer she pulled out a card which she passed to Rick before sitting down again. “I don't know anyone who works there. Cam has decided I'm not important enough to be introduced to his fellow bankers.”

“Thank you, Cat,” Rick said, for lack of any other way to react to her comment.

Rick glanced at Luca, silently asking if there were more questions. The policeman shook his head. “We will talk with her again, Rick. For now we have what we want.” Rick noticed the use of “we” instead of “I.”

They got to their feet. “Cat,” said Rick, “thanks for your time. I can assure you that the inspector will let you know as soon as he has something about your brother.”

She looked up at them for a few moments before rising from the chair. “I'm glad that you are helping him, Rick.” It was a strange thing to say, Rick thought. “Can you give me your cell phone in case I hear anything myself? I can't call
him
since he doesn't speak English.” She said it without looking at Luca.

“Of course.” Rick pulled out his wallet and passed her a business card. “My cell is on there.”

She studied the card and looked at Rick, smiling. “Translation services. And in Rome. I thought you lived up here.”

“No, I'm here on holiday and got roped into helping the inspector. Which I was glad to do, of course.”

She stuffed the card into her front pants pocket and took Rick's arm. “Let me see you to the door.” Luca remained invisible until the two men had slipped on their coats and she was obliged to shake the policeman's hand. “Thank you, Inspector,” she said before turning back to Rick. “I know you will find my brother, Rick. The inspector has my number, call me.”

Rick waited for her to add “when you find my brother,” but she didn't.

Chapter Four

In the elevator Rick studied Cameron Taylor's business card. He was a vice president, but Rick had learned once that almost everyone in a bank except the cleaning crew had such titles. The name of the bank rang a bell in his head.

“Luca, I think I know the guy who runs this bank. I did a simultaneous interpreting job at an economic conference last year in Milan and he was a panelist.”

“You know him well enough to call him about this case?”

“Sure. I had a long chat with him at the reception. Since he was new and didn't speak Italian, he didn't mix much with the other participants.”

“All the more reason for you to make the call, Riccardo.”

“He's probably fairly fluent by now, Luca, that was months ago. He had a tutor.”

“I'm sure the language abilities of most of your compatriots are similar to mine.”

When they got to the street, the snow was falling more steadily, enough so that some of the passing cars had turned on their wipers, though not their lights. The strong scent of bakery goods hit their nostrils through the cold air.

“Shall we have a coffee, Riccardo?”

“And perhaps a pastry with it?”

“If you don't tell my wife.”

“My lips are sealed, Luca.”

As in most pastry shops in Italy, a small bar ran half the width of the store, behind which stood a gleaming silver espresso machine. The other half was devoted to the pastries, the full collection rather than just the tempters in the window. The various categories—brioches, cakes, cookies, strudel, éclairs—were separated on the glass shelves by colorful sprigs of artificial flowers. As always in Italy, style was paramount.

A bell had rung when they came in, and a red-faced woman appeared from a door behind the glass display cases. She wiped her hands on a flour-spotted apron as she appeared. From her shape Rick guessed that the pastries behind the counter did not get thrown away when they became stale.

“
Desidera
?”

“
Si
,
grazie
,” Luca answered. “
Due espressi, per favore
.” He moved to the glass case and turned to Rick. “How about this
mille foglie
?” He was pointing at square layers alternating tissue-thin pastry with a white filling, and topped with powdered sugar. Rick nodded, and the woman took time from her coffee-making duties to put two on a plate and place it between the two customers. After getting their coffees and taking the first sips, Rick spoke.

“Well, Luca, what do you think of our American visitor?”

“A fascinating young woman, Riccardo, who clearly has a very strange relationship with her brother. Not unlike siblings in many Italian families, I should add. Two of my cousins, the children of my Zia Beppa, for example, have been fighting since they were children. Beppa thought that once past childhood they would outgrow it and be close, but they're my age and still bicker at each other about the silliest things. My aunt has given up. But Signora Taylor and her brother appear to have something more complicated going than do my two cousins. Did I understand correctly that he is called Cam and she Cat? Doesn't Cat mean
gatto
?”

“In her case,
gatta
, but yes, you're right on both counts, Luca. So what comes next?”

The policeman bit into the pastry, sprinkling powdered sugar down the front of his coat. “Well, I will have copies made of this photograph and the local police can take it around to the ski lift operators and throughout the town. And there are the two men who must be interviewed.” After an attempt to brush off the sugar he pulled his notebook from his suit jacket and flipped through some pages. “A certain signor Melograno, who met with our missing man about a loan, and Daniele Lotti, who lives across the hall from our two siblings. And of course, Signora Cortese, the ski instructor.”

Rick bit more carefully into his pastry, and had a small napkin ready. It was excellent, with just a hint of almond paste. “Melograno shouldn't be hard to find. They probably will know him at the police station.”

Luca winked and turned to the woman, who was washing cups in a small sink. “Signora, do you know a Signor Melograno, involved in real estate here in Campiglio?”

“Of course, Inspector,” she answered brightly. “Dottor Umberto Melograno, he often buys cakes here. His office is on this street, about a hundred meters up on the left, just as the hill starts.”

“Thank you. And how did you—?”

“My neighbor has a cousin who works in the police station. Have you found the American?”

“Not yet, Signora.” He pulled out some bills to pay for the coffee and waved away Rick's protests. “You just helped me a great deal, Riccardo, and I know you will continue to do so. You must allow me to buy you a simple cup of coffee.” He paid, thanked the woman, and they left the shop.

“I would have liked to have stayed longer in that warmth and wonderful bakery smell, but our friend there was trying to catch everything we said. She already knows the three people we're going to interview.”

Rick adjusted his hat and looked up at the falling snow. “We, Luca?”

“It is too late to join Flavio at this hour, you might as well keep me company. And as I said earlier, I would rather test my theories on the nephew of a prominent policeman than with the local police force.” He held up his index finger and tapped it gently on the side of his nose. “And, my American friend, it helps that my colleagues in Rome agree with me. They have given the okay to have you assist.”

Rick knew very well which “colleagues in Rome” were behind it.

Luca put on a mock face of sadness. “In the American western movies, of which I am very fond, the sheriff pins a badge on the man who is being deputized. Alas, I have no such badge for you.”

“I appreciate that, Luca, but we can keep this informal.”

“Excellent. Now, back to my theories that are in need of testing.”

“Test away, Luca.” They set off in the direction of Melograno's office.

“Well,
caro
Riccardo, did you notice how Signora Taylor reacted when it was revealed that she had dinner with Lotti, the man who lives across the hall and owns their rental apartment? I found that intriguing. But that said, I wouldn't think that her dinner arrangements with Signor Lotti would have anything to do with her brother going missing. No, it is more likely that this Melograno, or the ski instructor, could lead us to some answers. But we will have to talk to Lotti too. What were your impressions?”

The hatless detective walked on the building side of the sidewalk, keeping himself under the occasional storefront portico that protected him from the snow. Rick noticed him ducking out of the weather, but refrained from mentioning the head-cover issue again.

“Yes, Luca, I too noticed her reaction to bringing up her dinner companion, but also saw the way she perked up when mentioning Bruno, the ski rental guy. I met him a few days ago when Flavio took me there to rent my skis.” He pointed across the street. “That's his shop there, by the way. You know,” Rick added with a grin, “I think he sells hats.”

The policeman considered the idea. “Okay, let's make a detour. But allow me to make a quick call to the station so that we can learn where to find this ski instructor.” He pulled out his phone, dialed, and told the person on the other end what he needed. “They'll call me back.” They crossed the streets, dodging a few cars which were fortunately not going very fast. A thin, gray slush covered the pavement, streaked by the tracks of tires. Luca shook the snow off his hair before they entered the shop.

Only a few customers wandered through the store, and they didn't appear to be serious buyers, but this was not the busy time of day for Campiglio merchants. On one side of the large room, men's clothing was stacked on tables or hung on racks: sweaters, ski coats, pants, and even hats. On the other side was the women's clothing, similarly arranged on tables, and along the rear wall ranged skis, boots, and poles, for both purchase and rental. At a bench, a boy of about ten was trying on a pair of red ski boots, his mother and a saleswoman looking on. The boy stood up and clomped around the carpet, happiness covering his face. Rick and Luca watched him and then turned to a shelf holding various styles of hats. As they looked, a man with thick dark hair and matching goatee approached them. He was dressed in the uniform of Campiglio locals: a light cashmere sweater, elegant slacks, and thick-soled shoes.

“Can I help you find something?” he asked.

Rick turned and smiled. “
Salve
, Bruno. We met a few days ago when I came in with Flavio to rent skis. Riccardo Montoya.”

Bruno nodded and smiled. “Yes, of course, Riccardo. The skis are serving you well, I trust?”

“They are, thank you. I'm here with a friend who arrived in Campiglio without a hat. Perhaps he can find one here.”

Luca turned around to reveal the suit and tie under his coat. He extended his hand and smiled. “Luca Albani
. Piacere
.”

Bauer took a moment to react as he reciprocated the policeman's handshake. “Bruno Bauer
, piacere mio
. We have some more hats over here if you don't see what you want on this shelf. Will you, uh, be in Campiglio long?”

“That depends, that depends.” Luca held up a plaid wool hat that to Rick looked suspiciously like something Sherlock Holmes would wear. “I don't really ski, so perhaps something other than the knit ones would be what I'll need.”

Again Bruno did not answer immediately, looking at Luca with a blank expression. “Take your time, and if you need any help please let me know. Riccardo, nice to see you. If you'll excuse me…” He strode off toward the back of the store as Luca looked at himself in a mirror on the wall, the deerstalker hat on his head. He didn't seem to notice that the store owner had left them.

“I kind of like this one, Riccardo, not just because it will keep my head warm, but the herringbone pattern of the cloth is very handsome. And it's on sale.”

“I can see why it's on sale. You're not really considering buying that, are you Luca?”

“And why not? Look, the back brim will keep the snow off my neck, and if it gets really cold, the flaps come down over my ears.” He demonstrated; untying the ribbons from the top and letting the sides flop down. “
Ecco
. I'll take it.”

“
Sei pazzo
.”

“You won't call me crazy when your ears are frozen and mine are like bread from the oven. You'll wish you'd bought one of these instead of that out-of-fashion hat you're wearing.”

“This is a Borsalino.”

“I rest my case. I'll pay for this and we'll be off to see Signor Melograno.”

When they got to the street Rick looked at Luca in his new hat and shook his head in wonder. “Luca, did you even take notice of Bruno Bauer?”

“Of course I did.” He turned to admire himself in the glass of the store window. “He obviously knew who I was, I might just as well have been wearing a sign on my back. And he could not have gotten away from me faster. Very curious.”

“I had the same impression. And after the way Cat spoke about him, I looked him over in a different light than when I was in there with Flavio a few days ago.”

“Your conclusion?”

“That she may be interested in more than his rental skis.”

“I would concur.” In contrast to when he was hatless, Luca now grabbed the place close to the curb, the snow settling softly on his new hat. He pulled out his cell phone and punched some buttons. “Sergeant? Inspector Albani. Any word on where to find Gina Cortese?…Excellent.” He wedged the phone against his ear and made some notes. “Thank you, we'll do that later this afternoon. We've talked with the American woman and now we're off to interview a certain Signor Umberto Melograno. What can you tell me about him?”

***

They found the office of Agenzia Immobiliare Melograno S.A. just up the hill from the town's main square. The building was a new construction, but in the chalet-style that dominated Campiglio. Rick surmised the design came under municipal building ordinances like the pueblo revival or territorial style required in Santa Fe. The covered porch allowed window-shoppers to peer at the merchandise of two stores on the ground floor. Next to the door leading to the second floor, a glass case with pictures of apartments and houses invited those interested to visit the real estate office. Luca and Rick shook the snow off their hats and shoulders and accepted the invitation.

They opened the door at the top of the stairwell and found that the office took up the entire second floor. Directly in front of them was a reception area divided into two sections, each with two sofas facing each other and low tables between them. Magazines were fanned in neat arrangements on both tables. From their covers, Rick guessed them to be tourist and ski publications. Behind the seating area, on the far wall, Rick counted three doors, all closed. Along the left side of the room, glass walls enclosed a long wooden table and chairs where four people were meeting, their voices muffled by the glass. The right side of the office had three cubicles, two of which were unoccupied. In the third cubicle, a woman rose from her desk when she noticed the two new arrivals.

“May I help you?”

“We would like to talk with Signor Melograno, please. I am Inspector Albani and this is Signor Montoya.”

The woman's eyes darted from one to the other before settling on the policeman. “Signor Melograno is in a meeting at the moment.” She motioned toward the meeting room. “Is this about the missing American?”

Luca gave her his best smile. “Yes it is.”

“I'll tell Signor Melograno you're here.”

They sat on one of the sofas while she walked to the door of the conference room and tapped on its glass door. The man at the head of the table looked up in annoyance. She opened the door, went to Melograno and whispered in his ear. As she talked he leaned forward to take stock of the two men sitting in the waiting area, giving them a stilted smile and nod. After hearing his reply she closed the door and came back to the two visitors. “Signor Melograno will be with you as soon as he finishes his meeting. May I bring you some coffee or something else to drink?”