Death in the Dolomites by David Wagner (people reading books TXT) 📗

Melograno to tell him that the inspector was waiting, so Melograno must have told the mayor. Would there be any reason for the mayor to have slipped out the back? Not really. Melograno did not know he was going to get a visit from the police, so the mayor being there was just a coincidence. Unless someone at the police station had alerted the mayor. As Luca turned this over in his mind, the mayor glanced over to him and turned to Melograno. They exchanged a few words and Grandi strode toward the glass room. Luca arose from his seat and opened the door as the mayor reached it.

“Inspector,” he said, as if there was a need to confirm the policeman’s existence. No handshake was offered. “This business with the American has become especially troubling. And now the stabbing of Guido Pittini. Please come to see me so you can explain what you are doing to resolve them. I’ll be at my shop.”

Luca was given no chance to reply; the man turned on his heel and walked to where Melograno was waiting. The mayor said something into Melograno’s ear while keeping his eyes on the policeman, then moved toward the door. One of the women rushed up to him with his coat and he took it without acknowledgment before pulling open the door and disappearing.

Melograno, in contrast, was polite, like the two were playing good-suspect bad-suspect roles. He shook hands with Luca and asked him if he’d like a coffee or something else to drink. When his guest politely declined, the door was closed and they took seats at the table. As expected, Melograno sat at the head, in the taller chair.

From the moment Melograno had emerged from his office with the mayor, Luca had noticed a change in the man’s body language since they’d met the previous day. To begin with, he seemed even more unkempt. The eyes looked like they needed sleep, just as the face begged for a razor and the hair a comb. The annoyed demeanor was still there, but it was not as convincing. This time he was going through the motions. As Melograno talked, the policeman’s instincts were confirmed.

“The mayor is correct, this incident has turned nasty, very nasty indeed. I knew Signor Taylor as well as anyone here, so the news of his death has been a great shock to me. Do you have any suspicions as to who could have done this?”

He didn’t know Taylor as well as the mayor’s ex-wife, thought Luca. “I am just beginning the investigation,” he said, deflecting the question. “Could you tell me again about your meeting with him? Perhaps you have remembered some detail that could be helpful.” Melograno frowned as the policeman’s pad and pen appeared.

“I don’t know what else I can say.” More of the previous bravado appeared. “You do remember what I said then, don’t you?” When no answer was forthcoming, he gave a theatrical shrug and continued. “All right. Our meeting was relatively brief. I asked him about the loan I had requested from his bank. He said it was still pending but there were some questions. I asked what were the questions. He told me. I answered the questions, or at least I believe I answered them.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, Signor Melograno, what were the questions? Bear in mind that I know very little about banking.”

Melograno looked at him as if trying to decide if the last comment was intended to be sarcastic. “They were financial issues. Collateral, my company’s income, that sort of thing. I hardly think—”

“Nor do I, Signore. And he did not appear to be upset, preoccupied, worried about anything?”

“He was as he always was. All business. That’s the way Americans are.”

Luca tapped his pen on the pad and studied what he had written, which was very little. “That meeting was Thursday afternoon. You didn’t see him on Friday?”

“No, I was working here all day.”

“And on Saturday?”

“I didn’t see him after our meeting on Thursday. I thought I made that clear.”

“You were also working here on Saturday?” He was making small squares in the top corners of the paper, then carefully filling them in with crosses. Melograno watched.

“Yes, I came in early and worked in my office the whole day, except for a break for lunch. My assistant was here working, if you are looking for an alibi. He will tell you.” He glanced at the young man working in the cubicle.

The policeman looked up from his notes and acknowledged the other man. “His name?”

“Alberto Zoff.” He watched as Luca wrote down the name.

“What time did you leave the office?”

“About five o’clock. I stopped for a coffee at the bar a few doors up, like I always do at the end of the workday. Then I went home.”

“Do you live far?”

“My apartment is on the top floor of this building. I own it. The whole building, I mean.”

“Very convenient. You can walk everywhere. That is something delightful that I have noticed about your town. Do you even have a car?”

“I do, Inspector, I have a Mercedes SUV. I need it to show real estate that is outside the city center. Unfortunately it is in the shop. A problem with the electrical system.”

“That’s surprising, the German cars are usually quite reliable. Not that I would know…my office always issues me a Fiat.” Luca closed his notebook and put it and his pen in his coat pocket. “Tell me something, Signor Melograno. Do you ski?”

From the look on Melograno’s face, he might have been asked if he knew how to read. “I was born and raised in Campiglio, Inspector. Here we all ski.”

Once outside, Luca adjusted his hat in the glass of the store at street level, barely noticing what was displayed inside. He was thinking that Melograno had not mentioned the stabbing of the previous night. Then again, neither had he.

***

After sticking their skis and poles into the snow at the edge of the porch, Rick and