Luca tapped Rick on the shoulder. “I think I’ve done what I’ve had to,” he whispered. “Perhaps it would be easier for her if I left. I know you can do better at comforting than I.”
Rick nodded. “Sure, Luca. You’ve done well. I’ll do what I can.” They rose to their feet. “Cat, the inspector has to get back to the station. I’ll stay for a while if you’d like.”
“I would, Rick.” She got to her feet and thanked the policeman. Luca shook her hand and made hand gestures to indicate that he could see himself out. When the door shut quietly, Rick and Cat took seats opposite each other.
“I called home, and Maria reminded me that my parents are on their annual cruise in the Caribbean. I forgot it was this week.” She took a sip from a glass next to the sofa. It looked like Scotch, but since he hadn’t been offered anything, it was only a guess. Rick also guessed that Maria was someone on the Taylor homestead staff, but he didn’t ask for clarification. “They won’t be back in port for a week,” she continued. “And it’s not worth getting them off the ship. What can they do at this point?”
Rick wondered how he would have reacted to the news that his sister had been murdered. Both sides of his family, New Mexican and Italian, would be vying with the other to give him support and share his sadness. In that way, his two cultures were not all that different. “Do you have any other family you should be in touch with, Cat? Aunts? Uncles?”
She appeared to find the question strange. “I have an uncle,” she said finally, “but he’s old and lives in a nursing home in Florida. I haven’t seen him in years. He wasn’t even invited to my wedding. There’s nobody else, really.”
Rick silently thanked his good fortune of being born into a large, extended family.
“Inspector Albani told me that someone from the consulate will be here tomorrow to help you. I’ll bring him over when he arrives.” She nodded mechanically. “There’s something else, Cat. As the inspector said, tomorrow morning you’ll have to identify your brother’s body. It’s a formality that has to be done. I’ll go with you if you’d like.”
Her blank look made him wonder if she was understanding anything he’d said. After nodding her head slowly she responded. “Of course. I understand. It’s kind of you to go with me.” She looked down at the glass as if it had just appeared on the table, picked it up, and took a long pull. Rick was now sure it was some kind of whiskey.
He rose to his feet. “Cat, I’d better go. Try to get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”
She made no attempt to get up, but looked at him with a weak smile. “Thank you, Rick.”
“You have my cell phone number, if you need anything before that.”
“Yes. Thank you. I’ll be okay.”
Her eyes turned toward the window where the lights of the town gave the darkness a faintly yellow glow. She pulled up her knees, held them together with her arms, and rocked slowly in the chair. Rick silently let himself out.
***
Heavy snow swirled into the hallway when Rick opened the door to step out on the sidewalk in front of Cat’s building. He tightened his hat and pulled up the collar of his coat. It covered only the bottom half of his ears, but was better than leaving them completely exposed. The snow and the hour had pushed people into the warmth of the buildings. Only an occasional car made its way tentatively along the street, its headlights carving a wedge of speckled, moving light through the darkness. Rick kept his head down, watching his cowboy boots scuff through the accumulating snow.
Doubts ran through his mind. Could he have done something more to comfort her? Should he have stayed longer? It was not a situation he had experienced before, giving that kind of news to someone. Even though it was Luca who had delivered the words officially, Rick felt responsible. She had heard it from him. The girl is alone in a foreign country, he thought, and all I did was give her the terrible news, say a few kind words, and leave. He shook his head, stopped and looked back up at the windows of Cat’s apartment, its faint light just visible through the snow. After a few moments of thought he started back toward the door. After taking two steps he heard a muffled cry behind him.
He turned and squinted through the swirling flakes, barely making out two figures. One lay on the sidewalk, the other stood defiantly above him before landing a sharp kick and running in the opposite direction, disappearing almost instantly into the storm. Rick’s first thought was that the two men had taken a bar argument outside to settle, something he was all too familiar with from his time in Albuquerque. Forgetting about Cat, he jogged toward the fallen man and reached him within seconds.
If this was a bar fight, it was a nasty one.
The man lay on his back in the snow, eyes half closed, his head bent to one side. A dark stain of blood spread steadily from a wound on the neck and his arms twitched slightly. The snow was starting to cover the hat which had landed top-down on the sidewalk next to him. Rick looked around for help and saw that a car had come to a stop, its driver out and running up to him. Rick knelt down and pressed a gloved hand against the victim’s neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
“Call an ambulance,” Rick said, but then looked up to see the man staring, his face frozen. “Subito!” The driver pulled out his cell phone and began frantically punching in numbers. Rick took out his own phone with his free hand and scrolled down to the number he wanted. Pressing the neck seemed to slow the bleeding, but there was more blood than he’d ever seen.
“Luca? I’m on the street outside the apartment. Some guy’s been stabbed. What? No, I’m okay. You’d better get over here.” He got a curt reply and snapped his phone closed.
The police car carrying Luca arrived almost simultaneously with the ambulance. The flashing lights and sirens of the two vehicles assured that the small group of people already gathered around the body would grow to a large crowd. Other eyes came from the buildings on the street—shutters began banging open one by one, allowing faces behind the windows to take in the drama below. The two uniformed policemen with Luca had sprung from the car to push back the gawkers, making room for the emergency crew who now knelt by the victim. Rick rose to his feet and stood back, removing the bloody glove. He glanced at Luca who was looking down at the body while talking with one of the other cops. Luca caught Rick’s eyes and walked over to him.
“Tell me what happened, Riccardo.”
“I had just come out of the apartment, and heard a cry. When I looked up I could see this guy on the ground. A man was standing above him. He gave him a kick and ran off.” He pointed. “In that direction. But I lost sight of him almost immediately in the snow.” They both looked at the sky. Rick realized that Luca was wearing his new hat, and had to admit to himself that it was perfect for the present conditions, even with the flaps still tied at the top. “I didn’t even think of chasing the guy.”
“And a good thing.” He turned back to the man on the ground, almost hidden by the team working on him. “You may have kept him from bleeding to death. Could you see the weapon? I doubt if he did this kind of damage with his bare hands.”
“No, didn’t see any weapon. And I didn’t even see the violence, except for the kick, and that seemed like more of an afterthought.”
Luca called over two policeman who had just arrived on the scene and pointed in the direction the assailant had fled. He ordered them to look for any footprints, find anyone who might have seen something or someone, and look for a discarded weapon. “I don’t hold out much hope of finding a weapon, but you never know,” he said to Rick as the men hurried off. “And the late hour, as well as this snow, won’t work in favor of finding any witnesses.”
They both watched as the man was placed on a stretcher. His leather coat had been removed, replaced by a blanket covering him up to the now-bandaged neck. Standing above the stretcher, one of the team held a plastic sack attached to a tube that ran under the blanket to some part of the body
. On a signal the stretcher was heaved up and carried to the open ambulance. Someone picked up the hat, brushed off the snow, and took it with the coat to the ambulance. Within seconds of the doors slamming, it drove off under the looping wail of its siren.
“I wonder who the guy is,” said Rick after the ambulance disappeared in the distance.
“The sergeant just told me. Name’s Guido Pittini. He works for the corporation that runs the ski lifts and trails. Has a reputation as a womanizer.”
“So the attack was from a jealous husband?”
“That’s a possibility, I suppose. He was also active in the mayor’s re-election campaign, the main organizer for Grandi inside the ski-lift workers union.” Luca noticed Rick’s face and nodded. “Your mind is working quickly, Riccardo, despite just witnessing a violent crime. Yes, I suppose it could be political. But I’d rather start with his day job. The sergeant tells me that Pittini is one of the gondola operators.”
Rick had been staring at the dark blotch in the snow, now almost covered with white. His face snapped up. “He was running the gondola when Taylor’s body was dropped?”
“We’ll find that out soon, but there couldn’t be that many shifts.” He looked at Rick’s hand, which still clung to the bloody glove. “That’s ruined. You’ll have to get yourself another pair.”
Rick nodded and noticed a trash can a few feet away. He walked over and threw the glove away, turned to walk back, then pulled off the other and tossed it in too. He stuffed his bare hands in the pockets of his shearling coat and came back to Luca. “Let’s assume that this man was in on the dumping of the body. He could have been part of the murder itself, but let’s only assume he was merely abetting the crime.”
“Go ahead, Riccardo.”
“You show up, Luca. Then the body is found, something the murderer didn’t expect. And now there’s someone who knows about the drop who could go to the police. This poor guy might not have even known that it was a body being dumped. He even could have thought someone was just getting a ride on the gondola so he could ski down without paying.”
“Could be.”
“And now that everyone knows what really happened, the murderer needs to eliminate a key witness.”
“But he may not have succeeded. Pittini is still alive, thanks to your quick action. Let’s hope he pulls through and can tell me something that will explain the attack.” Luca noticed Rick looking up at Cat’s window. “Are you going back up to see her?”
Rick shook his head. “Not now. She should be asleep, if the sirens didn’t keep her up. And I don’t want to tell her about this. She’s upset enough. I’ll just go back to the hotel.”
Luca nodded in agreement. “I’d ask to meet you in the bar later, but the crime scene here could take a while.” He showed a small grin. “You’ll likely have this crime solved by the time you reach the hotel. But you can tell me in the morning.”
Rick nodded silently. He was exhausted both mentally and physically. As he began walking toward the hotel, Luca’s voice stopped him.
“Riccardo, something else. A possibility you may not have considered. Did you notice that Pittini’s coat and hat were very similar to yours, and he’s about your height? Be careful.”
Chapter Six
“Yes, that’s my brother.”
The funeral director pulled the sheet back over Cam Taylor’s face and stepped away from the others standing around the body. Rick instinctively put his arm around Cat’s shoulder and she pushed her head against his chest. There were no tears. Luca inclined his head toward the door, a silent message for Rick, and the three walked out into the waiting area where the warm air contrasted with the chill of the other room. Cat separated herself from Rick and massaged her face and eyes with both hands.
“I’d like to go back to the apartment.”
Of course, Cat.” Rick looked at the policeman who nodded.
“We’ll talk later,” Luca said in Italian.
***
They had spoken just a few words as they walked along the streets of Campiglio. Cat stared at the sidewalk, only occasionally glancing at the sky, with her hands pushed deep into the pockets of her ski coat. The snow was taking a break. A few rays of sunlight knifed through the cloud cover over the eastern mountain, casting shadows that had been rarely seen the past few days. The sun would bring joy to the skiers who passed Rick and Cat on their way to the piste.
“Why don’t you come up, Rick. I’ll make us coffee.”
“That would be good.”
Cat pulled a key chain from her pocket when they emerged from the elevator. As she slipped one of the keys into the door they heard a noise behind them and both turned to see the long face of Daniele Lotti staring at them. Rick saw that he still wore the red turtleneck. Perhaps he slept in it.
“Daniele,” said Cat. It was an acknowledgment of his presence, nothing more. She glanced at Rick and turned back to Lotti. “This is—”
“Yes, Cat, I met him and the other policeman yesterday.”
Rick was about to correct him when Cat spoke. “I’ll talk to you later, Daniele.”
Lotti’s eyes darted from her face to Rick’s and back. “But I thought we—”
“I said I’ll talk to you later, Daniele.”
***
“Does he know what’s happened?” asked Rick. They were in the small kitchen of the apartment. Water in the bottom of a small espresso pot was beginning to boil, pushing up through the tube to packed coffee above it. The aroma spread through the room.
“Yes, I told him this morning before you came. Sometimes I wonder why I ever paid any attention to him in the first place.” She leaned against the counter while Rick sat on one of the stools. “He was one of the few men I met who spoke English. Not the best of reasons to start a relationship.”
“Probably as good as any, Cat.” The gurgling of the pot had stopped, and Rick got up from the stool and turned off the fire under it. Using a dish towel to keep from burning his fingers, he took it from the stove and poured the steaming, black liquid into the two cups. “Sugar?”
“Just one.”
He put a spoonful of sugar into her cup and two into his. They both picked up the saucers, stirred the cups, and smelled the brew before taking tentative sips.
“Do you always wear cowboy boots, Rick?”
“They’re comfortable.”
“That’s what a friend in college always said. I thought she was trying to make a statement about being from Oklahoma.”
“Nothing wrong with being proud of where you’re from.”
“I suppose not. Tell me about where you’re from, Rick.”
She was trying to get her mind off her brother, and he was glad to help, even if it meant talking about himself. Or to himself—her eyes were hollow.
“I’m from various places. Spent a lot of time in Italy, since my mother’s Italian, but also much of my life in New Mexico, where my father is from. I went to high school in Rome but college in New Mexico. Piles of relatives in both countries. Dad’s a diplomat, so we moved around. A couple times we lived in Washington when I was in grade school. And then South America. Washington was the hardship posting—no live-in help.” It was a joke, but her face showed that she didn’t get it. Of course, he thought; growing up she’d always had Maria or someone else to pick up after her.
“That must have been very…interesting.”
“I guess you could say that.” And people often did say just that, Rick thought. Foreign service life was something most Americans couldn’t get their head around. Next she’ll say something about traveling a lot.
“You must like traveling.” She had taken a seat on one of the stools.
“Actually, Cat, I hate plane rides. Most times my family stayed put where we were living. Our vacations were by car to someplace close by. You probably did more traveling when you were
a kid than I did.”
She took the last sip from her cup and walked it to the sink. “Well, we skied in Vail every winter and there was also the trip to the Bahamas. Summers, it was Maine.”
Poor thing, he thought. “I rest my case.”
“Do you think this policeman is competent? He didn’t say much when he was here with you yesterday, and the same this morning.”
“Cat, he doesn’t speak English, so he’s not going to be chatty with you. But to answer your question, I think he knows what he’s doing. I can say that now, after being with him for a full day.” He took his cup to the sink and ran some water in it, considering her question in his own mind. True, Luca was somewhat eccentric, if for nothing other than his taste in hats, but he appeared to know his business. And if the guy had a poor reputation in the ranks of the police, Uncle Piero would have called to warn him rather than encouraging his nephew to assist.
“I hope you’re right, Rick.” She rubbed her eyes, red from lack of sleep and tears. “I really have to get some rest. I shouldn’t have had that coffee.”
“Espresso doesn’t keep you awake, it’s all the water in American coffee that brings out the caffeine. Scientific fact.”
“Really?”
“Really. Go lie down, you’ll drop off quickly.”
She wandered to the one small window of the kitchen. It looked out over the roof of the building behind and beyond to the evergreens of the mountain. A sliver of trail was visible through the trees, its whiteness outlining a red snowcat that was finishing its morning grooming chores. Soon the first skiers would cut smooth grooves into the lines left by the machine. When the snowcat disappeared behind the trees she turned to Rick.
“I’m supposed to be devastated, grieving, falling to pieces, but all I feel is exhaustion. I guess that’s because I never really got along that well with my brother. We went through the motions. He was supposed to be protective, like big brothers are, and I was supposed to appreciate it. We played that game well, especially around my parents, but there was no substance to it. We didn’t dislike each other, Rick, we just never were friends. Maybe someday I’ll feel some regret that we never were close, but right now I don’t. Is that wrong?”
Death in the Dolomites Page 8