Death in the Dolomites by David Wagner (feel good books .TXT) 📕

“Yes, he did.”

Rick thanked the banker, told him he would let him know if anything broke on the case, and ended the call. He kept the phone gripped in his hand while trying to make sense of what he’d heard, but nothing came. He was about to rejoin the group when he decided he should call Luca.

“Inspector Albani.”

“Luca, Riccardo. I just had a call from the banker. Taylor’s boss.”

“And?”

Rick recounted Mark’s message. When he was finished he thought the line had dropped. “Luca, are you there?”

“Yes, Riccardo, I’m still here. Just trying to figure out what this means for the case. Perhaps nothing. Do you recall our first meeting with Melograno on Monday, how he was secretive about his dealings with the bank? He may simply have decided that we didn’t have any business knowing about his loan approval.”

“Could be. But I would like to ask him about it.”

“I would too, Riccardo. Are you still skiing? I can meet you in town in about a half hour.”

“I’m still on the mountain, but I’ll head down now. I’ll see you outside Melograno’s office.”

As soon as he zipped the phone into his jacket another possibility hit him. If it was what really happened, he thought, then everything falls into place, including a strong motive. He considered calling Luca back, but decided it would be better to think it through a few times on the way down to be sure he had it all straight. Whatever his conclusion, he needed to get down fast.

***

After taking Montoya’s call, Luca got into the passenger side of the police vehicle waiting for him in front of the hotel and nodded to the driver. As the car moved through the streets of the town he thought about his conversation with Muller and how convenient it would be for the man if the mayor were involved in this crime. His wife’s competition for the mayorship would be wiped out, and it wouldn’t hurt to have his wife running the town. It was logical that he wanted to push the investigation in Grandi’s direction, the only thing better for Muller would be to pull Melograno into the crime.

The policeman’s thoughts moved from Muller’s motives to his phone call from Riccardo. Did the new information from the bank help in any way at all?

The garage was in a section of Pinzolo designated for businesses necessary to the local economy but better located away from the eyes of the tourists. The plain, cement structure was wedged between a building supply warehouse and a lumberyard, all three sharing the same imposing line of high barbed-wire fencing. The police car drove through the fence gate and parked next to four cars lined up near the door to the building. Two of the cars had inventory tags hanging from their rear-view mirrors and pointed outward. The other two, which Luca guessed belonged to the mechanics, faced toward the building. He unwound himself from the seat, checked out a door marked “office,” but walked through the wide opening instead. The temperature seemed to drop as he entered, and he pulled his hat down without thinking.

The garage was one large open space except for a glass-enclosed office to one side where a woman with thick glasses hunched in front of a computer screen. Or perhaps hunched over a space heater. Four bays lined the back wall, all but one with cars up on lifts. The one vehicle at floor level was the only Mercedes in the shop, a late-model silver SUV, its open hood hiding the head of a man wearing insulated coveralls. He was the only one in the shop. Luca confirmed that the license plate was Melograno’s before walking over and tapping on the rear fender of the Mercedes. The man extracted himself, stared at the policeman with a frown, and jerked a thumb toward the office.

“Talk to her to make an appointment.”

Luca pulled out his identification. “Inspector Albani. I have a few questions. It won’t take long.” The mechanic rubbed his hands on a towel that had been covering the side of the car, though they did not appear to be very greasy, confirming what Melograno had said about an electrical problem. “We are investigating some stolen vehicles, including a Mercedes or two.”

“Does this look like a chop shop, Inspector? I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with the alternator and I’m running late. But if you want to check it out, go right ahead.” He stood back from the car as Luca peered at the VIN and made a flourish of writing the number down on his pad. Then he slowly circled the car, stopping at the rear where he looked at the mechanic and gestured toward the trunk. The man waved his hand, which the policeman took as permission to open it. The inside of the SUV looked like it had just come out of the showroom, or at least recently vacuumed, as the marks in the carpeting indicated. Luca carefully closed the trunk.

“I think I’ve seen all I need to see, so you can get back to your wiring. Has it been difficult to diagnose?”

“You might say that,” the man answered, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “I’ve been at it since Thursday morning.”

Luca had been going through the motions of making notes, but his eyes jerked up from his pad. “Thursday morning?”

The mechanic held up his hands defensively. “Yeah, I know, it should have taken less time, but this one has me stumped. I even got on the phone to Stuttgart. And let me tell you, the owner has been breaking my coglioni about it.”

Luca wished the man good luck and stepped out into the relative warmth of the open air, pulling out his cell phone as he walked. His driver, who leaned against the car with a cigarette in his hand, called out. “There’s no signal here, Inspector.” He pointed to the mountain which rose steeply directly behind the building.

Luca walked back