“I’m sure you would have,” said Luca. “You didn’t see anything else lying around?”
“No, sir, just the cap.”
“Then what?”
“We got back into Gino’s car and drove into Campiglio. It took us a while to find a place to park, but luckily we got that space near our hotel when somebody was pulling out. That’s when you grabbed me.” He frowned and looked up at Rick who grinned back.
“And you think you can find this place?”
“Sure. I’m good with directions. It’s right outside town.”
“Good. Sergeant, take him out and make copies of his documents. And let him use the bathroom if he needs to, we don’t want him up there contaminating the crime scene any more than he has already.”
Lorenzo and the sergeant left the room. Before the door closed, another policeman stuck his head through the doorway. “Two journalists are here, Inspector. They say they have an appointment with you. I asked them to wait.”
“Thank you, Corporal. I’ll be with them in a moment.”
Rick was pushing down the corner of the old ski poster on the wall when Luca gestured for him to take a seat at the table. “The newspapers can wait. What did you think of our little hat thief?”
“It sounded to me like he was telling the truth,” Rick said as he eased into one of the chairs.
“I’m sure he is. And it’s very possible that we have found where the murder actually took place.” Luca looked at the blue cap, sealed inside a clear plastic evidence bag. It sat in the middle of the table. “Explain something to me, Riccardo.” He picked up the bag.
“If I can, Luca.”
“Notre Dame, the name of this university. That is French, is it not?”
“It is indeed.”
Luca turned the bag in his hands. “And the word on the back, ‘Irish.’ That means irlandese, if I am not mistaken?”
“Yes, Luca, Irish are people from Ireland.”
The policeman nodded slowly, his face serious. “So we have an American university with a French name whose students are from Ireland?”
“That’s close enough.”
“I will never understand your country, Riccardo.”
“Don’t even try, Luca. It’s easier to solve murders.”
***
So much for the sun. As Rick walked up the hill from the police station to the hotel, the clouds closed ranks to eliminate the last patch of open sky. And it had begun to snow again. He looked at his watch and wondered if Flavio had already headed for the mountain. Not that he’d blame him if he had. Just because Rick had become involved in the investigation didn’t mean Flavio had to stay in the hotel.
He pushed his hands into his coat pockets, reminding himself that he had to get another pair of gloves, and felt his phone vibrating. When he checked the number it was a 2 area code. Milano.
“Montoya.”
“Rick, this is Mark Fries.”
“I thought it might be you, Mark. I suppose you heard the news.”
“Yes, the police came to the bank today. This is terrible. How is his sister taking it?”
“As well as can be expected. The consulate is sending someone up to help her out.”
“I know. I called the consul general and he told me. I said that the bank is ready to help in any way we can.”
Rick brushed the snow off his phone. “What did the police ask you?”
“Pretty much the same things you asked when you called, and I gave them the same answers. Well, they also asked about possible enemies, arguments he may have had with someone, that sort of thing. Nobody here could think of anyone with a motive to…to take Cam’s life.”
“I suppose they asked you to contact them if anyone recalled anything that could help the investigation.”
“They did. I suppose that’s standard procedure.”
“I think so. But if someone does remember something, since I’m helping out the inspector here who’s running the investigation, it might speed things if you called me, and I can pass it immediately on to him.”
“Certainly. I’ll be glad to do that, Rick. I’ve asked my assistant to check on that loan. Perhaps there’s something there that could be of help. I’ll let you know.”
They said their good-byes and Rick tucked his phone back in his coat pocket before continuing up the road. He wondered if the Milanese police would be annoyed that he’d cut them out of the loop. Probably not, and Luca was the lead investigator who had likely instructed them to question the workers at the bank in the first place.
He pushed open the door of the hotel and walked into the lobby. Flavio was standing near the front desk, dressed in his ski pants and sweater, talking with a woman whose back was to Rick. She wore a dark pantsuit and had short hair, instantly reminding him, even without seeing the face, of one of his college classmates, Linda Chavez, who got a job with an Albuquerque bank on graduation. Flavio noticed Rick and said something to the woman. She immediately turned on her heel and began striding toward him. She even walks like Linda, he thought, but is much better looking. She stuck out her hand.
“I am Lori Shafer, from the American Consulate General in Milan. Signor Caldaro told me that you know how I can get in contact with Catherine Taylor.” She spoke in relatively correct but somewhat accented Italian, like she was reading from a practice dialogue in language class.
Rick glanced at Flavio’s grin and toyed for an instant with the idea of continuing in Italian, but decided against it. “You can speak English with me, Ms. Shafer. Pleased to meet you, I am Rick Montoya.”
“But I…” She looked back to Flavio, who did a theatrical shrug, and then returned her glare to Rick. “He didn’t tell me you spoke English.”
“He probably didn’t tell you that he speaks English himself.” Flavio was now at her side, and Rick added: “Though not very well.”
“I was so impressed by your Italian, Signorina,” said Flavio, “that I did not want to expose my limited English.”
Rick shook his head. It
