Free Death in the Dolomites by David P Wagner Page A

!”
    ***
    The square had begun to fill with the late afternoon crowd, many still wearing ski outfits but shuffling about in soft, puffy boots or sturdy street shoes. The tall streetlamps had come to life, their yellow light picking up the flakes as they fell to the ground. The old men that Rick and Luca had seen earlier were gone, replaced by clumps of teenagers who talked loudly and kept their eyes moving about the square to see if anyone of interest had appeared. Except for their clothing, they could have been standing in any piazza in Italy.
    â€œIt is very comical, Riccardo.”
    Rick looked at the policeman. “And what is that?”
    â€œI was just thinking. If this snow were coming down in Rome, the city would be in chaos. Buses would not run, traffic would be snarled, everything would come to a halt. I have been there when the snow came, and it was not enjoyable. But here, look at everyone in the piazza . There is a smile on each face.” Rick was about to respond when Luca continued. “Do your towns in America have squares like this, Riccardo?”
    Rick instinctively glanced around before answering. “Where my father comes from, in the Southwest, we do have them, but they are usually square or rectangular, and at the center of a grid. The Spaniards liked geometric street plans. It was something they picked up from the Romans, I think.”
    Luca smiled as he adjusted his hat, which was serving its purpose to keep the falling snow off his head. “There’s no getting away from us Romans. Despite our inability to deal with snow.” He checked his watch. “I think we have time to call on the last person on our list before dinner. This should be a good time to find Signor Lotti at his apartment, and we already know the way.”
    By the time they reached the apartment, darkness had fully covered the valley. The streets were full of cars leaving the town center, skis strapped to racks on roofs, starting their descent to the Po Valley or beyond. They were watched from the sidewalks by those fortunate enough to be starting their holiday week. Unlike the rest of Italy where shops were closed, Sunday evening was a busy time in Campiglio. Tourists who weren’t shopping or strolling the streets sat in bars sipping a hot chocolate or something more potent. Rick and Luca worked their way through the people to reach the apartment. The policeman found the nameplate and pushed the button.
    A man’s voice crackled from the intercom. “Who is it?”
    â€œSignor Lotti?”
    â€œYes. Who is it?”
    â€œInspector Albani.”
    They waited, and when Luca was about to push the button again the voice returned. “Apartment 4B.” The door buzzed open, they walked into the lobby and pressed for the elevator. When they reached the top floor and emerged, they saw a man peering out from the door.
    Daniele Lotti’s appearance was not what Rick expected. Would an elegant and beautiful woman like Cat Taylor be dating—if that was the right term for their relationship—someone like this guy? He was tall with red curly hair, immediately reminding Rick of a basketball player at UNM who only got to play when the game was clearly won or lost. Lotti stared at the two men, his ping-pong ball eyes darting from one to the other.
    â€œIs this about Cam Taylor?”
    â€œYes, it is, Signor Lotti,” said Luca, “may we come in?”
    â€œCertainly, certainly.” He stepped aside and Rick could see that the apartment was the mirror image of the one across the hall. The furnishings were also the same. Lotti, it appeared, had saved money by purchasing everything in sets to cover all the rooms in the two apartments on the floor. They walked to the living room and took seats in the same wooden furniture as in the Taylor apartment. Even the view out of the picture window was the same, though now almost covered with darkness.
    â€œWhen did you see Signor