Trouble in the alps, p.16
Trouble in the Alps, page 16
Raoul said, “You speak of a non-existent sister like it is already a fact. But it would be quite a risk to do something like that. People could easily check into her past, her family, to find out if she actually has a sister or not.”
“Well, perhaps there is a Johanna somewhere, but she need not be delivering exciting travel stories to Margot.”
Raoul frowned and then his expression lit up. “I know how to move forwards. I will call the newspaper Hansen is working for and set up a meeting. I will claim I want to tell Hansen about my accident. An exclusive interview. He will certainly fall for that and agree to see us. We can then question him about Eva and what she wanted to reveal. That way we can find out who might have been interested in killing her to keep her silent.”
The newspaper had been eager to put Raoul in touch with their star reporter right away and Raoul came back announcing to Atalanta that they were going to travel to a nearby town for the meeting. The train ride took them through a lush valley with wooden houses huddled together at the foot of steep rock formations. Waterfalls rushed down in a tumble of white foaming water and birds of prey soared against the bright blue sky.
Raoul had slid the train window down and they could hear the tinkling of bells around the necks of peacefully grazing cows and playful goats.
A man pushed a cart loaded with wood slowly up a small track towards a cabin sitting high on the mountainside. Everyone was going about their daily business and it made the place seem like a tranquil and beautiful slice of the world.
But death had struck here, twice, and Atalanta felt apprehensive about the decision they had taken. Inspector Tanner had forbidden them to leave the village and yet they had hopped on a train to go and meet an infamous gossip columnist. Nobody had stopped them, though she had seen several people get on the train at the same time as them and she wondered which one of them was an informer for Tanner. She had no illusion that she could keep much from him. And then there was the risk in meeting Hansen. They wanted information from him but the smart reporter would not let this chance pass by to learn things from them. He had a sharp pen and didn’t shrink back from writing about influential people. If Raoul used the wrong words or Hansen deliberately misunderstood him and wrote a harsh piece involving the Dulces, Raoul’s life could be in very real danger. She herself might also not be safe. They had to watch carefully where they trod or they would ruin themselves in the process.
As they alighted onto the platform, under the tolling of the bright bell of a nearby church, Atalanta touched Raoul’s arm. “We must be very careful. If you anger Vincenzo Dulce in any way…”
“I am not going to talk about Vincenzo Dulce. We are going to confront Hansen about his use of Eva Reuter as his source and suggest that her snooping led to her death. We will make him feel guilty and that will make him reveal things to us.”
“I doubt that. A man such as him will be used to accusations and reproaches. He has written pieces that have led to people’s personal and financial ruin. He will not suddenly develop a conscience.”
Raoul hmm-ed but didn’t slow his pace. They had agreed to meet at Hotel Moser. It lay beside a clear blue lake and from the jetty a large white boat was just leaving to take tourists across to the other side. Atalanta gestured at the towering grey rock walls on the other side of the lake.
“I read in a brochure that there are caverns there you can explore. I don’t know if I’d want to do it. The darkness and the idea of being locked inside a mountain… It would feel oppressive.”
“Perhaps we can try it once this case is solved?” Raoul glanced at her. He ushered her past a sign advertising the various fish dishes the hotel had on offer. The fish was caught fresh in the lake each morning.
They seated themselves at a table under richly blossoming trees. There came a light breeze across the water, ruffling the heavily laden branches and causing pale pink petals to drift down and rest upon the checkered tablecloth. An elderly waiter with a pointy beard took their order for coffee and cake and then retreated.
On a bench near the jetty a man sat smoking. He appeared to be waiting for another boat, but Atalanta had seen him come off the train with them and wondered if he was Tanner’s man watching them. What would Tanner think if he heard they had set up a meeting with the nosy reporter?
Raoul checked his watch. “Hansen is late,” he observed. Just as he said it, they could hear the roar of a car engine. A red sportscar was parked at the edge of the lake and a tall, blond man jumped out of it. He waved off someone who tried to tell him he wasn’t allowed to park there and approached Raoul and Atalanta with long strides.
He cut a fashionable figure in his light suit and several women on the hotel’s terrace regarded him with interest. As he reached their table, he shook Raoul’s hand with fervour. “Good to see you, Lemont. Word had it you were just about dead and buried.” He focused on Atalanta with his lively blue eyes. “Hello there, who are you?”
“Atty Ford,” Atalanta said. “I am a friend of Raoul’s.”
“I see. Alexander Hansen. But you already knew that.” He winked at her, then sank into a chair. He straightened his tie with lean, suntanned fingers. “Shall we start? I am most curious to hear what you want to tell me.”
“Eva Reuter is dead,” Raoul said bluntly.
Atalanta saw the reporter’s face stiffen. It was as though he physically recoiled a moment before slipping his mask back in place. “Excuse me?” he said tightly.
“Eva Reuter. The woman who provided you with information about everything that goes on at Hotel Alpenrot.” Raoul leaned on the table. “Your source, as it is called, I believe? She died. She was poisoned.”
Again, there was a twitch in Hansen’s face. “Poisoned?” he repeated with a dull voice.
Raoul nodded. “Perhaps she was a little too talkative? Or too reckless in her snooping around offices and bedrooms? She did it all for you.”
“No, no, she did it for herself.” Hansen sat up straight. “She wanted to earn money. But most of all, she loved the excitement. She was a very insistent woman. She practically coerced me into printing her story.”
“The story about me.” Raoul gave him a glare.
Hansen made an apologetic gesture. “Look, you know how it is for newspapermen. We live off news. We have to bring the public something worthwhile every single day. So, when I get information about the injured driver Raoul Lemont, information every journalist on the continent is after, I take it and I print it.”
“You have created a difficult situation for me with my team.”
Hansen made another hand gesture. The sun glinted off the signet ring he wore. “I can’t change the truth.”
“The truth? Is what you write the truth?” Atalanta eyed him sceptically. “Or is it just rumours and suggestions?”
“The public don’t care much either way.”
“But you are a journalist. You are supposed to search for the truth. You should care.”
Hansen laughed bitterly. “Oh, I started out like that, believe me. I was all fired up to go and change the world with my stories. But I soon found out that my editor was not interested in the real issues I wanted to address. It was all society gossip, news about famous faces. It sells papers and then I get paid. That’s just how it works.”
“And Eva agreed to that?” Atalanta asked, to lead him back to their topic of interest.
Hansen nodded. “Completely. She enjoyed the excitement of seeing her stories in print and watching how people responded to it. She was onto something big for me. A sensational scoop she said. Something that would hit like a bomb.”
“A bomb?” Raoul queried.
“That’s what she said. She was doing her research…” Hansen scoffed a moment. “She called it that. Research. As if it were more than just picking up gossip or noticing a man come out of the wrong bedroom door. But she called it research. And I did tell her that if she had something major, she needed some proof. Something for me to go on. I wasn’t about to have my career destroyed by a slander suit.”
“And she thought she could deliver proof?”
“Yes. She said she’d have it for me soon. After the weekend. She needed to connect a few dots and…” Hansen spread his hands. “Then it would all be ready for me to take over.”
“And you have no idea what this was about? Whom it concerned?” Raoul queried.
“No. I don’t think it was about you again. She was so … I don’t know what you call it. Sort of gleeful? Like she couldn’t wait to see someone squirm.”
Dieter Bergreiter? Atalanta wondered. During that conversation at the reception desk after Bergreiter’s arrival, had Eva invited him to a meeting in the reading room later that night? A meeting in which to present her evidence and pressure him to pay her not to reveal what she knew?
But Dieter hadn’t even waited for the meeting. The tea had been poisoned before he got to the room and lost the tie clip.
Had he decided to take no chances? How had he obtained the poison? What kind of poison had it been? Inspector Tanner hadn’t told them yet. Would he even share any details of the case with her? He seemed to be very self-confident. She wasn’t even certain whether she could fully trust him. After all, he might have obtained his post by running his predecessor off the road!
Raoul said to Hansen, “Eva Reuter is dead, and I think you must agree it had something to do with this big thing she was looking into. Now you must help us find out what it was.”
“First of all, I am not at all certain Eva was killed because of her work for me. She was a formidable character. People didn’t tend to like her. She had some tensions with the woman she was travelling with – what was her name?”
“Theresa Hofer?” Atalanta suggested.
“Exactly. Something about her taking advantage of her wealth and her not liking it? I don’t recall the details. I just wanted her to do her job and not whine to me about it.” He gave a hoarse laugh. “It didn’t seem so hard to me. A holiday at a magnificent hotel, enjoying the luxury lifestyle and doing a little investigating on the side.”
“Had she worked for you before this? Did she specifically come to Hotel Alpenrot at your behest?” Atalanta wasn’t certain whether the slick reporter was being fully honest.
Hansen said with a shrug, “She had delivered me some titbits before. Because of her marriage to a wealthy man, she was ideally placed to, uh … learn things.”
“So she worked for you from the start of her marriage?”
“On and off, yes.” Hansen fell silent as the waiter brought the order for Atalanta and Raoul. Hansen asked for black coffee and then resumed speaking when the waiter was out of earshot. “She would call me when she had something. I couldn’t even use everything. But I was glad she was at the hotel where you were recuperating.”
But had Eva known where Raoul was? Or had her story on him been an unexpected extra, not what she was really there for? It seemed she had been working on something else, a major thing. The jewel theft and the disappearance, perhaps? Had she deduced the chambermaid Sylvia had never run away but had been murdered? Eva had been very interested in the grotto…
“Did she tell you anything about a jewel theft,” she asked Hansen, “and a missing chambermaid?”
“No. She kept her cards close to her chest. Typical Eva. I am sorry she was murdered but … she was a very selfish woman.”
“A trait you didn’t fail to exploit,” Raoul said with disgust.
Hansen threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t pretend to be anything other than what I am. I am a working-class man who always envied the people who were born with a silver spoon in their mouth. If I can expose the dark secrets of their world then I will do it. Do I not deserve my share of the wealth they are so callously enjoying?” He stared past them a moment with a frown and then continued, “Eva was just like me. She had never known privilege. She got it by her looks, by marrying an old lecher who fancied her. She made the most of the chances she had, as she put it.”
“Have you ever heard anything more about this marriage?” Atalanta asked. As Hansen did not seem very interested in Eva as a person, only as a source, chances were slim that he knew anything relevant, but she wanted to try anyway.
Hansen leaned back with a pensive frown. “As a matter of fact, I got a call a few weeks back from a man – that is all I know, because he mentioned no name – and he told me that Eva Reuter had killed her husband and was now playing the merry widow with his money. It sounded like a story I would never be able to prove and so I put down the phone and forgot all about it.”
“I don’t think you would have done that.” Atalanta eyed him intently. “Eva was your source. She delivered interesting information to you but you never liked her. Why not use her for a story? I wager you did look into it, or at least tried to get some proof. For instance, from the doctor who signed the death certificate for her husband?”
Hansen licked his lips. “If I did, why would I admit it to you?”
“There is a murder investigation going on,” Raoul said with an edge to his voice. “You could become involved in it if we disclose to the inspector that you were in communication with Eva. That she sold you information about influential people you could use for the stories you publish.”
“That is not against the law.” Hansen looked smug.
Atalanta said, “Herr Hansen, I do agree that your position is relatively safe. But you do want to know what Eva was working on, don’t you? You still want the scoop she promised you. And we can get it for you. If you help us with what you know.” She was making a risky promise here but it might be the only way to get Hansen to cooperate and share what he had found out about Eva’s marriage and the death of her husband.
Hansen looked from her to Raoul and back. “How do I know if I can trust you?” he asked slowly.
Atalanta had no idea how she could convince him but before she could even start to reply, Hansen continued: “But then again, I have always taken risks and so far that strategy has paid dividends. So go on. What do you want to know from me?”
“Have you been in touch with the doctor who looked after Eva Reuter’s late husband? Have you learned anything that can prove she was involved in her husband’s passing?”
“Not really. The doctor said everything was perfectly normal and he sent me a copy of the death certificate. It listed heart attack as the cause of death. I could not go deeper into it from there. I mean, how would I be able to do that? I did try to contact staff who worked at the manor house when the old man died, but most of them are still employed with the mistress and they didn’t want to talk. The only one who did speak to me was an old cook who had been dismissed but she was obviously drinking a lot and could not be trusted. She said it wouldn’t surprise her if the mistress had killed the master, but while it might not surprise me much either, knowing Eva’s greedy character, that is hardly proof of a crime.”
Atalanta took a bite of her cake and chewed. This whole conversation seemed to be delivering very little by way of hard evidence of any wrongdoing.
Hansen said, “It was interesting though that the cook told me that she had been approached a few months back by a man who was looking into the death as well. She said he wasn’t a reporter but had claimed to be one of the victim’s children. The old man had been married three or four times and had a number of children – all grown up and robbed of their inheritance by their stepmother.”
“By Eva,” Atalanta said. She held the cake fork suspended mid-air, wondering if someone at the hotel was a stepchild of Eva. The questions had come from a man, Hansen said. Did it make sense to think of … Franco? During that late-night conversation in the reading room, he had told her that he had been born on a manor. He had made it clear that he was not able to profit from the wealth or position because he was but a second son, but what if he had lost everything to a new young stepmother?
Had he romanced Eva to get close to her and find proof that she had killed her husband? Theresa had mentioned that Franco had been in Eva’s hotel room, allegedly to put a red rose on her bed, but perhaps he had been looking for evidence among her things? Eva had mentioned that the doctor who had signed the death certificate had changed practices and now owned a house on Lake Maggiore. Had he received money for his involvement in covering up the murder? It was an interesting possibility.
Raoul said, “Is there anything else you can tell us? Did Eva ever give you anything important? A notebook? A key to something?”
“No, like I said before, she was very secretive. I have no idea if she had any proof of anything and if she did, where she kept it.”
The waiter brought his black coffee and they sat in silence for a while eating and drinking and looking at the lake. The excited voices of tourists resounded across the water and a majestic black swan sailed past. More pink petals descended on them under the rising breeze.
Finally Hansen spoke, “Look, I don’t want you to think I am an unfeeling monster. I do feel sorry for Eva having overplayed her hand and paying the price for it, but I am just not convinced it was her story for me that caused her death. There must have been lots of people that hated her. Or feared her. She had a nasty way of suggesting things, of making you feel like she was just waiting to push a blade into your back when you were least expecting it.”
“Did she also put pressure on you?” Atalanta asked. “If she was so unreliable, why did you keep working with her? Did you have to, because she knew too much?”
