Trouble in the alps, p.23
Trouble in the Alps, page 23
But what about Eva? Had she found out about the dead body in the grotto? Or had she been out to expose Maurizio? She had searched his office…
Atalanta wiped her forehead. What should she do next? How should she best act? She felt like she was getting no closer to the truth, like every piece added to the puzzle only made it more complicated and impossible to solve.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The following morning, Atalanta came down to find Raoul waiting for her in the lobby. He walked over to her with hurried steps and said in a shaken tone, “They have arrested Maurizio.”
“What? When?”
“Tanner came to the hotel at first light and they searched the premises, especially Maurizio’s office. He found something significant because he arrested him right on the spot. Maurizio said he would be sorry as his uncle has very good lawyers, but Tanner replied that no one could get him off now.” Raoul looked pale under his tan. “What can he mean? Do you have any idea what Tanner is up to? Has he told you? You have been so silent. Yesterday evening…”
Atalanta flushed as she recalled the meeting with Margot and how she had kept Raoul in the dark about her suspicions and actions. “I was just tired. So much has happened and … it seems to keep on happening. I want to go to the police station to hear what Tanner has against Maurizio. Will you join me?”
They went outside to the funicular, but upon arrival they were told they were not allowed to go down, on Inspector Tanner’s orders.
“But it is Inspector Tanner I want to see,” Atalanta protested. The officer shrugged. “You must stay here. You could call him, I suppose.”
Reluctantly, Atalanta and Raoul retraced their steps. They found the lobby empty. It seemed like the staff had gathered in the kitchen to discuss the new developments. Raoul gestured for Atalanta to follow him into Maurizio’s office.
“There is a phone in here. I once saw Maurizio hide it away in his desk when I came in. I suppose he uses it for private business. You can place a call to the police station. That way the receptionist won’t overhear, should he come back while you are speaking.”
Atalanta was surprised that there was an extra phone but sat down to place the call. She had to wait a few minutes before Tanner came on the line. “What is it?” he snarled.
“I want to know why you arrested Maurizio Dulce.”
“He poisoned Eva Reuter. I found the vial of sedative hidden in his desk. His fingerprints were all over it. I am arranging for him to be transferred today to a prison where his uncle’s friends cannot reach him. I don’t want him to escape.” He sounded grim. “Finally I have something against them.”
“Why did you come back to carry out this search?” Atalanta asked. “You looked around before. Did you not find the vial then?”
“I was told that there was a secret compartment in the desk. I came back to see if I could find it. There was lots of money and the vial.”
Atalanta’s head spun. “Who told you about this secret compartment?”
“Does it matter? I have him under lock and key now. I will release Franco later today. The secretary must of course face charges for the thefts, but she will be happy to hear the murder will not be blamed on her.” Tanner waited a moment and added, “Not bad, for a glorified gamekeeper.” Then he disconnected the call.
“What did he say?” Raoul asked with tension in his voice. He leaned over her, looking at her with wide eyes.
“He is very smug and pleased with himself.” Atalanta stared ahead. She still wasn’t certain that Tanner had arrested the right person. Some detail was nagging at her brain: the secret compartment that had been uncovered; the money inside; the vial. All the evidence he needed. So convenient. Almost too convenient. Too neat.
She looked at Raoul. “Do you think Maurizio is capable of murder?”
Raoul leaned back on his heels. “How can I know that? I have not known him for long. He is a strong-willed man and he has an uncle who won’t take no for an answer.”
“You think he may have killed Eva under his uncle’s orders?”
“I wondered before if he keeps that extra phone”—Raoul pointed at it—“especially to hear from his uncle. I’m sure they don’t talk about the weather.”
Atalanta shied away from the phone as if it had suddenly turned into a snake. If Margot had told the truth about the blackmail scheme, this phoneline had been used to take the orders to extort people and lure them to this hotel; to this beautiful place where evil lurked around every corner.
She stood up. “I want to get out of this room. I don’t feel at ease here.”
Raoul nodded and agreed. In the corridor, they saw the hotel manager coming towards them. He cast them a suspicious look. “What were you doing in Signor Dulce’s office?”
Raoul shrugged. “I called the inspector to ask what I can do to help Maurizio. As the team’s driver, I feel it is my responsibility to support him at this difficult time.”
The manager seemed doubtful but could not do much but let them pass.
Once in the lobby again, Raoul asked, “What do we do now? We don’t know whether Maurizio is guilty or not. We should hardly go to the trouble of acquitting him if he did kill Eva. What do you think?”
“I’m torn. The whole sudden discovery of evidence pointing at his guilt? It feels too convenient to be real. There has to be something behind it. But what?”
She looked up at the mounted deer heads along the wall. The range of statements that people had made were whispering through her mind: Theresa’s story of how Franco used the same line from one of Margot’s books with every female he wanted to woo; Margot claiming he had also tried it on with her, but not recognising the line she herself had written; the photographs of Crete with buildings that had been torn down in recent years; Dieter’s lie to Margot that he had seen her sister at a Christmas party. But why lie if they both knew full well that she was dead? After all, he had been blackmailed with the truth.
Or had he?
Atalanta raised a hand and massaged her temple. She was missing something. Something that would make everything come together. The last piece she needed. Or the aha moment. In the past, it had often come via a letter her grandfather had written her. But in this entire case there had been no letter. Perhaps it was logical that he could not have prepared her for every eventuality. That there would come a day when she had to do things on her own, whether she felt like she could or not.
Raoul said, “This morning I woke up and I remembered your last name. It is Ashford, isn’t it?”
It was strange because earlier she would have been livid at the idea that he would ever not know her last name. But now, it made her so happy that this was a sign of his memory returning. She nodded enthusiastically. “It is.”
Raoul frowned. “That is very odd because I am certain that I received a letter the other day from someone named Ashford. Clarence Ashford?”
Atalanta stared at him. “That’s my grandfather. He is deceased. How could he ever write to you?”
Raoul turned away. “I will go and get it. Wait here for me.”
Atalanta stood with a nervously drumming heart. Raoul sometimes mixed things up so he might be mistaken. Still, he had seemed alert as he had mentioned it, and the name Clarence Ashford was probably not that common. What could she expect?
Raoul appeared again and handed her the note. It was not addressed to anyone, but the sender was indeed Clarence Ashford. She opened it and took out a sheet of paper. Seeing her grandfather’s familiar, strong hand, made tears burn behind her eyes.
This letter may come as a bit of a surprise to you, for you do not know me and I do not know you. I am sitting here writing this letter to the man who has become important in my granddaughter’s life. A man who I hope deserves her adoration and loyalty. I know that when Atalanta sets her mind to something she will not easily be swayed. I must therefore ask you not to take her feelings lightly and to search within yourself for certainty about whether you reciprocate her feelings. For it will certainly pain her greatly to discover that someone who pledged allegiance to her has let her down. I know I cannot keep her safe from every hurt that might come her way, although I wish I could do just that. Having lost both her parents, she has suffered quite enough. But that is in the past and you have no dealings with it. You are in the now and you can make her happy. Ensure that you do. By this I do not mean to say you must profess love for her that you do not feel. Quite the contrary. Profess nothing until you are absolutely certain that she is the one, even if it takes time. Because once you are certain and you have her love, it is a treasure that will never lose its worth. I hope you will value that treasure and that you will be worthy of it. I hope you can bring her the happiness she so deserves.
Yours truly,
Clarence Ashford
“How did you get this letter?” she asked breathlessly.
“It was pushed under my door.”
Atalanta stared at the words.
Renard. It had to have been him. But why? He didn’t like Raoul. He didn’t want them to be together.
She gestured at Raoul. “Stay here. I have something I must do.” She went to look for Renard in the kitchen with the other staff. She drew him aside to a private corner where they could not be overheard. He wanted to tell her something about the staff’s observations after Maurizio’s arrest, but instead she merely showed him the letter. He fell silent and hung his head.
“You put this under Raoul’s door.”
“Your grandfather asked me to keep that letter for the man who would win your heart. To give it to him at an appropriate time.”
“And you thought this appropriate? I am so confused and out of my depth and… I wished for a letter from Grandfather to help me in the case and get on, but this only makes it harder.”
Renard wanted to say something but she didn’t give him the opportunity.
“Raoul doesn’t remember that we met let alone anything we might have shared and then you drop this letter on him with my grandfather’s words to the man who—” Should marry me? She shook her head, angry and upset. “You had no right to do this. You should have discussed it with me first. I would have told you now is not the right time. It had to wait.”
Renard shook his head. “No, it could not.”
“Why? Raoul is confused. He has lost everything he loves. His career, his health. He doesn’t know anything for certain. He must focus on finding his way back to what he was and then you do this. It only makes it harder.”
Renard said, “For him perhaps, but not for you.”
“Not for me? I don’t follow. Are you trying to use Raoul’s vulnerability to get him to marry me? I won’t have it. I want him to choose me, of his own accord. Not because he is forced to do it.” She was so angry she wanted to kick something!
“I have no idea what the letter says.” Renard stood up straight. “But knowing your grandfather, it will be something this young man needs to hear. Your grandfather loved you very much and he was also open to loving whoever would catch your fancy. He wanted you to be happy with someone who stole your heart. With whom you could share a love like your parents had.”
Atalanta stared at him. “My parents? But my father chose my mother when he had walked away from his birthright. Grandfather can never have wanted that.”
“He was disappointed in your father’s choice of career, but not in his choice of wife. He thought your mother was marvellous. He admired the love they had for one another.”
Atalanta recalled that one of the things that had prevented her grandfather from reaching out to them earlier had been his reluctance to drive a wedge between her parents or between her and her father. He had truly cared for their little family.
Tears burned her eyes anew. “And what am I supposed to do with this? I am always hearing that he loved me so much but I never heard it from him. I feel so alone and … how can this letter help me?”
“The letter was not written to you,” Renard pointed out kindly. “It is not for you to act on it, but for Monsieur Lemont.”
Atalanta wanted to say more but suddenly she froze and stared at him. “You do not like Raoul. You have never wanted us to get together. Why give him the letter? Why not keep it for a later occasion in which I have severed my unwanted ties with Raoul and am open to a new love prospect?”
“Indeed, why?” Renard said, holding her gaze. She saw a little twitch around his lips as if he had trouble controlling himself.
The anger left her then, and she stood there trying to gauge what he had wanted to achieve. Had his action been an attempt to show, to her and to Raoul, that he was taking them seriously? That he was no longer opposed to them getting together?
She held the letter uncomfortably. It had indeed not been for her to read. It had been meant for Raoul. For him to understand that if he wanted to pursue her, there were people who were cheering him on. Who wanted him to love her, if he felt that he could.
It still didn’t answer the question of whether he could – that was something Raoul had to determine for himself, but at least she now knew that the two people who meant the most to her – Grandfather and Renard – had her back. She could count on them to want the best for her, to want her to be happy. Even if it required her to choose a difficult path with a man she loved, a man she also found infuriating at times because they were so very different.
She released her breath and the heavy weight lifted off her shoulders. She could suddenly smile at Renard. “Thank you. You have done the right thing. I will give this back to the rightful recipient.” She turned away and then said again, “Thank you. It means a lot to me. After all, of all the things in the world, like justice and truth and loyalty, the most important must be love.”
She took two more paces and stopped in her tracks. What had she just said? Of all the things… The most important… Love.
Images flashed through her head. People together. People apart. Jealousy. Rivalry. Laughter. Love. The ideal of love. The beauty of romance. What had Margot called her secretary’s motivation? Not greed. But desire. It had a different ring to it. These two things were not the same.
And this could be the answer to everything.
If only she could see a way to unravel the web and catch the killer in their own snare.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Atalanta watched Margot and Dieter Bergreiter skating on the frozen lake behind the hotel. They held hands as they went in slow circles, constantly looking each other in the eye. There seemed to be something special about this ice dance, and the way they saw no one else but each other. Was this what true love looked like?
True love or … obsession?
Atalanta crossed the terrace and stopped at the edge. She waved at the happy couple. They came over to her, their faces warm from the exertion and the cold wind. Dieter Bergreiter smiled at Margot before focusing on Atalanta. “Fräulein Ford, good morning. How are you? Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
“It certainly is,” Atalanta said. “You look very happy. Carefree.”
“Yes, well, the situation is resolved, and we are all packed and ready to go,” he said. “As soon as the inspector gives the green light, we can depart.”
“Now that I have decided to stop writing, I feel so much better. We can travel together and see the world,” Margot said, smiling up at Dieter.
“But how will you support yourself if there is no more money coming in from your books?” Atalanta asked.
Dieter said, “There are still royalties from older titles. And there are a lot of older books. They will supply a steady income.”
“And I will make sure Dieter doesn’t play cards as much as he does now,” Margot said in a teasing tone. “That will save us money which we can spend on doing nice things together.”
“Yes.” Atalanta kept her expression friendly as she continued to speak. “You are in a much better position now than you were before. With Maurizio Dulce in prison, you are no longer being blackmailed about the body in the grotto. You can keep all that money in your pocket. For travelling.”
“You make it sound like a crime,” Dieter said with a sharp look at her. “I admit that we should not have kept Johanna’s accident in the grotto a secret, but we were very afraid of what it might mean if the truth got out. I was only eager to protect Margot.”
“And her writing career, which brings in so much money,” Atalanta said.
Margot put a protective hand on her husband’s arm. “I was devastated when Johanna died. Dieter did everything he could to help me. To keep me from harm. I am sorry that I made him lie for me, but it was not our fault that the Dulces began to blackmail us. We have been so afraid.” She shivered. “Finally it is over.”
“Yes, it is.” Atalanta took a deep breath. “Because you planted the sedative and the money in Maurizio’s desk.”
Margot looked at her and began to laugh. “Excuse me?”
Atalanta said, “Wasn’t it a coincidence that these items were suddenly found by the police after they had searched the desk earlier and found nothing?”
“Because he had a secret compartment.” Dieter gestured. “For the blackmail money. I could not tell them before the truth about the body had come to light but afterwards it seemed to make sense to do so. And you see how vital it was for the investigation.”
Atalanta felt a chill at the deviousness of the two people standing opposite her. “Yes, and it came at the exact right moment. Maurizio is now under lock and key, arrested and charged with Eva’s murder. He is the best possible scapegoat. Better than Franco or your secretary. Eva’s murder will not be blamed on you and the blackmail is over. How perfect. Was that the idea from the start? Or did it only develop as time went on? I assume you know how to improvise. After all, you had already covered up the death of Johanna and hidden her body in the grotto. You were there when it happened.” She nodded at Margot. “And Herr Bergreiter agreed to keep the secret. For your sake.”
