Murder Most Unfortunate Read Online Free

behind the desk, reappeared with an older man who also wore the hotel logo on the pocket of his blazer.
    â€œMay I be of assistance, Inspector?”
    â€œI am looking for Signor Tibaldi. They told me at the museum that he was here.”
    â€œDottor Tibaldi, of the museum? He’s been over here various times in the last few days in connection with the museum’s seminar, since all the official participants were staying at the hotel, but I—”
    â€œExcuse me sir,” the clerk interrupted, “but I think I saw him going into the dining room earlier.”
    â€œGet him,” said the policeman, while keeping his eyes on the manager. The clerk scuttled around the counter and walked quickly across the lobby into the dining room, followed by the eyes of the two tourists. “Do you have a list of the seminar participants who are at the hotel? I’ll need to see it.” The manager shuffled through some papers below the counter and came up with two typewritten sheets stapled together. He passed them to the policeman who glanced at them and passed them back. “I’d like ten copies. And if these people are in the hotel at this moment, I want them called and told to come to the lobby.”
    The manager finally regained his voice. “Inspector, can I ask what—?”
    â€œYou’ll be told in due time.” He turned around to see Tibaldi coming into the lobby, followed by the desk clerk. “Don’t forget those calls,” he said, his order meant for the manager behind him.
    â€œWhat seems to be the trouble, Inspector?” Paolo Tibaldi frowned when he reached the policeman.
    â€œLet’s talk over there, Signor Tibaldi.” He gestured toward a corner of the lobby arranged with chairs and a sofa set up for conversation. The clerk rushed to Occasio and handed him the copies. The policeman took them without a word of thanks. The two men sat down across from each other, two of the uniformed policeman standing nearby to assure privacy. Occasio looked at Tibaldi and leaned back in the chair. “Professor Lorenzo Fortuna.”
    â€œYes, Inspector, he is one of the distinguished participants in the seminar that ended yesterday. You’ve likely noticed our posters around town. But I haven’t seen him yet this morning.”
    â€œAnd you won’t. He’s been found dead.” He paused to observe Tibaldi’s reaction.
    â€œI, I can’t believe that,” was the stuttered reply. “He seemed in good health, though perhaps a bit overweight. He did enjoy his wine. Some kind of heart attack?”
    Occasio ignored the question. “According to the program found in his pocket, you were the organizer of the seminar.”
    â€œWell, yes, Inspector. I suppose I should take charge of notifying his family and seeing that his body is—”
    â€œThat won’t be necessary.” Occasio’s expression changed little as he spoke, nor did his flat monotone. “I should make myself clear. Fortuna did not die of natural causes, he was murdered. Which is why I am here. I or one of my men will be interviewing you and all of the participants in the seminar. The program said that the final event was a dinner last evening, is that correct?”
    The question managed to penetrate Tibaldi’s dazed state. “Yes, the dinner. It was held at a restaurant a few blocks from here. Fortuna was there, along with all the other distinguished invitees, as well as the director of the museum and the managers of the Banco di Bassano, which sponsored the seminar.”
    â€œWhat time did the dinner end?”
    Tibaldi looked up to see an annoyed Franco Sarchetti talking with a man in a dark suit whom he guessed to be another policeman. Between the art dealer and the policeman, the banker stood silently, a blank look on his face. Behind them Oglesby and Muller, watched by a uniformed policeman, huddled together and stared at Inspector