Jones shook his head. ‘This was more than just dumping rocks. This was about picking up, too. Not only did someone beat us to the crash site, they decided to take it with them.’
Tourists were usually the only people to visit Il Pozzo di San Patrizio (aka Saint Patrick’s Well), the artesian well built in 1527. But due to a rumor that swept through Orvieto, locals were drawn to the beige brick building like freshmen to a keg party.
Payne and Jones spotted them on the other side of the Piazza Cahen, a large square in the center of town, and assumed it was the line to see the well. They passed the bus station and approached the back of the throng. Hundreds of people, young and old, clogged the courtyard ahead of them, surrounding the circular building with a silent intensity quite similar to the tone of the earlier funeral. For a better view, Jones climbed on a nearby wall and searched for Donald Barnes. He wanted to see his photos of the Orvieto crash site, hoping they would reveal something important, possibly the reason that the wreckage was hauled out by trucks in the dead of night. ‘I don’t think they’re even letting people inside the well. The door looks barricaded.’
‘Maybe tourists go in as a group? Hopefully, Barnes is inside and will come out shortly.’
The comment attracted the attention of a dark-haired man standing nearby. ‘I mean not to bother you,’ he mumbled in broken English. ‘But visits are no more today due to death. No one is inside Il Pozzo but the polizia.’
‘Really? They stopped the tours because of Monday’s accident?’
‘No, you no understand. Not Monday, today. Another person is dead today.’
Jones leapt off the wall. ‘What do you mean?’
The man frowned, as if he had trouble understanding the question. ‘Ah, like you friend say: two persons on Monday and one person today. We no have violence in Orvieto for long time, now three dead real quick.’ He snapped his fingers for effect. ‘It’s a funny world, no?’
Funny wasn’t the f word that came to mind. They had come to Orvieto looking for a nonviolent criminal, at least according to Manzak’s intel. Now there were three casualties in the small town where Boyd was last seen.
Payne said, ‘I thought the pilot was the only person who died on Monday?’
‘No, no, no, no,’ the man stressed, waving his index finger for emphasis. ‘The pilot is from Orvieto. Very good man. Worked with polizia for many years. I know him long time. The other man, he no from here. He visit polizia, they go for ride, they no come back.’
A theory entered Payne’s mind. ‘Out of curiosity, was the stranger bald?’
‘Bald? What is this bald?’
Payne pointed to his head. ‘Hair? Did the guy have hair?’
‘Si! He have hair, just like you. Short, brown hair.’
Payne glanced at Jones. ‘Who do you think it was?’
‘Could’ve been anyone. We don’t even know if Boyd is involved in this. We could be jumping the gun.’
‘Speaking of guns,’ Payne said. ‘What can you tell us about today’s murder?’
The man frowned, then paused to kiss a silver crucifix that dangled around his neck. ‘Shhh,’ he pleaded. ‘Silenzio is very important tradition in Italy from long time ago. We show respect for the dead with no words. Let the dead sleep in peace, no?’
But Jones wasn’t buying it. ‘You’re not allowed to talk, yet everyone in town is already here. How in the world did that happen? ESP?’
The man eyed the hundreds of people around him, then grinned. ‘Sometimes my people not very good at tradition. Word of this crime spread quick.’
Payne smiled. ‘What do you know about today’s victim?’
The man lowered his voice. ‘I hear he found at bottom of well on donkey bridge. He was, how do you say?’ He slammed his two hands together in a violent clap. ‘Splat!’
‘Was it an accident?’
‘No, I never say that.’ He slid his thumb across his neck in a slow, slashing motion. ‘It be tough for him to slip without help. The windows of the well are very small, and American was very fat. He would need much help –’
‘American?’ Payne blurted. ‘The victim was an American?’
‘Yes, that is what I heard. A big, fat cowboy.’
Payne looked at Jones, irritated, realizing that Donald Barnes fit the description.
The Italian picked up on their tension. ‘What is wrong? I have insulted you?’
‘No, not at all. It’s just, we think you’re describing a friend of ours. We were supposed to meet him here, but we haven’t been able to find him.’
The man turned pale, stunned at the revelation. ‘Mamma mia! I so sorry for my manners.’ He grabbed them by their arms and pulled them into the crowd. ‘Please! I lead you to your friend. I talk to police and let you pay your respects! Come with me! I get you inside the well!’