Payne and Jones nodded, not knowing what to say.
The detective pulled out a notebook and pen. ‘We heard his name was Donald.’
‘Yes,’ Payne said, ‘Donald Barnes. He was an American.’
‘As are you,’ the cop said, never lifting his eyes from his pad. He took their names and addresses, then asked, ‘Were you friends with the deceased for long?’
‘Not really. We just met him today at the funeral.’ Payne studied the cop, waiting for some kind of reaction. ‘He willingly gave us assistance when we needed it. Directions, a list of sites to see, and so on. He also described the helicopter crash that killed your colleague on Monday.’
The cop nodded, still not reacting. ‘Any idea where he was from, or where he was staying?’
Payne shrugged. ‘Midwestern U.S., maybe Nebraska. At least that’s what his T-shirt says. And as far as his hotel goes, we’re not sure. We didn’t know him long enough to find out.’
As Payne finished speaking, the young officer who’d led them down the steps approached the detective. He whispered a number of Italian phrases, then held up a single key adorned with the monogram GHR. The detective smiled at the discovery. ‘Gentlemen, are we through here?’
Jones shook his head, then lied. ‘Actually, there’s one more thing. We took a few pictures with Donald in front of the cathedral. Could we possibly have the film as a remembrance?’
The detective glanced at the body and frowned. ‘Camera? We didn’t find any camera. No wallet, film, or anything of value… In my opinion this was just a robbery that went bad.’
Payne and Jones knew that was bullshit. But the last people they were going to tell were the cops. If they did that, all the cops were going to do was get in their way.
Regrettably, that ended up happening anyway.
As they emerged from the well, Jones growled, ‘This wasn’t a robbery. It was an assassination.’
Payne pushed through the crowd of onlookers. ‘An assassination? How do you figure?’
‘Because it’s too coincidental to be anything else. This town hasn’t seen violence in years, now there are three deaths in two days. Plus the latest victim just happens to be someone with proof of the crash site. C’mon! What else could it be?’
‘So let me get this straight. We started with one case, and now we’re up to three: Dr Boyd, the stolen crash site, and Donald Barnes.’
‘Yep, that about sums it up.’
‘Damn! We aren’t very good at this.’
Jones laughed. ‘Any ideas on where to start?’
Payne nodded. ‘Let’s stick to Boyd, since that’s the reason we’re here. Let’s assume it was his truck at the bottom of the cliff. I mean, no one’s come forward to claim it. Plus there was a police chopper hovering above it and rumors of a grave robber in the area. That means either he died in the explosion, he’s still in Orvieto, or he left town some other way.’
‘Makes sense to me.’
‘And unless he had an accomplice, he either stole a car or bummed a ride.’
‘Or used public transportation.’
‘And since there aren’t any airports in town, the odds are pretty good that he used a bus.’
Payne looked at Jones, then both of them looked at the row of buses parked on the far side of the piazza. Seconds later they approached the one-story terminal that sat on the northern end of the square. A silver bus idled near the entrance, delayed by an elderly porter who checked tickets with one hand while grabbing the butts of unsuspecting females with the other.
Jones said, ‘I’ll talk to the guy at the front counter and show him Boyd’s picture. Why don’t you look for a map so we know where we’re going?’
Payne glanced around the lobby and spotted a rack of brochures leaning against the far wall. Restaurant guides, museum tours, and hotel listings – most of which were written in English. A pamphlet for La Badia, a twelth-century ecclesiastical complex that had been converted into a local hotel, caught his eye. The blend of wooden beams and tufa walls reminded him of ancient times until he noticed a television stuffed in a tiny stone alcove. Talk about a feng shui killer.
Payne returned the brochure and picked up another, this one for the Grand Hotel Reale. It wasn’t as well-maintained as La Badia, yet he got the feeling that it used to be something special. He marveled at the beautiful frescoes and the antique furniture in the lobby, plus the large fountain that was carved out of a shade of marble that –
‘Jon? Are you ready?’
Payne turned toward Jones who was standing near the entrance. ‘Yeah, I’ll be there in a second. I was just –’ He stopped in midsentence, thinking back to Saint Patrick’s Well. Payne couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to put everything together.