On the way from the monastery, Matteo made a detour to the scrapyard. He parked the patrol car in front of the gate entrance because he didn’t want to get a flat tyre. After all, he’d had that unpleasant encounter with a nail in the yard just the other day.
A warm wind blew on the back of his neck as he got out of the car and put on his cap. The sun was already low and casting sharply drawn shadows on the wrecked cars.
As he stepped into the courtyard, he saw Lorenzo, the junkyard owner, stepping out of the chicken coop. In his hand was a small tin bucket, almost half-filled with eggs.
Matteo gave him a friendly wave, but Lorenzo looked at him as if seeing an alien. This puzzled Matteo so much that he immediately stopped waving. Then he remembered he was in uniform. After all, he was here on business. The last time they had met, he had been wearing Bermuda shorts and a baggy shirt. The scrap dealer’s outfit, on the other hand, hadn’t changed at all. He was still clad in his filthy green dungarees.
“Ciao,” he said. “It’s me, Matteo. I was here the other day with Sister Isabella for the spare part for my Vespa.”
The man frowned, unselfconsciously looking Matteo up and down, until his face lit with a broad grin. “The Vespa hobbyist.” He approached Matteo and held out his hand. It was sweaty. “Sure I remember. A man with a nun in tow who knows a thing or two about cars? Not a guy you forget quickly. Didn’t recognise you… in that get-up.” He gave Matteo a sidelong look. “I didn’t know you worked for the police.” His gaze lingered on Matteo’s uniform for quite a while, before he heaved a dismissive shrug. “And as for the engine casing, I hate to disappoint you, but I still don’t have one in stock.” He grinned apologetically.
Matteo nodded and shielded his eyes with his hand against a blinding wall of deep red sunlight. “Too bad, but that’s not why I’m here. My visit this time is more official.”
The scrap dealer stopped grinning. “Oh, nothing bad I hope?”
“No,” Matteo said immediately. “And yes. It’s about the construction trailer down by the riverbank. Am I right in assuming it belongs to you?” Matteo knew very well the construction trailer was registered to a Lorenzo Bonucci. But he thought it more polite to ask him about it.
The latter nodded immediately. “Sì, that’s mine.” He tilted his head. “Why? Do you want to buy it?”
“No.” Matteo smiled at him benevolently. In fact, it was his task to ask the scrap dealer to remove the construction trailer from the riverside property. That was what Mayor Lenzi would have wanted. But a lot had changed since Lenzi’s visit to the police station.
Even if the scrap dealer had wanted to, he wouldn’t be allowed to remove the trailer. After all, it was now the scene of a heinous crime.
He rubbed his beard stubble, which was getting softer by the day. “Did you know there was someone living in it?”
Lorenzo nodded in agreement. “Gaetano. Of course I know that. In the end, I wound up letting him live there. In return, he helps me here now and then, cleaning up.”
“Did you know him well?”
Lorenzo Bonucci put on a thoughtful expression. “Well, as well as you can know a man who’s just passing through. Gaetano’s more the introverted type. For a couple of years now, he’s been swinging by every now and then for a few weeks, setting up camp down by the river and helping me out a little here and there. It’s no big deal.” The scrap dealer paused, eyed Matteo. “But why did you say it was inhabited? Has he moved on?”
Matteo discerned some scepticism in his eyes.
“And why on earth are the police interested in my construction trailer?”
Matteo took a deep breath and tasted the rusty dust on his tongue. “Gaetano’s dead. He was the victim of a crime.”
“Gaetano? Dead?” The scrap dealer looked at him in dismay.
Matteo cursed himself for not breaking the news more gently.
“But… how?”
Matteo shook his head. “That’s all I’m allowed to say, and it’s all I know.” He cleared the coating from his vocal cords. “I regret to inform you the construction trailer cannot be entered until the police investigation’s been completed.”
“And how long will that take?”
Matteo raised his shoulders. “Not long, I guess. A few days at most.”
“Heavens, that’s terrible! Who’d do such a thing to such a nice guy?”
“I’ll find out,” Matteo said, pulling his notepad out of his breast pocket. “Do you know anything about any enemies Gaetano might have had? Or did you overhear anything about him having a disagreement with anyone?
The scrap dealer immediately shook his head. “Someone like him? No. Out of the question.”
Matteo put the pad back in his pocket. He hadn’t really expected this to go any other way. Shortly after he had turned to go, he turned around once more.
“Oh, one more thing, Signore Bonucci. Gaetano’s dog’s missing. A great Saint Bernard.”
“Caesar. I know that dog.”
“Please report to me if you see him. I think there’s a good chance he’s hanging around somewhere down here by the river.”
“Deal, will do.”
“You’ll hear from me again, Signore Bonucci, when the investigation’s complete and you can remove the construction trailer from the riverbank.”
Suddenly Bonucci looked up in confusion. “Why would I do that?”
Matteo didn’t feel like telling him about the plans for a bus park, so he said curtly, “Well, because it’s on council land without permission.”
The scrap dealer looked even more uncomprehending. Then he smiled. “I don’t know where you got that idea, but that’s my property down there.” He lowered his chin and looked at the bucket, then looked at Matteo. “Here, take some eggs with you. They’re very fresh, laid by Santa Caterina’s happiest chickens.”