Chapter 5 – The Car Behind the Locked Door

By the next morning, Luca had made a decision that surprised me.

He wasn’t going to the storage facility himself.

Not yet.

“The police need to handle it,” he said.

We were standing in the breakfast room, looking at the map Thomas Calder had drawn of the old Bellini property.

Luca had a cup of coffee in his hand.

He hadn’t taken a sip.

“If that car is still there, I don’t want anyone questioning how the evidence was found or who touched it.”

I nodded.

He looked toward the window.

“Michael deserves better than that.”

Detective Anna Rivera arrived shortly before noon.

She was a practical-looking woman in her forties, with dark hair pulled back and a notebook that had clearly seen years of use.

I’d expected a detective investigating the disappearance of a Moretti to be nervous around Luca.

She wasn’t.

“I understand you have concerns about a vehicle in private storage,” she said.

“I have the original receipt, an account history, and a witness who worked at the garage,” Luca replied.

She reviewed everything.

Then she looked at him.

“Why didn’t this come up during the original investigation?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your brother’s car was one of the first things investigators tried to locate.”

“I know.”

Rivera turned to the receipt.

“This facility wasn’t registered as an automotive repair business. It operated as commercial equipment storage.”

Luca frowned.

“And?”

“And the unit wasn’t leased under your brother’s name. The original paperwork identifies Bellini Recovery as the customer.”

She tapped the page.

“It’s possible the original investigators never connected the two.”

Luca stared at her.

“Possible?”

“I’m not defending the investigation, Mr. Moretti. I’m telling you why a record might not have been found.”

Then she looked at me.

“Ms. Dawson, I’d also like to speak with you about the chapel.”

I nodded.

This time, recounting what Vanessa had done felt less frightening.

Rivera listened carefully.

She didn’t interrupt.

When I’d finished, she asked, “Did Ms. Bellini ever tell you why she wanted the recorder?”

“No.”

“Did she refer to its contents?”

“She said it belonged to her family.”

Rivera wrote something down.

“And you saw her physically try to take it from Mr. Bennett?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

She closed the notebook.

“I’m going to request access to the storage unit. Until then, don’t contact the property manager yourselves.”

Luca nodded.

He waited until she was leaving before asking the question I knew had been troubling him.

“Detective, if Michael’s car is there, what does that tell us?”

Rivera looked at him.

“It tells us somebody kept it out of sight.”

She paused.

“It doesn’t yet tell us why.”

The next afternoon, the police obtained access to Unit 14.

Luca was permitted to watch from outside the secured area after the initial search.

He asked me to accompany him.

I wasn’t sure why.

Perhaps because I’d been there when Samuel arrived.

Perhaps because he didn’t want to stand alone in front of something his family had spent nine years searching for.

The storage facility sat behind a row of aging warehouses.

Unit 14 was at the far end of a long building with gray metal doors.

A police vehicle stood nearby.

Rivera approached us.

“We’ve located a car.”

Luca didn’t speak.

“It matches the make and model. We still need to confirm the identification number.”

“Is there anyone inside?”

“No.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

Then he asked, “Can I see it?”

Rivera hesitated.

“From the doorway. Please don’t touch anything.”

We followed her.

The metal door had been raised.

Inside, beneath a dusty canvas cover, sat a dark green Mercedes.

One rear light was cracked.

The passenger-side mirror hung slightly crooked.

And there was a small dent above the wheel well.

Luca stopped.

I watched his face.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t speak.

He simply stood there, staring at a car he’d last seen parked outside his mother’s kitchen window.

After a while, he whispered, “That’s his.”

Rivera looked at him.

“We’ll confirm it.”

“I know that car.”

He pointed toward the rear bumper.

“Michael backed into a stone planter the week he bought it. Wouldn’t get it fixed because he said it gave the car character.”

The detective nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Luca moved closer, then stopped himself.

There was a small rosary hanging from the rearview mirror.

White beads.

A little silver crucifix.

“My mother gave him that,” Luca said.

His voice broke.

“She told him he drove too fast.”

I looked away.

Some grief is too private to watch.

Rivera asked him to step back while the evidence team continued working.

Inside the vehicle, they found an old leather wallet, several documents, and a folded parking ticket.

The wallet was empty of cash.

But the driver’s license was Michael Moretti’s.

Luca watched as an officer placed it inside an evidence envelope.

The sight seemed to take something out of him.

He sat on a low concrete barrier outside the unit.

I sat beside him.

After a long silence, he said, “I used to get so angry with him.”

I waited.

“He’d borrow a car and forget to return it. Show up late to dinner. Spend money helping people he barely knew.”

He gave a sad laugh.

“Now I’d give anything to hear him complain about my driving.”

I looked at my hands.

“My dad still calls to remind me to wear a coat when it’s cold.”

Luca smiled faintly.

“Does he?”

“Every time.”

“Good father.”

“He tries.”

Luca nodded.

Then Rivera approached.

“Mr. Moretti, there’s something you should know.”

He stood immediately.

“We’ve found traces of what appears to be old blood inside the vehicle. We need testing before drawing conclusions.”

Luca swallowed.

“Where?”

“On the passenger-side upholstery and the interior door panel.”

His expression changed.

“The passenger side?”

“Yes.”

He looked back toward the car.

“If Michael was driving, why would there be blood on the passenger side?”

Rivera answered carefully.

“There are several possible explanations.”

Then she held up the folded parking ticket.

“This was inside the glove compartment. It’s dated the morning after your brother disappeared.”

Luca stared.

“Where was the car parked?”

Rivera read the location aloud.

“St. Agnes Community Hospital.”

For a moment, Luca looked almost relieved.

“He went to a hospital?”

“Possibly.”

“Then somebody might have treated him.”

“That’s what we’re going to determine.”

She turned the ticket over.

There was a handwritten notation on the back.

A patient’s name.

Not Michael Moretti.

But a name Luca recognized from Vanessa’s family.

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