by Sibel Hodge
‘While we’re on the subject of mean people, did your dad ever mention the name Carlos Bagliero?’
‘No.’
‘How about Enzo Fetuccini?’
‘Fetuccini? Like the pasta?’ Her eyes lit up. ‘So I was right about the pasta connection, then?’
‘Actually, I think you were, but it’s probably not the kind of connection you were hoping for. Fetuccini is the head of a mafia family in America. He had some kind of connection with your dad, but I don’t know exactly what it is.’
‘Dad never mentioned it to me, but then I didn’t have anything to do with his fashion business yet. I was going to go to work for him when I graduated from my fashion course. But I can’t believe he was involved with the mafia. He just wasn’t like that. There has to be some kind of rational explanation. Maybe they went to school together, or played on the same softball team when they were kids or something.’
I didn’t think it was likely. ‘He never mentioned anything to you about Fetuccini at all?’
‘No, Amber. You have to believe me.’
I nodded, giving her a minute before continuing on to the next subject. Unfortunately, I didn’t think she would take it as well as the previous. ‘Tia, have you ever heard the name Samantha James?’
Her face wrinkled as she thought. ‘No, I don’t think so. Why?’
I took a deep breath, and chose my next words carefully. ‘You told me that your dad wasn’t married, but I’ve found out that wasn’t quite true. Apparently, he got married when you were about six months old. They only stayed together a few months, but they never got divorced.’
Tia shook her head and turned to me, confusion plastered all over her face. ‘He never told me.’ A silence ensued as she took this in. ‘What was her name again?’ she said finally, her mouth still open with shock.
‘Samantha James.’
‘So, he’s still married to her? She’s my…step-mother?’ Shoulders drooping, she gazed at the ground, shaking her head softly.
‘Ms. James says that your father asked her to come to his office and sign divorce papers on the day he disappeared.’
‘She saw him on the day he disappeared? Do you think that means something?’
‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘Did she sign these divorce papers?’
I shrugged. ‘She says that she did.’
‘God, what else hasn’t Dad told me?’ she whispered, more to herself than to me.
I watched a range of emotions flicker across her face; surprise, curiosity, worry, and anger. She finally settled on sadness.
‘We think he only married her to get British citizenship, and that he was hiding from something or someone because there’s no trace of an Umberto Fandango until nineteen and a half years ago when he came to the UK. We can’t find any birth certificates for you, either.’
She turned astonished eyes on me. ‘But that’s impossible. And anyway, what could he be hiding from?’
‘I don’t know, but whatever it is, I’m guessing it’s pretty serious. And I think someone else found out about it, too.’
‘So, who was he really? And who am I?’ She folded her arms across her chest and clutched her arms.
‘I know this must be a huge shock to you, but don’t worry. Hacker is still looking into things. If anyone can find the truth, he can. Do you want me to call anyone for you?’
‘I don’t have any family to call. Apart from this Samantha James.’ She sniffed and looked away. ‘I think I need to think about things for a while on my own. I need to try to get my head around all of this.’
Any doubt I had held as to whether or not Tia had been involved in her father’s disappearance had vanished. If she was acting, she was one of the best I’d seen, on or off the big screen. I studied her, trying to work out whether or not she would be able to get through this without falling apart. Grief did funny things to people, and even though we hadn’t found Fandango’s body yet, she was starting to go through the process. In a lot of ways, not knowing could be worse than actually finding out what happened to a loved one. It was certainly more wearing. When I first met Tia, I admit I’d kind of written her off as a fragile, kooky airhead, but now I realized that she was stronger than she seemed. She was determined and resilient enough to get through this. I just hoped she realized it, too.
She jumped up suddenly and rushed into the kitchen. ‘I almost forgot, I finally found my dad’s car keys, and there’s something odd about them.’ I heard a drawer open and slam before she strode back in the living room carrying a set of keys.
‘Where did you find them?’ I examined the bundle of keys, which were tied together with a simple key ring.
‘It’s the weirdest thing. I found them in my kitchen drawer. He must’ve put them in there for some strange reason.’
‘Maybe he didn’t want anyone else to find them.’ I held up a gold key that seemed to have no business on a set of car keys. It was thin, with a corrugated ridge running along the entire length of one side and an eight digit number etched into it. ‘I think it’s a safety deposit box key.’
I called Hacker and asked him to try and trace which bank and box the code number related to. ‘He’s going to call me back,’ I told Tia when I disconnected.
‘I had another psychic premonition,’ she said, ‘while you were on the phone.’
I tried hard not to look skeptical.
‘No, really. I’m seeing something about a yellow sheep.’
I held up the key. ‘Maybe it’s got to do with this.’ I traced my finger along the ridge. ‘It’s gold, with a wobbly shape, kind of like a yellow sheep’s wool if you look really hard.’
She gave me a strange look. ‘I don’t think so – hey, I know! I think you should do a spell for inspiration.’
I arched an eyebrow. ‘A spell? I don’t really believe in all that stuff. Why don’t you do it instead?’
Tia’s shoulders drooped. ‘I can’t. You’re the person investigating this, so you have to do it.’
I heard the disappointment clouding her voice, and I felt like a grumpy old meanie. OK, so Tia had been right about the pasta thing, but I still didn’t believe in all that hocus pocus. As if on cue, to stop me elaborating on this subject anymore, Hacker returned my call.
‘Yo. The key is for a safety deposit box at Universal American Bank in Canary Wharf. The box number is five-five-one, and it’s rented to Umberto Fandango. Tia Fandango is listed as a supplementary name to gain access to the box,’ Hacker said, sounding pretty pleased with himself.
That’s when I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Tia really was his daughter because otherwise, why would Fandango give her access to his safety deposit box?
‘Hey, are you with Tia?’ he said.
‘Yes.’ I could sense him grinning on the other end of the phone.
‘Tell her I said yo.’
I chuckled. ‘OK, will do.’ And I hung up. ‘Hacker says “yo”.’ I said to Tia.
Tia blushed and did her snorty little hyena giggle. ‘He’s yummy.’
I thought Hacker was plenty of things, but I’d never describe him as yummy. Still, each to their own. The world would be a pretty boring place if we all thought the same thing.
****
Tia and I spent forty-five minutes on the train, squashed in between a businessman’s sweaty armpit, and an elderly woman who had overdone it with what smelled like Listerine. I didn’t know which was worse, but I sure was glad when we emerged from the underground at Canary Wharf. I drew in deep breaths of relatively fresh air, not caring that it had a hint of smoggy, London bus pollution.
We walked the short distance to the Universal American Bank and were directed to the basement by a very efficient member of staff. As we descended the final steps to the deposit box vault, Tia stopped in her tracks, clutching my arm.
‘I don’t know if I want to find out what’s in it.’ She turned to me with anguished eyes.
‘You have to know, Tia. Knowledge is power, and wha
tever happens, the only way to move forward is if you know the truth. Your dad must’ve wanted you to find whatever is in that vault because he specified that you could access it.’
She gave me a shaky smile. ‘You’re right.’ She straightened up her back and carried on walking.
A security guard stood in the reception area outside the vault. Another guard stood outside the reinforced concrete vault door, which was cased in steel.
A nervous Tia told the guard she wanted to gain access to Fandango’s box and was asked for her ID. She handed over her driver’s license and he recorded it in a log book. Handing it back to her, he escorted us into the thirty meter square vault. Fluorescent overhead lights shined down on row upon row of different-sized deposit boxes. The security guard slid his key into the box, waiting for Tia to do the same. When the keys turned simultaneously, the lock clicked open, and the security guard left us to it.
Tia slid the box from the wall and placed it on a steel table in the center of the room. She glanced up at me, her hand gripping the handle of the box.
I gave her an encouraging nod. I didn’t know what I expected to find in there, but I hoped it wasn’t a severed ear, or any other bits and pieces that I’d heard the mob liked chopping off.
‘Here goes.’ She opened it and peered inside.
I stepped closer, my eyes firmly locked on the table in front of me. The only thing taking up space in the slim, steel box was a faded American passport.
Tia lifted the passport out and flicked through the worn out pages. ‘Carlos Bagliero.’ She read the name on the passport and handed it to me. ‘That’s the name you asked me about earlier.’
I studied the photograph. Bagliero had light brown curly hair, worn collar length with a fringe, which nearly covered his green eyes. He had lighter skin than I would expect for someone of Italian-American origin, not the usual Mediterranean olive swarthy complexion, and he had a neatly trimmed beard. The date of birth showed Bagliero had been born in nineteen-fifty-nine in Sicily. That would make him fifty years old today. The passport had expired fifteen years ago.
So, Heather hadn’t made a mistake when she’d scribbled Bagliero’s name on the note I’d found in her apartment, which led me to my next thought. If Hacker couldn’t find any information on him, then this case was bigger than I’d imagined. But what was Bagliero’s passport doing in Fandango’s safety deposit box?
‘Do you recognize him?’ I said.
‘I’ve never seen him before.’
‘And you’re sure Umberto never mentioned him?’
‘I’m positive.’ She closed up the box and slid it back into the wall. ‘I think you should keep the passport. Hopefully, it will help you find my dad.’
18
‘It could be a fake.’ Brad leaned back in his office chair, looking through the passport.
‘It doesn’t look like a fake,’ I said.
‘Hacker said he couldn’t find any information on Bagliero, which means either the passport is a fake, or someone pretty powerful has had his records wiped.’
‘OK, let’s assume that it isn’t a fake. Bagliero was born in Sicily but had American citizenship, which smacks of mafia connection. Who is powerful enough to wipe his records? The FBI, CIA, the Organized Crime Squad, Homeland Security, or a mole in one of those offices who is working for the mob. Take your pick.’
‘Fandango suddenly appears out of nowhere nineteen and a half years ago, and Bagliero has had his records wiped. Hardly a coincidence, don’t you think?’
I grinned. ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking.’
‘I’ll get Hacker to dig into it again. What about Tia?’
‘I think that Tia is Fandango’s real daughter. I just don’t know who her mother is, or how Fandango disappeared with Tia and no one noticed.’
‘Well, I have every faith in your abilities to solve this case.’
That got me smiling at his not-so-subtle piece of flattery. ‘I’ve been thinking about the disappearance of the fashion collection, as well. Something has been bugging me about it all along, and I finally worked out what it is.’ My mind raced on. How stupid of me not to have considered it before. ‘The collection is pretty much worthless on its own because it’s recognizable. It’s not something you could fence easily, so why would someone go to the trouble of stealing it?’
‘You tell me, Foxy.’
I held my forefinger up in the air for emphasis. ‘Because something was being smuggled inside it. Fetuccini paid Fandango five million pounds for shipments of this collection. The note in Heather’s apartment points to Bagliero paying five million pounds as well. The money laundering scenario never seemed quite right to me, but the payments would make sense if Fandango was smuggling drugs inside the clothing. Maybe Heather found out what was going on and wanted a piece of the action for herself. She’s broke, so she needs money, and if she gets rid of Fandango, she can carry on the smuggling ring and keep all the profits.’
‘And how are you going to try and find the drugs?’
I gave him a cocky smile. ‘I don’t need to find the whole shipment. If I can confirm the presence of drugs at Fandango’s office, then that will prove my theory. Don’t you just love it when a plan comes together.’
‘What’s the plan?’
‘I have a secret drug detector weapon.’
****
My parents’ house was empty when I arrived. I scribbled them a note to say I’d borrowed Sabre, and then I grabbed his lead and a few meaty tid-bits in the hope that I could deflect him from using me as the meaty tid-bit.
I arrived at Fandango’s flour mill with an excited Sabre in tow. His eyes were bright and shiny, his nose twitched with excitement, and he was practically frothing at the mouth as I clipped on the lead. Once again, the place was deserted, so I punched in the security code on the front door, and Sabre pulled me inside.
‘Seek,’ I said to him as he sat down, looking up at me expectantly.
Nothing happened.
‘Find.’ I pointed around the room.
That didn’t get him moving either.
‘Look.’ I tried a more ushering hand action.
Nada.
‘Sabre, go.’
He licked his lips. Well, that was a start.
I pulled out my mobile and called Dad. It rang and rang. No answer. I left a message and hung up.
Then I called Romeo, who actually answered his phone for a change. ‘Hey, do you remember what the search command for Sabre is?’
‘Do I even want to know what you’re doing?’
‘Probably not,’ I said.
‘Are you seriously going to use Sabre for a search? You know what happened the last time he did one.’
‘That wasn’t Sabre’s fault.’
‘The poor handler got a broken leg trying to get away before Sabre humped him to death!’
‘Sabre was just a bit over-excited about finding some booty, that’s all. Look, I can’t deny that Sabre has a few quirky mental issues, but he’s a brilliant drugs dog with one of the best sniffy noses in the country. And Janice has more resources at her disposal, so I need all the help I can get. I’m counting on him to find something useful to help me crack the case.
He sighed, and I could imagine him rubbing his hands over his face. ‘OK, as long as you know what you’re doing. I think the standard command is “search”. But that dog is nuts. No wonder he got kicked off the force for his unpredictable behavior.’
‘Maybe it runs in the family,’ I said.
He sighed again. ‘Maybe it does.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I snapped.
‘Nothing,’ he said in a tone that implied he certainly did mean something.
‘No, carry on,’ I said, not satisfied.
‘Look, it’s not easy being stuck in the middle between you and Janice. And since we’re doing this operation together, she’s making my life hell.’
‘She’s doing it on purpose to split us up. Ignore her.’
<
br /> ‘It’s pretty hard to ignore Janice – Oh, shit. I’ve gotta go.’ He hung up.
Oh, hell! What did he mean it was pretty hard to ignore Janice? Did he mean that in a sexual way or not? Before I could worry about it anymore, my phone rang again. It was Dad.
‘Hi, Amber. The command for Sabre is “search” – oh, and make sure you don’t use the word slipper. He goes double bonkoid on that one.’
‘Great, thanks Dad.’ I closed the phone and turned to Sabre. ‘Search,’ I said in an authoritative voice.
And he was off, sniffing away like there was no tomorrow as I followed close behind, holding on to his lead for dear life.
We started in the reception area. Sabre’s claws clicked on the floor as he zigzagged across the room on his quest. Obviously there was nothing of interest here because he quickly got bored and pulled me toward Fandango’s office.
I opened the door, hoping for a lucky hit. Sabre sniffed around Heather’s desk, and then made his way to Fandango’s. He wagged his tail a bit but didn’t sit down and bark, which would’ve been a sure sign that drugs were lurking inside. He ran around the curtains, poked his nose in the sofa, and then flew out of the room. His eyes darted around as if deciding where to go next before he bounded upstairs to the storage area, taking the steps two at a time, and almost pulling me flat on my face. He searched every single inch of the room with heightened interest, but he kept on going until the whole room was covered in wet nose slicks.
He led me back down the stairs and into the runway area where he haphazardly ran around, diving under the runway and out the other side, but again, he didn’t give me a warning signal.
‘Damn, damn, damn,’ I muttered under my breath, following Sabre into the dressing rooms.
And that was where he hit the jackpot.
Sabre made the peculiar whiny-growling sound he was known for as soon as we got in there. He took great care searching around the dressing tables and drawers, which were crammed full of make-up, hair products, and other weird things designed to nip, tuck, and hold bits in. When he approached the lockers on one side of the room, he sniffed for England. Then he sat down, barked, and wagged his tail with fervor.
