Frame-Up

by Gian Bordin

  Wednesday, 5th November, 7:15 a.m.

  Silvio will be back today, is my first thought upon opening my eyes. It is still dark outside. After a light breakfast, rather than do my usual run in Kensington Gardens, I jog all the way to Chelsea to recover my van, although that means traversing a mile and a half of built-up areas. On the way there, I quickly check on the Fiat. My assumption that it is a rental car is correct. Ace Budget Rentals the discreet sticker inside the rear window advertises. I note down the phone number and the car’s registration.

  Back in my apartment, I call them, identifying myself as a police officer of the South Kensington Station. I inform them that Mr. Conci has been assaulted and is in hospital under sedation, and that no, his rental car was not damaged. I indicate its location and ask them to remove it. They give me the local address he provided on the rental contract, Hotel Duke on Duke Street.

  Next, I call Fausto and give him that information and ask him to remove from Massimo’s room anything that could link the man to us or to Carvaggio.

  On my way to my appointment with Tony Greggs of ADTSecurity Ltd., I drop by the Snow Hill Police Station — the third time. Some twenty minutes later I walk into the offices of ADTSecurity Ltd. I have dressed up for the role — the professional women. My stockbroker’s ‘business uniform’ with a fashionable, fair-size red handbag, high heels for a change, and my large dark sunglasses are just right for it. I make sure to park my old van a fair stretch away from their premises.

  Greggs lectures me for half an hour on the advantages of various forms of home security, from burglary and intrusion protection, to fire, carbon-monoxide and wetness alerts, and the indispensable remote monitoring via their 24-hour monitoring center, as well as protection of the safe against unauthorized opening. I prick my ears when I hear that. It might be important, since Garland is most likely to keep any evidence, such as details on numbered bank accounts in Liechtenstein or elsewhere, in his home safe.

  "How does that work?" I ask.

  "Before opening the safe, the alarm for it has to be deactivated by a secret code. Unless this is done, opening the safe will send a signal to our monitoring center, which in turn will trigger our response, i.e., reporting to the cell phone of the owner that the safe has been opened without deactivating the alarm."

  "Clever. I’m sure my husband would want that. We also have a dog."

  He assures me that a cat or a dog won’t trigger their motion detectors, unless the dog is over forty kilograms.

  "But ours is big. I think closer to fifty."

  He scratches his head. "That causes a problem. I’m afraid, you may not be able to have the internal motion detectors turned on while you are asleep, unless you restrict the dog to a single room in the house."

  I make a concerned face, but inside I’m triumphant. The Garlands’ motion detectors are most likely off while they are asleep.

  At the end of the session, he hands me his business card and invites me to call back if I have any questions, that he would be happy to inspect the house we contemplate buying and advise me on the best security system. If he is not in, I should ask for Paula Finch, his secretary.

  While I drive back to Bayswater, the iPhone sounds its melody. I don’t like using it while driving. So I get into the nearest parking space and check the number of the missed call. It’s Silvio. My heart starts beating faster. I immediately return the call, and we arrange that we will lunch in my apartment at 12:30. He promises to bring some delicatessen.

  Wednesday, 12:30

  I’m at the window, watching Silvio park his station wagon. I’ve already been waiting there for several minutes before he arrives. He looks up to my floor when he gets out. I wave. He waves back, a big smile on his face.

  I meet him at the apartment door and before even saying a word we are in each other’s arms, kissing.

  "I missed you, Ceci," are his first words.

  "And I missed you," I reply, kissing him again. "Come, to the kitchen. The table is set." I take him by the hand. He chuckles and hands me a large carry-bag.

  "How did it go? How is your mother? And Teresa?" I question while putting the contents of the bag on serving dishes.

  "Teresa is fine. She loved your Koala. He now has a special place in her bed. And my mother has a hard time walking. While I was there, I managed to book her into a private hospital. They had an opening just after New Year."

  "That’s good. Who will look after Teresa then?"

  "That still has to be arranged. I have a cousin —"

  "Why don’t you bring her over? If I’m not in prison, I would love to look after her. She could stay here with me … and so could you."

  "Ceci, this is very generous of you, but you don’t have to do that. My cousin has two children, just a bit older, and Teresa would be fine there."

  "But I really would like to. Don’t say no yet. We’ll talk some more about it."

  "OK. I had another surprise," he starts, hesitating. "My ex-wife is back in Belluno. I can now initiate divorce proceedings."

  I’m confused at my own reaction. I can’t tell whether what I feel is relief or anxiety. If my relationship with Silvio is going to be for good, I want to marry him and that requires his divorce, but at the same time I’m apprehensive that her sudden reappearance might result in them getting together again. There is a bond between them, their child.

  "Did you see her?" I ask cautiously.

  "No, but my mother told me that she asked after me last week."

  "And has she seen Teresa?"

  "No, Teresa was at Kindergarten when she called and she didn’t come by again."

  I leave it at that.

  While we are eating — he brought Italian cold cuts, marinated artichoke hearts and black olives, and a Brie — he wants to know what I’ve been up to and I give him a summary. His face tells me quickly that he doesn’t like what he hears.

  "You are getting far too involved with this mafioso. You even had dinner with him, although you said you wouldn’t. And what you’re planning is outright crazy. Don’t do it. You’ll just be asking for trouble."

  "Silvio, the police seem to be doing nothing —"

  "Then they will have to drop the charges sooner or later."

  "But then the suspicion of fraud will remain hanging over me. I will never get a job that requires a level of trust. I have no choice if I want to be cleared."

  "Why don’t you tell this detective inspector what you’ve learned so far and who might be behind it, and also tell them about the Mafia threat to you and your family?"

  "Because I doubt they would believe me; because I don’t know enough yet, and if they start investigating half-heartedly, they will simply alert the culprits. Then even the last shred of evidence left behind will disappear. No, I need hard evidence. Only then can I involve the police."

  "Then hire a professional, a detective."

  "This isn’t a simple case of catching a husband or wife in a compromising situation. This requires breaking and entry."

  "Please, Ceci, don’t do it. Don’t do it if you love me."

  His eyes are pleading, but I feel that he is blackmailing me emotionally, that I have to prove my love for him by abandoning my quest. I’m dismayed by the sudden hurt rising inside. I’ve not the slightest doubt that I love him. Do I have to prove it to him this way and remain professionally crippled, and as a consequence never be able to use my hard earned business knowledge in a challenging career again?

  My face must betray what is going on inside me. Silvio rises quickly and pulls me up, embracing me. "I’m sorry I said that. I have no right to ask you for that. Please, forgive me."

  Yes, that feels better. I smile, my eyes misting up. "I’ll forgive you. I know you only said it because you worry about me."

  We kiss again. I taste the salty flavor of the prosciuto on his saliva. I don’t want to let go. I want him now and here. He is a strong man, and I let myself be carried to the bedroom.

  Wednesday, 4 p.m.

&n
bsp; Mrs. Garland answers the phone. I introduce myself as Paula Finch from ADTSecurity Ltd., apologize for disturbing her and ask her whether, as one of our valued customers, she would be willing to answer a few questions for our quality assurance survey. She agrees after ascertaining that I’m Tony Greggs’ secretary.

  "Mrs. Garland, before I ask a few questions, is there anything, which offhand you are dissatisfied with or which you wish were different?"

  "Not really. I just wish that somebody would always remind me to set the alarm before I leave the house," she replies with a chuckle. "I sometimes forget and have to go back."

  "Yes, that is a common problem. We have this remote monitor that beeps if you get too far away from the house without setting the alarm —"

  "I got one on my key ring. That’s what usually reminds me of failing to set the alarm. There is though one other thing my husband recently mentioned. We have a big dog. He weighs close to fifty kilograms, which means that he triggers the motion sensors if he is in the house while we are away. Couldn’t the detectors be adjusted to accommodate that weight?"

  "Unfortunately this would risk that any intruder who weighs less than that would also fail to trigger the alarm. A slight young woman could easily weigh less than that; even some men of southeast Asian origin might slip through. No, that is not advisable. The only solution is to restrict the dog to one room where the motion detector is turned off if the dog is alone in the house. What do you do right now at night?"

  "The sensors are not turned on."

  That was easy. She volunteered it.

  "You mean the internal motion detectors, is that right?"

  "Yes."

  "Where is the dog at night?"

  "Most of the time in the bedroom of our oldest daughter, but he sometimes wanders down into the kitchen for a drink."

  "But you have the window and glassbreak sensors on at night, both upstairs and downstairs, haven’t you?"

  "Yes, but there are no glassbreak detectors upstairs."

  "Oh, I’m sorry. Silly of me; I see it here on our specs file. Installing glassbreak sensors upstairs is though one additional measure you might consider for more complete protection."

  "Maybe we should. I’ll talk to my husband about it."

  "Now, just a few questions. When did you change your security code the last time?"

  "Oh, I’m embarrassed. I can’t remember. But only my husband and I know the code."

  "All right. How long ago have you tested the glassbreak sensors?"

  "Um … about two months ago."

  "We recommend that it is done monthly. According to our plan you have motion detectors in the salon, the hallway, your husband’s office … um." I hesitate on purpose, trying to entice her to complete the list. The ones I’ve mentioned are obvious. She falls for my ploy.

  "In the dining room, the family room, at the top of the staircase, inside the back door, and in the kitchen."

  "Right. It says here that there is one in your master bedroom, or was that one dropped?" Another stab in the dark.

  "Yes, I forgot that one, but it’s not on at night."

  "It is an important one to be on when you are away, given the balcony, but there are no other ones upstairs, aren’t there?"

  "No, you see, when we installed the system, the idea was to have the alarms on at night, but since the children sometimes go to the toilet at night or come to our room, we didn’t want them to set off the alarm, so none were installed upstairs —"

  Again, she confirms my guess. "Except in the master bedroom," I interject.

  "Yes."

  "Just one more question. We recommend that the electronic sensor for the safe is left on all the time, even if you are at home, and only deactivated for opening it. Does your husband follow this procedure?"

  "I didn’t think our safe is sensor protected, but then my husband usually opens it. However, there is a motion detector in the office."

  Is there or isn’t there sensor protection for the safe? Her answer is inconclusive. I pretend embarrassment as if the mistake is mine. "Oh, I’m sorry. I simply assumed that for a sophisticated system like yours this would have been included. Look, Mrs. Garland, has anything else come to mind that you would like to talk about? If I can’t answer it, I will refer it to Mr. Greggs."

  "Not that I can think of now."

  I thank her for her cooperation and say goodbye. This did go extremely well, except for the safe bit. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested anything that might make them call up ADTSecurity for further information. If they do and refer to the quality assurance survey, somebody there might become suspicious. But it’s now too late. I went overboard to make my phone call sound genuine.

  Wednesday, 10 p.m.

  As agreed, Fausto picks me up and we drive to Old Church Street. I’m again disguised as a blonde.

  Silvio wasn’t pleased at all when I told him that I wouldn’t be free the coming night. Was it simply fear of what I planned to do or was it a sign of jealousy, of not trusting me with the mafioso? A lie that I have to hack once more into the Lewis’ computer network was already on my lips when I decided that I didn’t want to go down that path, so I told Silvio the truth. Unless our relationship can survive the truth, no matter how unpleasant, there is no hope for us in the long run.

  Fausto again parks the car about a hundred yards up from Long’s building. He tells me that he searched Massimo’s room. The only thing of any relevance he found was a slip of paper in a small address book, which lists the full names of Long, Gary, and Garland, and my address and phone number. He removed it, but left the address book. While we wait, I describe in detail what I learned about Garland’s security arrangements.

  The lights in Long’s apartment on the top level turn off at eleven twenty. So this isn’t his night. I hope that what happened outside his building the night before hasn’t made him take a break from his frequent use of escorts. Naturally, it could also be that the escort service declined to provide him with a girl, but then there are dozens of other escort services.

  I ask Fausto to drive me to Il Corno d’Oro, and only then notice my mistake when he wants to know if it is an Italian restaurant. So far, I on purpose never mentioned that restaurant, not wanting to involve Silvio. I have no choice but to admit that it is one of the best in town. I can see that Fausto is intrigued and then he quickly puts two and two together.

  "And it is run by your fidanzato, is that right?"

  "Yes, Fausto, he is the chef there, but he has no involvement what so ever in the Sanvino affair. So, I count on your honor that it remains that way."

  "I give you my word of honor." He hesitates, again looking at me. "But I would like to meet him. I would like to know what kind of man does meet your expectations."

  I can’t help smiling. "Maybe, when all this is over, we may celebrate together at his restaurant."

  He nods.

  Silvio is pleased to see me and we spend the night together at my place.

  Thursday, 6th November, 10 p.m.

  Fausto and I are back outside Long’s building. At eleven the same black limousine drives up and a woman comes out, not the same as last time, but again a blonde. My guess that he prefers blondes is right. She looks eastern European, pretty, with wide cheekbones, and a good figure. While Fausto talks to the driver, I follow her to the entrance and catch up as she presses Long’s buzzer. Once more I fumble in my handbag, murmuring: "Where is that dumb swipe card?"

  This time, Long queries who it is. The girl answers: "Natasha, your Exotic Escort date, sir."

  "Come up, level 5, unit 20," he replies. The door snaps partially open. I signal for her to go ahead and then follow slowly, giving Fausto time to join us. In the meantime, the woman calls the lift. We all enter. The door closes. Before she manages to press the button for level 5, I step in front of the controls, saying at the same time: "Natasha, don’t be afraid. Nothing is going to happen to you, but I must take your place."

  It looks as if she is going to scream
. "No sound, please," I say sternly while pressing a fifty pound note into her hand. "Here is compensation for your trouble. I ask you now to go back to your driver. He has already been informed. You both will return to your agency and report that when you got to Mr. Long, there was already another girl there and that he sent you away. And Natasha," I continue, as a grab her arm firmly, "make sure this is all you say. We wouldn’t want that you or the driver come to any harm, wouldn’t we?"

  My grip on her arm is hard. It may leave some marks. She goes all white and stutters: "No, I will do as you say, just don’t harm me, please."

  "Nothing will happen to you as long as you keep your promise. Go now."

  I open the door and she hurries away as fast as her high heels allow. Once the door closes, I ask Fausto: "Is the syringe ready?"

  He nods and shows it to me. A plastic sleeve protects its tip. I pull on thin black gloves and press the button for five. While the lift goes up, I wipe possible fingerprints off the open-door button I touched before.

  At Long’s door, Fausto stands flat to the wall, so that Long can’t see him when he opens the door. I ring the bell, placing my face very close to the spy hole, which will distort my features. I count on this so that I won’t be recognized. The plan is to turn Long around the moment he opens the door, before he can get a good look of me, and then Fausto will administer the drug that will knock him out almost instantly. I’m amazed how easy it was for Fausto to procure the stuff.

  I hear Long approach the door. He opens it wide after a short moment, immediately stepping back. I haven’t counted on this. Before I can grab him, he exclaims, grinning all over: "Ice queen, is that you? You’ve come down in the world, but frankly you look better as a brunette."

  Fuck, he has recognized me. No point anymore to give him an injection, goes through my mind. I remove my wig, shake my head a bit, and enter, while quickly saying to Fausto in Italian: "Change of plan. No injection."