No Pain, No Gaine

by Edwina Franklin

  “No, that was Carol’s place before we got married—I was always the tidy one. She only cleaned as a concession to me.” As he placed the lettuce, tomatoes and cucumber around the cutting board on the counter, he sighed and added thoughtfully, “She…desperately wanted to have better things to do than keep house.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them then. “I’m sorry,” Sandy murmured. “I seem to have a knack for stirring up—”

  “It’s not your fault, Alessandra. Look, how would you like to cut up these vegetables for salad for us?”

  His eyes settled softly on her face, the same shifting gray as the smoke billowing off the barbecue outside the kitchen window. In the quiet that suddenly filled the kitchen, the fridge came on with an importunate growl. Sandy swallowed hard and replied, “Sure. Just point me at your knives.”

  As she chopped cucumber into submission with Ted Gaine’s sharpest knife, she couldn’t help wondering just what his relationship with his ex-wife was. Did he still love her? Was that the problem? Or was it hatred that kept tripping up his relationship with Sandy?

  Out on the patio, turning hamburgers on the grill, Ted glanced up at the screened kitchen window and saw Alessandra bustling around inside. She was checking the contents of his fridge and taking things down from the cupboard above the stove. He had no idea what she was doing, but she certainly seemed to have made herself at home. More at home after twenty minutes than Carol had been after three years.

  He sighed philosophically. Carol had wanted nothing to do with this house or the suburbs. She’d wanted him to finish his law studies and set up a practice, and a few years later run for Parliament, so she could live in the style to which she longed to become accustomed. Even if Ted had worked his way up to Chief of Police, she would never have been happy being married to a cop. He knew that now.

  And what did he know about Alessandra, besides the fact that she was constantly on his mind? Unfortunately, circumstances hadn’t exactly been conducive to long, intimate conversations. And there was a small matter of professional ethics to consider, as well.

  Ted flipped one of the hamburgers, pressing it with unnecessary force onto the grill. It was considered unprofessional for a detective to become emotionally involved with a witness in an ongoing investigation. It impaired his objectivity, hampered his judgment, twisted what ought to have been a straightforward working relationship, and ultimately delayed the solving of the case. All the textbooks agreed.

  And unless he wanted to be officially removed from the Parmentier investigation, which was an important link in the Mr. Vanish investigation, Ted knew he had better appear to agree, as well. No matter how he longed to hold her close, smell the fragrance of her, taste the sweetness of her, he would have to be careful. Love was a dangerous emotion under any circumstances, but especially now, with Alessandra. He mustn’t let on too soon how he felt about her. He would have to keep her at arm’s length until the case was closed, and pray that she would still feel something for him when it was over…assuming she felt anything for him now, he reminded himself with an inward sigh.

  All done in the kitchen, Alessandra strolled out onto the patio, sipping from a tin of no-name cream soda. She sat down on one of the canvas lawn chairs, crossed her beautiful legs, inhaled the aroma of cooking beef and sighed with pleasure. She was obviously looking forward to a meal that would have made Carol’s lip curl with disdain. For the first time in days, Ted actually felt like smiling.

  Half an hour later, they had finished off two hamburgers apiece and most of a bowl of salad with Sandy’s improvised Italian dressing. As she popped the last bite of her hamburger into her mouth, washing it down with the final mouthful of cream soda, Sandy had to admit that this meal had really hit the spot. The conversation had been a little awkward, with both of them carefully avoiding any discussion that might lead to mention of Carol or Mr. Vanish. But the food had been delicious, and the vivid oranges and pinks of the sunset had been an unexpected treat for a city girl used to seeing the sun disappear behind a row of buildings long before it had touched the horizon.

  All at once Gaine’s telephone was ringing. He excused himself and went inside to answer it, leaving Sandy alone on the tiny patio. The freshening air stroked her skin as she nestled lazily into the lawn chair, determined to absorb as much of this blissfully simple moment as she could.

  Behind her, there was the sudden slam of the screen door, and Gaine dropped into the other lawn chair, frowning.

  “I’m sorry, Alessandra, but the meal is over. It’s time to talk,” he said. “That phone call was from the electronic surveillance unit. They just swept your apartment—”

  Instantly her anger reignited. “They what?”

  “Yesterday afternoon you had a visit from a telephone repairman. Right after he left, two of my men went in there and found listening devices planted in both your phones. I immediately ordered a full electronic sweep of every room, just in case there were other devices hidden.”

  More strangers’ footprints in her apartment. Sandy’s stomach began to clench. “You should have told me about this,” she said, thrusting each word at him.

  “Listen to me, Alessandra. The phony repairman left two listening devices in your telephones. And the electronic surveillance team, using a bug detector, found three more, all much smaller and more sophisticated than the other two, and all in places your neighbor swears the repairman never even went near.”

  Her thoughts suddenly racing, she drew in a long, steadying breath. “So you figure two different people bugged my apartment, and one of them obviously did it before your stakeout was set up on Tuesday. And it couldn’t have been the same person who broke in Saturday night?”

  Gaine shook his head. “Someone who wanted to conceal a bug wouldn’t advertise his visit by tearing the place apart first. My guess is that you had a visit from Mr. Vanish. He wants to know how much you know and who you’ve spoken to, so he’ll know who else needs to be killed.”

  Sandy felt her stomach do a slow cartwheel as she found herself staring into Ted Gaine’s official police face.

  “And that’s not all, Alessandra. I looked at the information you got from your source. It was quite a revelation. All those confidential cases…all those ruffled feathers when you’d finished corroborating facts that some of the witnesses—and suspects—were hearing for the first time…”

  Sandy’s eyes widened as it dawned on her what he was saying. “So they’re nervous because they think I was investigating them? Nervous enough—”

  “—to want to know how much more you know about them, yes,” he supplied grimly. “In one particular case, nervous enough to want to find out whether you’re in possession of a certain incriminating photograph. And if you’ve unsettled any more perpetrators with your questions, possibly nervous enough to want to terrorize or kill you,” he concluded, over her sharp intake of breath.

  Suddenly she became aware that Gaine was watching her with eyes like molten lead. She forced herself to stare back at him, awaiting his next move.

  “At this point, we don’t know for sure how many people may be stalking you, Alessandra. We just know that Mr. Vanish is among them. Things have become very dangerous, too dangerous for a civilian. I’m taking you to a safe house, north of the city, and putting a policewoman in your apartment as a decoy. We’ll go tonight, directly from here.”

  Being shunted out of the way and locked up for her own good was not at all what Sandy had in mind. “No, you can’t,” she told him. “Mr. Vanish isn’t stupid. He’ll spot the substitution.”

  “That’ll be my problem, Alessandra.”

  “And what about my problems? I have to work. I have stories to file, deadlines coming up, and a very nervous mother who would drive the entire Department crazy if her daughter just dropped out of sight.”

  Gaine made an exasperated sound. “I admire your courage, but you’re being
very foolish, Alessandra. We’re up against a brilliant, cold-blooded killer. You’re an untrained civilian and we have to protect you.”

  “But you’re already protecting me,” she exclaimed. “I’m under twenty-four-hour surveillance, remember?”

  He shook his head impatiently. “The point is, that surveillance is no longer enough to guarantee your safety.”

  “The point is, the trap is already baited, Sergeant,” she insisted. “If Mr. Vanish sees you messing with it, he’ll be warned off and all your precautions will have been for nothing because you’ll lose him.”

  Sergeant Gaine stared at the toes of his running shoes for a moment, visibly embroiled in internal debate. He shook his head with annoyance, glanced at the cooling barbecue, then finally turned to meet her steady gaze, a frown of concern creasing his brow. “Do you realize what you’re proposing? I don’t know why I’m even entertaining it—the answer is no,” he said, deciding abruptly. “The inspector would have my badge and probably press criminal charges if I let you go through with this, Alessandra. You could be killed.”

  “Would the inspector believe that if you told him?” she asked. “He probably thinks Mr. Vanish is a figment of your imagination. But if we’re right about this killer, my life is in danger no matter what we do, Sergeant, and no matter where I go.”

  Sandy gulped hard as the meaning of her own words hit home. Dio, as long as Mr. Vanish was out there, she didn’t stand a chance anywhere! But she still believed that the best defense was a good offence, and Ted Gaine offered the best offence that she could see. So Sandy stubbornly held his steely gaze and said, in as calm and firm a voice as she could manage, “If I have to risk my life, I’d rather be fighting on the front lines than hiding out somewhere. Wouldn’t you?”

  Gaine stared at her wordlessly for a moment. Then he leapt up and raced inside the house. A couple of minutes later he was back, pocketing his wallet and keys and grumbling to himself, “It’s got to be a gene. I don’t believe I’m doing this. All right, Alessandra, get your purse,” he said grimly. “You’re going to meet the rest of the team.”

  Charlie called her back at 1:00 a.m. Normally, Sandy would have been angry at receiving a phone call that late at night, but with all the warnings and instructions from the police surveillance team still ringing in her head, she hadn’t been able to sleep, anyway. Being the bait in a trap, it turned out, wasn’t much better than being locked up in a safe house.

  “So you need some research done?” said Charlie casually. “It’s fifty bucks for custom jobs.”

  Sandy jackknifed into a sitting position in bed, instantly grabbing the piece of paper she’d kept beside the phone in case he called. “I’ll pay it. This is important.”

  “In that case, it’s seventy-five.”

  She sighed impatiently. “Goodbye, Charlie.”

  “Okay, okay—fifty! What d’ya want to know about?”

  “I’m going to give you six dates. I need to know whether any unsolved murders or suspicious deaths took place on those dates, in or out of town. And I need to know whether any of the victims had any connection with either Duds ’n’ Dudes or Unity Sportswear. Can you do it?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Give me the dates.”

  Sandy read them off the paper. When she was done she heard a low whistle at the other end of the line.

  “That’s a lot of digging,” he remarked after a pause. “Why d’ya need to know all that?”

  In spite of her weariness Sandy smiled. “It’ll cost you fifty bucks to find out.”

  He chuckled softly. “I’m going to enjoy doing business with you, lady. I’ll be in touch.”

  Slowly Sandy replaced the receiver on its cradle and settled back against her pillow, willing sleep to come but knowing she was too keyed up to succumb to it. Sitting in the dark, listening to the breeze whisper in the branches of the maple tree outside her window, feeling small and alone in spite of the three pairs of eyes she knew were trained on the outside of her building, she found herself wishing Sergeant Gaine were there. She liked his company. She liked him.

  He made a good protector, she decided, yawning. In another era, he would have been a knight in armor, wandering the countryside, doing good deeds and rescuing damsels in distress. And holding them, to make them feel safe and secure once more.

  It had been a long time since she had last felt that way in a man’s arms—over a year now. No, she recalled as the shadowy contours of her room began to melt into a greater darkness, taking her spinning thoughts with them, it had been eight years. The various men she’d dated since moving away from home had aroused many feelings in her, from adoration to impatience, but the only other man…she’d felt she could…completely trust…had…been…Papa…

  Chapter Nine

  Friday, June 15

  Sandy shifted in her chair, uncomfortably aware that Detective Feeney was sitting just outside the door in the reception area, pretending to read a magazine while he screened everybody who walked into Editorial.

  Sergeant Gaine had advised her to ignore Feeney, to act as though he wasn’t there. Maybe one day Sandy would be able to disregard the hovering presence of a grim-faced ex-linebacker armed with a small cannon. For the moment, however, it was damnably difficult to do.

  After thoroughly checking her desk for explosive devices—bombs weren’t Mr. Vanish’s style, but it was best to be safe—Feeney had taken up his post in the reception area. He hadn’t moved from there all day, but his presence seemed to throw an unnerving pall over the entire office.

  The receptionist sat only five feet away from him. She had spilled her coffee twice that morning, the first time when he unbuttoned his jacket to reveal the dark leather strap of his shoulder holster, the second time when he asked her whether there was a back door to Editorial. Feeney’s voice sounded like Sylvester Stallone talking through a megaphone.

  Feeney was Sandy’s “shadow”.

  For Sandy, the word “shadow” had always conjured up images of wraithlike insubstantiality, of stealth, of silence. Being shadowed by Detective Feeney was like getting a little hug from an anaconda. In the Old West, he would have been an overeager deputy riding shotgun for the new schoolmarm. In the offices of Police Digest magazine, he was an embarrassing distraction.

  That was probably why Gaine had sicced him on her, she reflected with some annoyance. The sergeant had wanted her to stay home from work and she had refused. She would definitely have to have a word with him about this.

  With difficulty, Sandy forced herself to focus on the text scrolling upward on her computer screen. She was very close to finishing this article, a full working day ahead of schedule.

  “DiGianni, a word with you, please?” bawled her editor from the door of his office.

  Hastily, Sandy saved her article and logged off.

  As she stepped into Paul’s glass-walled cubicle, he thoughtfully pulled the extra chair into position beside his desk for her. “Please, sit down,” he invited politely.

  Something was up. Paul Rudd didn’t normally waste good manners on his employees. Uneasily Sandy sat down in the visitor’s chair.

  Paul set his cigar carefully on the cheap foil ashtray. “I’ve been on the phone with Sergeant Gaine,” he began stiffly. “He tells me there may be a contract killer after you…that he offered to put you in a safe house but you refused because you had stories to file and deadlines to meet…?”

  “And family obligations,” she added quietly.

  Instantly Paul’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Ah! You know, I was going to castigate you for being reckless with your life, for having a secret wish to be a war correspondent, and maybe also for being stupidly unrealistic. But since you’re doing all this for the sake of your family… How close are you to finishing your third article?”

  She shrugged. “Another hour or two.”

  “Excellent! As soon
as you’ve filed that article, you’re on vacation, DiGianni.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until your safety is no longer a police matter. Finish the piece and go home. And, please,” he added, popping the cigar back into his mouth, “take Rambo with you.”

  He was running the damned maze again, only this time it was leading him in circles. Ted sat reading and rereading the file on the Vito Taglia murder, and shaking his head in frustration.

  According to Alessandra’s second source, Mr. Vanish had killed Vito; but even a cursory glance at Ted’s and Joe’s notes showed that Mr. Vanish couldn’t have done it.

  The Sunnyside job had been slick and professional—obviously the work of a skilled assassin. By comparison, Vito’s murder had all the earmarks of an impulse killing by a sloppy amateur with incredible good luck—done in broad daylight, near a crowd of potential witnesses, and the body left where it was sure to be discovered almost immediately, giving the murderer no getaway time.

  “Here, this ought to help sort a few things out.” Joe Wegner stepped into their workspace and handed Ted a one-page computer printout. “It’s Mr. Vanish’s modus operandi.”

  Frowning, Ted scanned the information in front of him. “Nobody but me even thinks this guy exists. How did you get the computer to cough up an M.O.?”

  “I used unsolved cases where Mr. Vanish was suspected of being the perpetrator. You’ll notice that no two of these murders were committed with the same weapon, and no weapon was ever found.”

  “But Ballistics says Parmentier and Blass were killed with the same gun.”

  Joe shrugged. “Draw your own conclusion, partner. What have we got on the Taglia case so far?”

  “Not much.” Ted sighed. “There are still too many ifs in the equation—and too many people with reason to want the victim dead. And I’m sure Mr. Vanish didn’t make this hit.”

  “Well, I’m glad of that,” said Joe emphatically.