Frame-Up (24 page)

I praise him for his thoroughness. He replies with a pleased grin.

"But is it possible to get easily to an upstairs window?" I question.

"Yes, there is a low extension on the left side of the house —"

"Left side as seen from the back?"

"No, left side from the front. I think it is part of the kitchen. It has a
row of narrow windows just under the sloping roof. I could barely see in,
but above it is a window within easy reach. I should have climbed on the
roof and checked it out."

"If need be, we can do it another day. The question is though where
is Garland’s office? If it is downstairs, we will still run into the motion
detectors, assuming there are none upstairs. When you checked the
downstairs windows, could you see if one room looked like an office?"

"Yes, the room next to the salon, on the right side of the house. It has
two windows."

"So we would have to go downstairs," I remark, disappointed, and we
would trigger the alarm. There is no need to voice that.

"Isn’t it though likely that while they are in the house, the motion
detectors are turned off, even at night?" he asks.

"Yes, but you don’t suggest we break in while they are asleep?" I must
sound alarmed, because he grins.

"That’s the first time I see you afraid of something. Yes, I mean that.
I’ve done it before. We just have to be very careful to avoid any noise."

"What about the dog?"

"You said it wasn’t a guard dog. Does he know you?"

"Yes, Garland brought him to the office many times and I petted him."

"So, he won’t be alarmed by your presence. You’ll simply have to
keep him quiet."

I’m slowly but surely warming to his proposal. But first I will try to
learn more about the internal security in the house, as well as the general
layout of the rooms. I mention that and he agrees. He says that he has a
fair idea of the inside arrangement in terms of rooms — a family room,
a dining room off the kitchen, on the left side, a salon, a library and study,
some storage room on the other side, and five bedrooms upstairs.

At a roundabout partway back into the city, I happen to spot a small
black car in the side mirror. I vaguely remember seeing a small black car
when we emerged from the neighbor’s driveway, with one male occupant
only, parked along the road near Garland’s property, but I dismiss the
idea that it is the same car, which has followed us all the way. There are
many small black cars. Somehow, they have become the vogue the last
two years. There is something classy about black cars.

Fausto drops me off near my apartment building. While I walk to the
entrance, carrying the overalls and the rope, I see what looks like the
identical model drive past. It’s a Fiat Punto. It too has only one occupant,
a man. Is this triple sighting just coincidence or has somebody been
following us? And if so, who? Fausto is the only one who shadowed me.
Who else might be interested in my movements? The police are the most
plausible answer. If it’s them, that doesn’t augur well for a break-in at
Garlands. They may easily connect me to it, having followed me there,
possibly more than once. I don’t like the implications of that. But would
the London City police drive a small foreign car? It seems doubtful. So
who else could it be?

Back in the apartment, I call ADTSecurity Ltd., the outfit that installed
and monitors Garland’s security system, to make an appointment — the
stated reason: exploring security options for a property under offer.

Tuesday, 10:10 p.m.

Fausto calls. Long has just returned to his apartment, he reports. From the
bank statement, it seems that Tuesday could well be a night where Long
avails himself of an escort. I’m to join Fausto, suitably disguised, and
then we will wait in his car on Old Church Road, about a hundred yards
from Long’s building, for the possible arrival of the escort limousine. I
drive there in my van and park it a street over from Long’s building.

I’m dressed in a black miniskirt, a pink blouse, with the top buttons
left open, revealing a frilly black bra forming a bit of cleavage, a black
jacket with half sleeves, black mesh stockings and black pumps. My own
dark hair is hidden under a blonde wig I bought half a year earlier for a
costume party Gary and I attended. I reckon that the dim light at the
entrance and on the landings will hide that it is cheap.

It is getting close to eleven — we’re on the verge of concluding that
this is not the night — when the black limousine drives past.

"That’s them," Fausto exclaims and immediately follows it. He parks
the Ford behind the limousine, just as a petite blonde gets out. She looks
at our car, hesitating for a moment, but when she sees me climb out, she
walks up to the entrance. I’m right behind her, while Fausto knocks at the
driver’s window and I hear him talk.

The woman presses Long’s buzzer. I fumble with my handbag, as if
searching for the swipe card, muttering: "Where is that silly card."

From the corner of my vision, I perceive a dark silhouette rush toward
us. Turning my head, I see a pistol in his hand, pointing at us. The escort
girl must have seen him too. She screams, pushing herself into a corner.

I react instantly. Using the momentum of my half-turn, I push off the
wall into a jump, and my right foot, coming up sharp from below, kicks
the wrist of the left hand that is holding the pistol. A shot rings out. The
pistol flies away, followed almost instantly by the shattering of glass and
the man’s scream. His right hand grips the wrist of his left. By then, I am
back on my feet. Even if he still had the presence of mind to defend
himself from my next blow aimed at his neck, he has no chance. He
crumbles to the ground, out cold.

The escort girl keeps screaming. Then I hear the click of the entrance
door being released. I push the girl toward the door, saying: "Go up. You
are safe now." But she just rushes past me, almost crashing into Fausto
who comes running up to the entrance, scrambles into the limousine,
which takes off immediately.

Fausto bends down to look at the man on the ground. "
Misericordia
,
it’s Massimo. What is he doing here?"

"Another
mafioso?"
I ask.

He nods, while checking for a pulse. "One of
il capo’s
enforcers."

"Come, Fausto, we have to disappear in a hurry. The police will be
here in a minute."

"We should take him along. He is alive."

"No time for that."

I push him forcefully toward his car. He comes reluctantly, looking
back at the man lying on the ground. When he wants to turn on the car
lights, I growl: "No lights. Go down to the embankment and turn left.
You can turn the lights on after that."

Some thirty yards along the road, I spot the same black Fiat Punto that
seems to have followed us earlier today. It is parked on the other side of
the street. Is the man I saw this afternoon in the Fiat the same who
attacked us at the door?

We are turning into the embankment, when I hear the police sirens and
see the flashing lights of a car entering the other end of Old Church Road
from King’s Road.

"We just made it," I murmur.

Fausto only nods.

"Let’s go to my place. We need to call Signor Carvaggio."

After a while of silence, I ask: "Do you know this Massimo?"

"Massimo Conci, yes, he does the dirty jobs for
il capo
. A very nasty
fellow, a brute."

"Why do you think he is here?"

Fausto doesn’t answer. Has he known and kept it from me? "Today,
when we drove back from Hampstead Heath, I noticed a black car, a Fiat
Punto, following us all the way back to where I live, and just now I saw
the same model black Fiat Punto parked near Long’s building. Do you
think Carvaggio sent him to spy on us?"

"Possible. He is very suspicious,
il
capo
. I thought he believed me
when he agreed to give you ten days’ time." He sounds apologetic.

"Is there another explanation for him being here?"

"No." I see that he cringes, admitting my suspicion.

"This guy ruined our operation. But I cannot imagine what would have
made him interfere. What did he expect to achieve?"

"Maybe, he had the same idea as us, trying to get to Long via the
prostitute."

"This would imply that he has been around for quite a while. He must
have followed you and also discovered that Long gets escorts. But why
would he know about Long?"

Fausto seems highly embarrassed, refusing to look at me. "
Il capo
wanted to know whom you suspect. I had no choice but to tell him.
Massimo may have taken it into his dumb head to rough Long up a bit
and see if he spills the beans. He is that way. He likes to hurt people,
especially women. He wouldn’t have blinked an eye killing you." Then
he shakes his head. "He was pointing a gun at you and lost out. He has
never lost out to anybody."

"He was pointing a gun in my general direction, not specifically at me.
He hardly expected a woman to defend herself. So the time delay to react
and shift the aim on me was all I needed."

"If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it. He is a big
fellow." After a pause, he adds: "We should have taken him along."

"And be in police custody too? No, we had to clear out."

"How long will he be out?"

"Ten, fifteen minutes."

"What will happen to him?"

"I broke his wrist, so they will take him to a hospital, where he will be
under police guard. I guess that he will spin some tale that he was
assaulted and that he only defended himself. I doubt they’ll believe him
once they discover that he is Italian and just recently entered England.
They’ll assume he is a
mafioso
, and then charge him for carrying an
unlicensed gun and smuggling a gun into the country. He will spend six
to twelve months in jail."

"
Il capo
will be furious."

"Good, because I’m furious at Carvaggio too." I almost called him
il
capo
, as if he were my boss. I also decide he doesn’t deserve to be
politely referred to as ‘signore’.

"You really want to talk to him?"

"Yes, I want to let him know in no uncertain terms to stop messing us
up."

Although it is close to midnight by the time we reach my apartment
and almost one in Milan, Carvaggio answers at the third ring. We’re using
my iPhone, switched to the speaker, so that we both can hear.

Fausto first explains what just happened and that it is certain Massimo
is now in police custody. As expected, Carvaggio erupts in expletives. I
take over at that point.

"Signor Carvaggio, this is Cecilia Walker. It was extremely foolish of
you to send one of your enforcers to jeopardize the work Fausto and I are
doing. It has —"

"Young woman, nobody calls me foolish," he interrupts. "You don’t
know me."

"Signore, there is no other word for it." My voice is uncompromising.
"It was unwise. It has set us back by several days. It might even betray us
to the culprits and this would mean that you may never see that money."

He grunts.

"This whole affair requires stealth, not brute force and threats.
Fortunately, Fausto is a smart man and realized that he is more likely to
get results by working with me rather than against me. The idiot you just
sent behaved like a bull in a china shop and delivered himself right into
the hands of the police. So, please exercise some patience. Rome was not
built in one day either." When he remains silent, I ask: "Will you now let
Fausto and me do this at our own pace?"

"Yes, but I will not wait forever."

"Signore, don’t threaten me. It will not get you anywhere. Remember,
you are in the firing line as much as I. What would your Naples’ bosses
do if you bungled the recovery of this money?"

After a pregnant silence, he asks: "Signorina Walker, what is this
about Naples’ bosses?"

I notice the polite address. "Signore, any prudent stockbroker does a
minimal check on his or her clients. It takes no genius to guess the
implications of a Liechtenstein registration for Ventura, with offices in
a suburban villa in Milan. But rest assured I do not care where your ample
investments funds originate." That is a lie. As I got more involved their
deals, the source of the funds I helped Ventura invest profitably has
begun to bother me more than I was initially willing to admit.