Frame-Up (26 page)

"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, 6
^th
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."

When Long sees Fausto appear and follow me in, he protests: "Who’s
this? Your driver? Tell him to wait downstairs."

"No, Eddie, he is my enforcer. Move," I order, grabbing his right arm
firmly and twisting it up his back, while pushing him into the spacious
living room. By then Fausto has closed the door.

"What’s this? Let go! You’re hurting me," Long complains loudly,
trying to break free. I only tightened my grip, and then force him to sit in
one of the two chairs that complement his leather lounge suite. He
struggles to get up again.

"Stay where you are if you don’t want to get really hurt."

His eyes dart from me to Fausto and back. "What do you want?"

"I want to question you about the Sanvino affair. If you answer
truthfully, no harm will come to you. You lie, and my colleague here will
break your fingers, one at a time, starting with the small one. Got that?"

"I don’t know anything about the Sanvino affair. Sheila, you got the
wrong person."

"First, my name isn’t Sheila, second, I don’t believe you." Turning to
Fausto I continue in English: "Start with his right hand." I shake my head
slightly, murmuring in Italian: "Pretend, but don’t break anything."

Long quickly withdraws both hands from the armrests and hides them
behind his back. Stark fear is screaming from his face, as his eyes dart
from Fausto to me and back. "No, please, don’t. It wasn’t me. I know
nothing."

Fausto reaches for his right wrist and forcefully pulls his hand out from
behind his back against a struggling Long.

"Please, don’t," Long whimpers. Suddenly the front of his pants turn
dark, as wetness spreads from his groin and down the pant legs. He looks
helplessly at the growing patch.

Fausto lets go of his wrist, his face mirroring disgust, and mutters in
Italian: "
Madonna!
The guy is pissing himself."

"Yes, it’s all show and a foul mouth." Turning back to Long, I say:
"Eddie, I ask you again. Who did that scam on me? Was it you?"

"No, I’ve done nothing, honestly. It wasn’t me. Somebody else must
have done it. All I did is give you the bum rumor, but I didn’t know that
it was wrong. Please, believe me," he pours out.

I hardly recognize his voice. It is only a whimper. I can see that he is
scared like I’ve never seen anybody being scared before. If in this
condition he continues to stick to his story, it is hard for me not to believe
him. I try once more: "Is this your last word? Do I have to tell my
colleague to get on with his job?"

"Please, Miss Walker, I’ve done nothing." He starts to sob.

How can I not believe him?
When Fausto moves to grab his hand
again, I shake my head, and he lets go.

"Who told you the rumor about Sanvino?"

"The boss mentioned it during our morning tea."

"And you believed him?"

"Yes."

That ‘yes’ came out a bit too quickly. I also remember his boast in that
e-mail about having fed me that false rumor. I nod to Fausto, saying in
English: "Roberto, do the small finger," while at the same time shaking
my head slightly.

For a fraction of a second, Fausto looks puzzled, then he catches on
that I don’t want to use his real name, and again grabs Long’s right hand.

"No, please," he whimpers again and then gushes: "I didn’t believe
him. I had already heard about the Singapore deal. I …’

"You passed it on to me to trip me, didn’t you."

He only nods, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Let go," I say to Fausto in Italian and then turn back to Long: "Eddie,
I will now search your apartment for any evidence, and woe to you if you
lied."

"I told the truth. I did nothing."

"Open your safe."

He looks fearfully at Fausto and then gets up. The seat of his pants has
a brown patch and a smell of shit wafts up.
What a pathetic figure
crosses
my mind. Fausto points at his pants, grinning.