Frame-Up (27 page)

The safe is inside a cupboard of the bedroom. It is one of those small
fire protection safes, rather than a proper anti-theft safe. For several
seconds Long hesitates in front of it.

"Go on, open it."

He starts turning the wheels back and forth and then lowers the lever.

"Stand back."

I quickly check its content, looking for any statements of a
Liechtenstein-based bank or a debit card for I-Consolidated, the purchaser
of the Sanvino shares. There are two DVD disks, marked ‘backup’, dated
June and January of this year, hardly of any relevance. I remove two
folders and spread their contents on the bed. Insurance papers, ownership
documents for the car and the penthouse, birth certificates and other
official documents.

"Where is your computer?"

"In the office," he answered without avoiding my gaze.

"And where do you keep your correspondence?"

"In the desk drawer."

I remember seeing it in a corner of the living room when we entered
and I go to it, Long trailing behind, followed by Fausto.

I rifle through all the drawers. Again the search proves fruitless. He
really told the truth. Our expedition has been a failure.

I turn back to Long. "All right, Eddie. I believe you. Now, let’s talk
about tonight’s little encounter of ours. You might be tempted to claim
that I invaded your privacy, but remember that when you recognized me,
you actually invited me into your apartment. Roberto heard you. So it was
no forced entry. We inflicted only embarrassment on you, not an
indictable offence. I also have discovered a little secret, namely that early
last August you did an illegal insider trading deal that netted you over
twenty thousand pounds. Therefore, you will not say a word to anybody
about this meeting of ours, not to your colleagues, not to the police, not
even a hint or a whisper, unless you want the FSA to investigate you, and
you know what the consequences of that are. You will lose your job, be
barred from trading, and either get a hefty fine or a stay in jail; probably
both. You won’t be able to make your high mortgage payments any
longer either. You understand that fully?"

"Yes."

"And think what your colleagues will say when they hear that you hire
an escort three times a week." I let that sink in. "Don’t think I wouldn’t
denounce you. And now, get cleaned up. You look disgusting."

In the lift down Fausto comments: "How can a hulk like him be such
a wimp, pissing and shitting himself. Here, look at it." He slips my
camera from a pocket and shows me a picture of Long from behind. "I
took it in the bedroom," he says, grinning.

In the car, he asks: "Do you really believe him?"

"Yes, the guy was too scared to lie. We can eliminate him. That leaves
Fred Garland, possibly Gary Buxton, and this guy Gough. It seems that
we have no choice but to break into Garland’s mansion."

"Yes, let’s do it tomorrow night.
Il capo
is getting impatient."

"Did you call him again?"

"No, he called me. He wanted a detailed report on what we have done
so far. I told him that you had things in hand, but I guess he isn’t used to
assign an operation to a female."

"Fausto, let’s understand each other. Carvaggio didn’t assign this
operation to me. I work for myself and not for him and I call the shots.
I’m grateful that you are willing to support me with your skills. As I told
your boss, only careful planning and stealth will get us there."

"A little bit of threat, though, gave us Long."

"Yes, agreed. In fact, I think we worked well together. You were quick
to understand that, once he recognized me, we had to change tactics."

"You know, it’s exciting to work with you. You are so fast and subtle
how you adapt to the circumstances."

"As to Garland, I’m impatient too to get that over with. So let’s be out
there tomorrow night around nine at night —"

"Why so early?"

"We have to make sure they are at home, otherwise all internal alarms
with be active."

"So if the lights are on, that means they are home."

"Not necessarily. They might just leave the lights on as a safety
measure against burglars. They might even have a device programmed to
turn lights off and on randomly."

He briefly takes his eyes off the road and meets mine, respect in his.
"You’re right. I didn’t think of that. So one of us will have to go over the
fence and check through the windows if they are home."

"Yes, that’s the reason for going there early. There’s another thing I
should have mentioned before. The evidence I’m looking for may be in
a safe. Do you know how to crack a safe without blowing open the door?"

"Not, if it’s one of the sophisticated, electronic ones, or the type banks
use. If it’s one of the cheap ones used by most private people, I can get
the equipment to open it."

"It’s a good guess that’s the type Garland has at home, since he has
access to a highly secure one at the office. His wife thinks that it has no
sensor against unauthorized opening that connects it directly to the
ADTSecurity monitoring center. Can you still get the equipment for
tomorrow evening?"

He nods.

"And if the wife is wrong about the safe protection, then we’ll be in
trouble unless Garland turns off his cellphone at night. So once the safe
is open, we may have only a few seconds to complete our search and clear
out fast."

"Right, signorina. You have it all planned out. I’ll try to get the tools
needed, but I’m fairly certain that one of my local contacts is willing to
help out."

Is there any place on the globe that the Mafia has not yet infiltrated?

"And now, let’s go step by step over the whole operation, so that we
know exactly what to do."

I let Fausto take the lead. He has the experience. My role is to
question, spot possible flaws or holes in his plan and point out where we
might need to make provisions for contingencies. I intend to go over it
once more tomorrow night, after we have established that the Garlands
are at home and while we wait for the hour when their sleep is likely to
be deepest.

Friday, 7
^th
November, 2:20 p.m.

Silvio calls, complaining that another emergency will keep him busy until
evening. He wants to know about last night’s action.

"But are you sure Long won’t go to the police?" he asks, sounding
alarmed.

"If he would do it, he would have done it last night or this morning.
He’s not done it so far. In spite of looking like an overweight boxer, he
is a total coward. He shat himself yesterday. I called the office this
morning. He reported in sick. But even if I didn’t have the lever about his
illegal dealing, the threat of Fausto will keep him quiet."

"Oh, I wish you wouldn’t associate with this
mafioso
. I fear for you."

"Silvio, I wish nothing more than staying well clear of the Mafia, but
I have no choice if I want to clear my name. And besides, I do this for
myself, not for them. But as far as this particular
mafioso
is concerned,
there is no need to worry. He has this strange sense of honor. He sees me
as a highly respectable woman and knows that I have a
fidanzato
. I made
this quite clear to him, before I agreed to go for dinner with him."

"Still, he is a
mafioso
. It’s dangerous just to know them."

"It may sound strange, but I trust him. When will I see you? I have
crucial action planned for much of this night —"

"— again with this
mafioso
? Ceci, don’t."

"Are you jealous?"

"Yes, I’m jealous that you spend so much time with him … whole
nights."

"But there is nothing going on between us. It’s purely professional, I
told you. And you are right, for this operation I don’t know when we will
be through. It could be early morning. No use planning for a night
together. So when will I see you? It has to be before seven."

He takes several seconds before responding. "Come to the bar at six
and we can share a drink."

Friday, 6:05 p.m.

Shortly after six, I park the van at the back of the restaurant and go to the
bar. I can’t see Silvio. A lone woman in her late twenties is sitting at the
bar, talking in Italian to the barista, olive-skinned, long black hair falling
over her shoulders, wearing a skimpy red dress that shows off her
voluptuous curves. I’ve never seen here before.

When the barista sees me, he excuses himself, fills a glass with
Barbaresco and brings it to me with a smile, saying: "
Salute
."

"Thanks, Ettore. Is Silvio around?" I ask in a low voice.

"He’s in the back. Should be here in a minute," he answers.

The woman watched that short interchange keenly and now shifts to
the high stool next to me. "
Sei Italiana
?" she asks, using the familiar ‘
tu
’,
somewhat unexpected from a complete stranger.

"No," I reply in the same language, "but I speak Italian." Somehow,
I don’t feel like chatting with her. I came to see Silvio and I’m not
interested in small talk with a stranger.

"A regular?"

"Yes, you might call me that. This place has the best
cucina italiana
in London."

"Yes, Silvio has always been the best."

For a moment, I’m thrown by her response. It makes it clear that she
knows Silvio quite well, may even have a long association with him. And
then it strikes me. She resembles Silvio’s daughter. She must be his ex-wife. Then I correct myself, his current wife. Why is she here? Why
didn’t he tell me? What is going on? Is this the emergency he alluded to?

"You’re Silvio’s wife, aren’t you?"

My consternation must have reached my face. She smiles knowingly.
"Yes, I am."

"Visiting?"

"Maybe … Maybe staying for good. He has a nice setup here."

Her words, underscored by her triumphant smile, sweep away my
foothold. To regain my composure, I take a sip of the wine. It doesn’t
taste good anymore. I’ve the urge to rush away and would have, had not
Silvio suddenly materialized at my side. We exchange greeting kisses,
both of us rather restrained, I feel. Silvio’s wife watches us, slightly
closing her eyes, her mouth turned up spiteful.

"Won’t you introduce me to your friend?" she challenges Silvio.

He obliges, seemingly reluctant. "Emilia; Cecilia Walker," he says
pointing at each of us in turn.

"You might tell her that I am your lawfully wedded wife," she
interjects with a slight sneer. "Is she your latest fuck?"

As is always the case, belligerence does not cow me. It has the
opposite effect. I gain back my composure. "I don’t fuck, Emilia, I make
love."

"Same thing."

"Maybe for you. Definitely not for me, but then that’s none of your
business."

"Quite a sharp tongue, she has, your mistress," she sneers.

"Don’t talk about me in the third person when I’m right in front of
you." I now turn to Silvio, who has watched our interchange, seemingly
embarrassed. "Come, we need to talk in privacy."

"Oh, there’s no need for privacy. Silvio and I have no secrets between
us. Isn’t that so,
carino
?"

"Behave yourself just for once," he snarls and leads me away to my
usual table. We remain standing.

"Ceci, I’m sorry. She suddenly appeared out of the blue. I didn’t
know."

"I’m sorry too, Silvio. Why didn’t you tell me this afternoon that she
is here?"

"I wanted to tell you in person, not over the phone. I was afraid you
might take it the wrong way over the phone. Please, believe me. It’s
finished between her and me. I love you."

"Silvio, I don’t know what to say. All I know is that we should be
completely open with each other, not hold back things." He takes my
hands.

"What is going to happen now," I ask.