Frame-Up (33 page)

About half the tables of the café are occupied. A mixture of languages
hums around us. We find a secluded corner, away from the windows, and
order a double macchiato each.

"Shall we go over the details of tonight’s operation," Fausto queries.

"Yes, but let’s wait until we have taken a first sip of coffee to wipe
away the unpleasant taste of the one at the hotel."

We do. Fausto first sketches the ground floor layout of Garland’s
house on a paper napkin. He indicates the location of windows. The
microphone will be attached to one of them, most likely to one at
Garland’s office. My guess is that if Garland lets Carlo in, he will receive
him there. While I will keep watch on the road for Carlo’s arrival, Fausto
will remain by the tree, ready to go over the fence the moment he receives
my cell phone call that Carlo is through the gate. I will then rush to the
back and join him by the house. Once we have recorded their
conversation, I will intercept Carlo as he leaves the property, call Willis
and ask him to come at once. By then, Fausto will also have left the
property, removed the rope, and will be back in the car waiting for my
call. After Willis has arrived, I will let him listen to the recording.
Hopefully he will then agree to confront Garland.

We also go once more over the back-up plan — the same as for last
Friday night — should Carlo not make an appearance.

Sunday, 5 p.m.

Fausto parks his car back by the unoccupied house. It is already dark
under the trees at the back of the property. There are lights in several
rooms of the Garland mansion. As our first task we secure the rope, so
that we can get across the fence quickly, once Carlo arrives. While Fausto
remains back there, I take up a position at the end of the driveway, as
planned. Night is falling fast. The air is getting noticeably cooler. Hidden
from the gate by bushes and from the lone streetlight in the almost black
shade cast by trees, I prepare myself for a long wait. As it turns out, it
isn’t that long.

Carlo comes walking along the street at half-past five. I inform Fausto
by cell phone.

My brother speaks into the intercom. The exchange lasts about a
minute. The gate does not open. To my surprise, he walks away. It seems
that he has given up rather readily, very much out of character. But he
doesn’t go far. He walks across the street and disappears in the darkness
under the trees.
What is he doing there
, I ask myself? I report this to
Fausto and he advises to wait, that my brother might try again. Nothing
happens for about twenty minutes, nor does Carlo reappear. The wind has
picked up a bit and the occasional gust sweeps through the canopy.

Just after a car drives by, Carlo emerges from the trees, carrying a
small branch. He goes to the fence, climbs halfway to the top and then
hits the security wire hard several times. He leaves the branch perched on
both the wire and the top cross bar of the fence, clearly visible from
outside. Then he jumps down and disappears across the street. Again I
report to Fausto what I’ve observed.

"He is using an old trick. Trip the alarm, wait for the security service
to show up. When they see the branch, they’ll remove it and report that
a natural hazard has tripped the alarm. He repeats this a second time. The
security service might show up once more, but they won’t for a third
time. That’s when he goes over. It won’t take him no more than another
half hour. Just hang tight."

In fact, ten minutes later, a police vehicle with two officers stops in
front of the gate. One gets out, while the other slowly sweeps the grounds
with the spotlight attached to the roof of the car. The officer spots the
branch and removes it. He returns to the intercom and speaks briefly. All
I catch is the word ‘branch’. He gets back into the car and they drive off.

Ten minutes later, Carlo reappears, with another branch. This time he
does his trick closer to my hiding place. It takes twenty minutes before a
yellow vehicle with the markings ADTSecurity arrives. Its single
occupant, a middle-aged man, again looks into the property. Then he
walks along the fence, scanning the security wire with a flashlight. The
light beam passes the offending branch, comes back to it, and the man
climbs up to remove it. On the way back to his vehicle, he picks up the
first branch and chucks both through the bars of the gate onto the
driveway. He also briefly speaks through the intercom before driving off.

Carlo only waits five minutes for his next move. When he reemerges
from the dark, I tell Fausto that it’s time to go over the fence too. This
time Carlo goes to the gate and climbs over it, not bothering about
touching the security wire. I now run on silent feet to the rear and use the
rope to get into the property. Inside, I put on a pair of skin-colored nylon
gloves, Fausto procured for me. No fingerprints of mine will be anywhere
on the crime scene. Crawling along the grass, hidden by the bushes, I join
Fausto who is cowering out of the light next to the nearer of the two
office windows, its sill about two feet off the ground. I don’t see the
directional microphone.

"Microphone?" I whisper.

He points to the other window, which is a crack open, the microphone
inserted and pointing toward the desk.

"Garland is sitting at the desk, talking on the phone," he whispers.

It is pretty safe to assume that he will talk to Carlo in the office.
Kneeling in the shadow of a bush, I get a good view into the room. An
old-fashioned mahogany desk is placed at a right angle to the window,
two chairs six feet in front of it. Bookshelves cover most of the wall
behind Garland’s back. A desk lamp is the only light. It leaves the other
half of the room in semi-darkness.

While taking in the scene I hear the prolonged metallic banging of a
doorknocker. I nod to Fausto and he switches on the tape recorder. I can’t
hear the front door opening, only the low voice of a woman, presumably
Mrs. Garland. My brother’s voice though comes through loud enough
over Garland’s voice on the phone.

"Good evening, Mrs. Garland, I presume. Sorry for disturbing you so
late on a Sunday evening." I have to give it to him. He has good manners.
"I’m Carlo Walker and I have an appointment with your husband to
discuss some business. He is expecting me."

Again the barely audible voice of a woman.

"Thank you." My brother’s voice, presumably thanking her for letting
him in.

A few seconds later, there is a distinct knock at the office door.

"Yes," says Garland while holding a hand over the phone mouthpiece.

The door opens and Mrs. Garland announces: "Fred, here is the visitor
you’re expecting."

Carlo enters. Garland jumps up, the phone still in his hand. His face
turns crimson. His wife looks disconcerted. For a moment it seems as if
he is going to shout, but then he catches himself, quickly says into the
phone: "Sorry, Jim, something’s come up. Call you back tomorrow." He
turns to Carlo, an artificial smile on his face: "Ah, Carlo, take a seat."

"Would you like some drinks?" she asks.

"No, dear, that won’t be necessary. Carlo won’t be long."

"I’ll be in the kitchen if you change your mind." With that she leaves.
I’m surprised how clearly we can hear their voices.

Garland’s mien turns nasty the moment the door closes. "How do you
dare to come here? Was it you who triggered the fence alarm?"

"Fence alarm? What fence alarm?" Carlo manages his most innocent
face.

"The alarm at the top of the fence. Did you scale the fence?"

"Oh no, the gate was open. After you told me to leave, I went back to
the Brent Cross underground station, but then decided to come back, and
when I saw the gate open I thought that you had changed your mind. You
still owe me some."

"I paid you plenty for that little service of yours, but I promise to give
you another thousand. Come to my office Monday at one. But that’s the
end, understood."

"I think it’s you who doesn’t understands, Mr. Garland. I’ve heard that
my little service has netted you heaps, thousand, no hundreds of
thousands. A mere one thousand won’t do anymore. I want my fair share,
a neat fifty thousand."

"You’re out of your mind, as you are most of the time. You take the
thousand, or else I will have you arrested for trespassing. I assure you the
police will believe me when they see you tremble like you do and I tell
them that your story is nothing but the hallucination of a blown mind."

"You still don’t understand, Mr. Garland, do you? You did my sister
a bad turn. I only have to tell her, and she will set you straight, and she
will, take my word for it."
The little bastard, trying to squeeze money out
of Garland, knowing that I’m accused of the fraud that man did.
I don’t
feel charitable toward my little brother at this moment.

Garland’s expression suddenly turns amiable. He leans back in his
chair. "Your sister did a stupid thing, that’s why she is in trouble. So let’s
be reasonable and not spoil everything now. I’m sure she’ll get off. The
police have no proof. But I’m willing to be generous. I’ll give you five
thousand and that’s it."

"No, fifty thousand or I tell my sister."

Garland shifts to an upright position. He begins playing with the key
stuck in the lock of the center drawer of his desk. My grandfather has a
similar desk. The side drawers can only be opened if the central drawer
is unlocked.

Fausto whispers in my ear: "It looks like he is going to take something
out of a side drawer. He might have a gun hidden in there."

That sets the alarm bells off.

"Look Carlo, what you heard is wrong," Garland continues. "The deal
only netted me little. Five thousand is a quarter of it."

"Five thousand is only one four hundredth of two million. I’ve always
been good at maths."

I put my mouth close to Fausto’s ear. "You smash this window if he
pulls a gun, and then disappear."

"And you?"

"I’ll go in through the open one."

"But he might shoot you then."

And claim both Carlo and I broke into his house, but I can’t let him
shoot my brother. "The window breaking will distract him long enough,
but you have to disappear. I don’t want to get you involved with the
police. Please, Fausto, do what I ask."

"Who claims it is two million?" I hear Garland over my own whispers.

"That’s the amount my sister figures it is."

"So you’ve already talked to her about this?"

"No, I haven’t. She said you fired her because of that, but I will tell her
if you don’t pay."

Garland turns the key of the drawer. I quickly crawl along the shadow
to the other window. I see Fausto grab a brick from the path border. He
heaves it over his shoulder into the center of the window. As it shatters
into hundreds of shards with an ear splitting crash, I forcefully push the
other window open, ripping it off its safety catch, and somersault into the
room. Carlo and Garland are both standing, gaping at the shattered
window. Garland must have become aware of my entry. He turns,
swinging the gun toward me. I leap forward and knock Carlo off his feet.
I hear the pop of a gunshot from my right. Using the momentum of the
leap, I dive across the desk and take Garland down, ending up on top of
him. Carlo’s scream of pain is instantly joined by the furious barking of
a dog coming from upstairs. My left hand grips Garland’s wrist of the
hand holding the gun. He struggles to wrestle free. I slam my forehead
into his face. His first shrill yell quickly subsides into a pitiful whine.
There is no fight left in him. He drops the gun. I release him. Both his
hands reach for his bloody nose.

I grab the gun and get up. Carlo is on the floor, leaning against the
wall. His left hand clutches his right arm. Blood is seeping through the
fabric. Only a flesh wound I hope, relieved. I turn back to Garland. He is
trying to rise.

"Stay down," I order, pointing the gun at him. He collapses back to the
ground, stark fear in his eyes.

Shrill voices, some of children, almost drowned by the continuous
barking of the dog, and then the sound of running feet in the corridor.
Mrs. Garland bursts into the room, the dog right behind her. Her
frightened eyes take in the scene. She sees the bloody face of her husband
who is slumped against the bookshelves, looks at the gun in my hand, and
screams: "Oh, no, oh, no."

The dog looks around searching, spots me and wagging his tail comes
to meet me.