Frame-Up (7 page)

I make a deliberate effort to banish these thoughts and call on reason
to rule my mind. This reminds me that he still has a key to my apartment
and also knows the access code of the building entrance door. Fortunately
the latter will soon be out of date. The building management changes it
every two or three months.

Wednesday, 22
^nd
October, 6:45 a.m.

Again I wake at exactly that time, as if the alarm had gone off. What am
I going to do with myself today? There is no housework left. The
predicted rain is still holding out, so I should go for another run, in which
case I might as well shower afterward. I wash the sleep off my face, eat
a bowl of bran cereal, and drink an espresso before setting out to
Kensington Gardens.

Back from the run, I’m again face with the same dilemma. What to do?
I can only do two or three Sudoku a day before getting either too
frustrated or too bored even if I go for diabolical ones. There are several
unread books in my limited library. But again, I can’t see myself read
hour after hour, the whole day long, not with this police investigation
hanging over me. I even doubt I could take in what I read with the
uncertainty about the future constantly interfering and drawing me back
into ruminating about the whole affair, and the break with Gary hovering
in the background like the Windows screen saver on my laptop.

In my whole adult life, there has never been a day with nothing to do.
The time at university was filled with cramming my head full of knowledge, analyzing problems, writing essays, while at the same time using
every free minute to earn money. The pressure cooker atmosphere of the
stockbroker scene often left me exhausted by the time evening arrived,
and the weekends were always busy, first with housework, then with
leisure activity. Even on the only holiday I ever took, the one to Italy with
Gary, every day there had some scheduled activity or some place to visit.
And now it seems, all I can do is wait, wait for the police to abandon their
investigation for lack of evidence. During that time I’ll remain suspended
in limbo. It feels like being on a flying fox over a hardly moving river,
stranded at the lowest part of the wire, still over the water, not able to
reach the end platform, to reach safety. Should I wait indefinitely until
rescue arrives or should I try to swim ashore? That means letting go and
dropping into the river, where hidden eddies might pull me under and
crocodiles are lurking under the surface. My intuitive preference is to
jump and swim. But what does jump and swim mean in this situation? I
don’t know and that is the frustrating aspect.

In the end, I opt for wait, at least for another few days, before reassessing my situation. I might use this free time to revisit some of the art
galleries I haven’t set foot in since my teens — the Tate Gallery and the
National Gallery. There might be interesting temporary installations at
some of the smaller private galleries. If desperate, I might even find my
way to the Victoria and Albert Museum or the British Museum. And then
there are always my two little sisters. They would love my visit and I
would enjoy that too. Being with them might even chase away my
frustrations temporarily. I make up my mind to see them today after
school.

Thursday, 23
^rd
October, 10:50 a.m.

To my utter surprise, I get another phone call from Gary. He asks me to
meet him urgently over his lunch break. We agree to rendezvous at ten
past one in a café near the Liverpool underground station, a place where
no stockbroker would ever want to be seen. In contrast to the previous
two calls, his voice sounds calm. Has he changed his mind? Is he going
to apologize for his behavior? And what will be my response? I frankly
don’t know how I would react if he tried to make up. Something deep
inside me warns that there is no going back to what was before. I would
never be able to trust him fully. There would always remain a fear that he
might turn nasty again. But I’m willing to hear him out and then make a
decision or maybe ask for time to think about it.

I’m first at the café and order a fresh orange juice. Gary rushes in at
fifteen past. He sits opposite me.

"Why haven’t you retracted your statement yet?" he questions without
any preamble, without a word of greeting.

My heart sinks. The "hello Gary" dies on my lips. No, he isn’t trying
to make up. He is only banking on forcing me to give in to his demand if
he confronts me face to face.

"This whole thing cannot continue like this," he adds after a short
pause, putting exaggerated emphasis on each word while keeping his
voice calm and measured. "This policewoman dared to come to Goldsax
and ask for me. She wants a formal statement. Colleagues have been
asking questions and the secretaries are gossiping. You have to retract
your statement. There is no other way."

I’m working myself into anger. Does he know me so little that he
expects me to perjure myself for the sake of his promotion, which is by
no means a sure thing even if the police never question him? "No, Gary,
I will not retract my statement. What I told the police is the truth and I
will stick to that."

"Do you think having the police show up at my work will help with my
promotion, do you? I might as well kiss that good-bye, and all because of
you." He raises his voice, quickly working himself into a self-righteous
rage. "I warned you what I’ll do if you don’t retract your statement. Don’t
think I won’t. In fact, I’ve already done so. I told that bitch that you’re a
compulsive liar and that this is the reason why I broke with you —"

"Thanks very much, Gary, for letting me know that you’ve broken
with me. Return the key for my apartment to my mailbox, will you?" The
sarcasm slips out before I know it. I get up, put two one-pound coins on
the table and walk away.

He rises too. In the mirror behind the service counter I see him reach
out to retain me. In my mind, I ready myself to clout him, but he doesn’t
touch me, instead shouts: "Bitch, I warn you; you can’t do that to me.
You owe me."

I’m boiling inside, angry with myself for having contemplated that
Gary might want to make up, angry for having let myself be duped by this
man for almost two years. Then I almost laugh. Maybe there is a silver
lining to the Sanvino affair. It allowed me to discover Gary’s true nature
before it was too late, before I committed myself to a marriage that was
bound to break apart. I know that once I made the commitment, I would
have tried everything to make it work. This is part of my nature. It might
have taken years of unhappiness, self-doubt, and mental abuse, always
hoping that I could rescue the marriage, before I would throw in the
towel. But these thoughts are scant consolation. I feel bereft as if something precious had been ripped out of me.

Thursday, 8:30 p.m.

"Halt!"

The Aikido instructor’s shout shatters the trance I’ve worked myself
into. Startled, I abort the move I’ve just initiated. At the same moment the
cold realization grips me that if she hadn’t stopped me, I could have
maimed or even killed my opponent. I see stark terror in his face. He is
swaying, as if he is going to collapse.

"I’m sorry, Dan. Please, forgive me," I croak, holding out both hands
to steady him.

He shies away, exclaiming: "No, don’t touch me!"

"What got into you?" the instructor scolds, pushing me away. "This is
an exercise, not a fight to the death." She doesn’t raise her voice, its
impact all the more powerful, like cold steel cutting into me. "Take some
time out on the bench. I’ll talk to you later." Then she helps Dan.

I do as ordered. Sitting there, my elbows on my knees, my face hidden
in my hands, delayed fright seeps into my bones. When she told me to
practice with Dan, by far her most accomplished student, I slowly but
surely worked myself into a trance. The frustration of not knowing what
Willis is going to do, the forced idleness, the growing resentment and
antagonism against Gary, Edward Long, my feckless boss, my jealous
colleagues, suddenly all focused on my Aikido opponent. He wasn’t Dan
any longer. He became the surrogate for all of them. I could have killed
him. My heart is pounding madly.

The instructor cuts the session short and dismisses the class.

"Cecilia, come to my office," she says. Her face shows puzzled
concern.

I follow her and take the seat she directs me to.

"I’m sure you realize the gravity of what you’ve done. Not only could
you have killed Dan, but nobody will want to partner you again."

"Master, I know what I did was inexcusable and I regret it sorely. It
will never happen again."

"Unfortunately, the damage is done. A pity. You’ve always been
reliable in the past. What has suddenly changed? I sense that something
is wrong with you."

Is she going to refuse me as her student? Panic grips me. I decide on
partial disclosure. "I’m sorry, Master, I promise it will never happen
again. And you are correct; there is something wrong with me. I have
been accused of fraud and the police have been called in, and I also got
fired from my job. But I’m innocent. I have done nothing fraudulent or
unethical. But I suspect I’ve been set up. I now realize that this whole
affair has taken more out of me than I thought. Please, don’t exclude me
from your classes."

Her eyes search mine for several long seconds before she responds.
"Cecilia, I’ve always admired your dedication to the philosophy of
Aikido, but you have to understand that I cannot place my students at
risk. I could see that you were in a trance and, if it happened once, it may
happen again. I think you need professional help. I suggest you have a
few sessions with a psychotherapist." She takes a business card from the
desk drawer and hands it to me. "See this woman. She is good. She may
help you resolve your difficulties."

I take the card and lower my head. I know there is no point begging
her. It is against the Aikido creed and would only lower her opinion of me
even more. She is a woman who weighs her actions and words carefully.
Once she makes up her mind, nothing is likely to shift her.

I leave the gymnasium, despondent, cursing the day I listened to
Edward Long’s rumor.

Friday, 24
^th
October, 11:20 a.m.

The building entrance intercom chimes. I put down
Involuntary Witness
,
a crime novel by the Italian author Gianrico Carofiglio, which has been
translated into English, although I would have preferred to read it in the
original Italian version. I rise to answer.

"Police. Detective Sergeant Somes and Police Officer Barlow. Let us
in."

I don’t like her peremptory tone. "Why should I?"

"This is the police. Open up."

"What do you want this time?"

"We are to escort you to the Snow Hill Police Station."

"You could learn a bit of politeness from DI Willis. It would improve
your manners enormously." I can’t resist, but at the same time also press
the release button. Then I open the front door a hand width and
immediately go to call Crawford’s office. I leave a message with his
secretary that I’m once more being taken to the police station. She wants
to know if I have been arrested. I reply that I don’t know, but hope that
Mr. Crawford will be able to join me there.

While I talk, there is a hard knock at the apartment door. Without
waiting for a response, Somes enters and comes directly into the kitchen,
just as I hang up.

"Are you arresting me, detective?" I question.

"Miss Walker, my orders are to take you to the police station."

"Let me grab a jacket and my purse."

She follows me and stands watch in the bedroom door. As if I were
going to jump out the window! And if I really wanted to abscond, Somes
would hardly be able to stop me, even with the help of Barlow.

At the station, Somes deposits me once more in the same interview
room. I inform her that I’m not going to answer any questions except in
the presence of my lawyer. She grunts something unintelligible and
leaves. It takes almost forty minutes, before Crawford shows up. He is his
usual uncommunicative self. We both wait another few minutes in silence
for Willis and Somes to appear. Willis nods to both of us.

Crawford speaks first. "Detective Inspector, are you arresting Miss
Walker and if so on what charges?"

"The answers to that depend on what Miss Walker can tell us," he
responds. He switches on the recording device and says: "Interview
started at 12:47 p.m. in the presence of DI Willis, DS Somes, Miss C.
Walker, and Mr. Crawford, representing Miss Walker." Next he places a
document in front of me. "Miss Walker, can you explain to us the
meaning of these transactions in the statement of account numbered
343.650056, issued by the London branch of the Union Bank of
Switzerland on the 22
^nd
October to I-Consolidated Holdings Ltd.,
attention C. Walker?" He says it all in one breath, quite a feat, while
tapping his index finger consecutively on five lines on the document. "For
the record they are a deposit of 10 million pounds, a debit of 9.94 million
pounds, both dated 15
^th
of October, another deposit of 11.98 million
pounds and two debits of 10,007,438 pounds and of 2,032,560 pounds,
respectively, both dated 16
^th
October, the latter to a bank in
Liechtenstein."