Frame-Up (23 page)

He nods approvingly. "You don’t like violence, but you are good at it."

"No, I don’t like violence. I have incapacitated people during Aikido
practice, but, Fausto, you are the first person I’ve hurt intentionally, but
then I was livid like I’ve never been."

"Yes, I could see it. You taught me a painful lesson, but it was for an
honorable cause — defending your sisters."

"Fausto, you’re a strange man."

"You mean being a
mafioso
, but also valuing family honor?"

"Yes. You’re full of surprises."

"Nothing compared to you."

"Are you trying to court me? Let me tell you that I am totally
committed to another man, a compatriot of yours."

"I understand. So you aren’t Italian? You speak it like a native."

"I’m both British and Swiss-Italian."

"Signorina, even if you have a
fidanzato
, would you nevertheless be
willing to share dinner with me tonight. It’s lonely for me to be here and
I value your company."

I agree and we share a dinner at
Il Pescatore
. He keeps to his word and
makes no advances. I learn at lot about his life and his family. I’m
surprised how open he is, but I also infer that he is proud of his status as
a
mafioso
, and resigned that he may die young.

Monday, 3
^rd
November, 7:15 a.m.

In the state between sleep and awakening, I have the strong sense of
Silvio’s presence. I can feel his arm around me, cupping one of my
breasts, the way he always does when we are falling asleep after making
love. I stay with that sensation for a while and then reach over, search for
him. I wake up fully. I’m alone, my longing for him raw, unfulfilled.
Another two nights. Keep busy and the time will pass faster, I admonish
myself, as I rise.

While I’m preparing and eating breakfast, I take stock of where I am
in my quest to uncover who did the Sanvino scam and what I should do
next. I have four suspects: Edward Long and Fred Garland of Lewis, and
Gary Buxton and Bob Gough of Goldsax. Each one or any combination
of them could have done it. Some, such as Garland, would have more
ready access to short-term finance required for such a purchase of shares.
But all that was really needed as secondary security is two or three
percent of the Sanvino share purchase price — less than half a million.
The shares themselves provided the main security. Maybe even Long
could have managed that, particularly with his equity in the penthouse
studio as security. I don’t know the financial situation of Bob Gough. He
has been in the trading business for a dozen years already. Last I knew,
Gary has probably no more than fifty thousand in savings and shares.
Some six months ago he got caught with his investments, losing heavily
on a luxury apartment building scheme when it went into receivership. So
he can be no more than an accomplice to the other three.

My computer searches and Fausto’s investigations haven’t uncovered
anything of significance, a hint here and there, such as Garland’s inquiry
with his bank about the size of the penalty for refinancing his mortgage,
the new cars both Long and Gary drive, their get-together for lunches or
drinks after work — definitely something new for Gary with Garland, but
not necessarily for Long and Gough. They could have known each other
for years.

It really seems that the only avenue left is to break into their premises
and search for hard evidence. Although I did mention it to Fausto, the
more I think about it, the more repugnant I find the idea. I’m lowering
myself to the level of a criminal, and something might go wrong,
somebody might get hurt. Furthermore, even if it results in clearing me,
the very act of breaking and entering may land me jail. I rack my brain for
what else I can do. Have Fausto shake each one a bit to see if something
falls out? I know, he wouldn’t mind doing it, but would he be able to
restrain himself and not inflict permanent damage? That idea appeals to
me even less. I have some leverage on Long. He may spill the beans if
threatened with exposure about his insider trading and using an escort
service several times a week. He would hate to lose face in front of his
colleagues. However, he might gladly suffer that as the lesser of two
evils. If he denied any involvement beyond giving me the bum rumor, I
still wouldn’t know whether he is telling the truth. Time and again, the
option of searching the premises of the two most likely culprits seems to
only possibility offering some measure of success.

Getting into Long’s apartment seems relatively simple. Fausto and I
would keep watch outside his building for the escort limousine to arrive.
Fausto then convinces them to depart again with threats and maybe a
bribe. I take her place suitably disguised, and once Long opens the door,
we render him unconscious, and then search his apartment. If I find
nothing, he would never know who did it or why.

More ‘ifs’ are involved in getting into Garland’s mansion, with at least
two levels of security to be overcome, one along the fence, the other in
the house.

It seems that I have little choice but to explore these two avenues more
fully. I hope that Fausto will keep to his promise and start checking this
morning on the comings and goings of the Garlands.

I time my morning exercises such that I’m able to report to the Snow
Hill Police Station before ten, as required.

Monday, 1:30 p.m.

The uncertainty and the impatience for something to happen render me
restless. I already went for a run after breakfast, did my Aikido practices,
even made a wash of both light and dark colors — all temporary
distractions, no more. What could I do next? Reading doesn’t attract me.
I know I won’t be able to take in what I read. My thoughts are bound to
stray time and again back to what other things I could do to help my quest
along. Finally, I call Fausto to check what else he has discovered about
the Garlands.

He answers on the second ring. I don’t identify myself, expecting that
he will recognize my voice.

"Where are you?" I ask.

"In Hampstead Heath. The wife just went to the local highschool and
parked her car in the staff parking area. I saw her enter the library. Could
that mean she works there?"

"Yes, probably voluntary work. Are you willing to stick around and
see how long she stays? It would be useful to know."

"So that we can explore the grounds already tomorrow."

"Yes, you got it."

"Yes, I will wait.
Il signore
left by car, an Audi, shortly after eight.
She took the girls to school at eight forty. Then she went shopping in the
supermarket and returned home around ten."

"I admire your patience."

"It’s boring, but that’s part of the job."

"Call me back tonight. Maybe we can schedule some work for
tomorrow. Thanks." I disconnect.

We will need a rope. I own one, stored with the climbing gear in my
basement storage cubicle. I’ve not been down there for ages and am
appalled by the amount of stuff I’ve already accumulated since I moved
into my apartment almost two years ago, still renting at that time. I
purchased the unit eight months later. Being a person who likes order,
everything is neatly packed and labeled. I don’t really know why I took
the climbing gear along when I came to London. I did a bit of climbing
in the Swiss Alps as a member of the University Mountaineering Club,
but haven’t touched it since. There was no time while doing the MBA and
Gary isn’t the outdoors type. His only sport is squash.

I find the rope, neatly coiled, at the top of the box that also contains
hiking boots, rock climbing boots, my helmet, crampons, and other
things. I take the rock-climbing boots out too. They may be useful for
getting over the fence.

Monday, 6:50 p.m.

Fausto calls, reporting that Mrs. Garland left the library shortly before
three and went to pick up her daughters at the primary school, before
returning home.

"We may be fortunate," he adds. "There seems to be nobody staying
at the moment in the house at the end of the driveway along Garland’s
property."

"How did you find out?"

"Junk mail in the mailbox. I noticed that there was quite a bit, so I
checked out the house."

"You really know your job. Thank you."

"Overflowing mailboxes are a sure sign that nobody is at home. Any
thief knows that."

"But you’re not a thief."

"It still pays to know their tricks, including how to pick a lock, open
windows, cut a hole in glass without breaking anything and without any
noise, plus a few other tricks."

"I’m glad you’re an expert in this. We may need it."

We agree that he picks me up tomorrow around eleven thirty. On the
way out there I plan to buy a snack, and then we will observe Mrs.
Garland’s movements. If we see her again go to the highschool and enter
the library, we will attempt to get into the grounds.

Tuesday, 4
^th
November 12:20 p.m.

We are parked near the roundabout that leads to the highschool where
Mrs. Garland presumably works or does voluntary work. Over my
running outfit, I wear the paint-splattered overalls I wore to paint my
apartment after I bought it. The rock-climbing boots serve as footwear.
Fausto is in jeans, a dark sweatshirt, and running shoes.

On the way out, I bought some Italian cheeses, salami, and a baguette
at a delicatessen, a beer for Fausto and a fruit juice for myself. We are
sharing the picnic, while waiting and hoping our target will again show
up soon. She does shortly before one. After assuring ourselves that she
goes to the library, we drive back to the property and take the driveway
down to the unoccupied house. Fausto parks in front of the garage, hidden
from the Garlands by bushes. Armed with the rope, we tread to the back
of the property through an overgrown and neglected garden. In places, the
canopy of the trees is so dense that it is quite dusky under the gray sky.

The tree with the overhanging branch rises almost directly behind the
house. I swing the rope around the branch and then climb up, where I
secure it at the trunk with a knot that can be undone quickly, just in case
we have to decamp in a hurry. From this vantage point I can see the
entrance gate through a gap in the bushes and trees at the front of the
house. I signal to Fausto to climb up. He balances himself along the
branch by holding on to another one higher up and then hooks the rope
over a side branch once he is past the security wire, lowers it and
scrambles down. I made knots at that end to make climbing back up
easier.

I watch how he slowly approaches the rear of the house, inspecting
everything carefully. He goes to the back door without touching anything,
then to the left along the wall and around the corner, where bushes along
the side of the house hide him from view. I wait impatiently. As far as
I’m concerned, the purpose of the exercise is to find the label of the
company that provides the security service. It is usually attached on the
inside of a window close to the main entrance in easy view of anybody
approaching the house from the front.
Why is he taking so long
, I wonder?
After ten minutes, I weigh up whether I should go and check on him, but
decide to give him another five. He appears shortly afterward, nodding up
to me as he approaches, a satisfied smile on his face. So he found the
information I’m after. He easily climbs up the rope to the branch, but
while righting himself there, he almost loses his balance, catching the
branch above him with an audible gasp. He faces me, grinning
embarrassed.

Five minutes later, we are back in the car, driving away. I’ve taken off
the overalls. Fausto wrote down the name, address, and phone number of
the security firm. But he did much more than this. He inspected all
windows, the French doors into the garden, the main entrance door. All
windows and the French doors on the ground floor have security locks.
He spotted a motion detector in the salon. He climbed up to the balcony
above the front door with the help of a down pipe and a trellis. The
balcony door gives into the master bedroom. It also has a security lock.
He could not spot a motion detector inside, but then it could be on the
hidden part of the wall, nor was he able to see if any other upstairs
windows have security locks.

"So, if the upstairs windows are not protected, and there are no motion
detectors there, we could get in that way," he concludes.