An Apartment in Venice (15 page)

Thursday before the storm, Oliver lucked out when Novak walked past his table in the coffee bar. He spoke softly into his phone but Oliver’s hearing was acute. ‘All set, love? I’ll meet you at the station. We’ll start your search this afternoon.’

“All set, love?” he mimicked. The big oaf had to be cooing to Cavinato. What was she searching for? No matter, she’d be away—probably with him somewhere in Venice, maybe for the whole weekend.
It’ll be easy to find out if she misses her classes tomorrow. If so, I’ll slip into her place Friday or Saturday night. Easy peasy. I can hardly wait.

* * *

Late Friday night, with wind as a cover, Oliver saw the perfect opportunity to break into Cavinato’s apartment. All classes had been cancelled and he counted on the storm to keep her in Venice. The rain drove across his field of vision, but he parked his dark Mercedes in the usual space, a half block away.

He wrapped a scarf around his neck, stuffed a pair of thin rubber gloves in a pocket of his dark trench coat and reached for his wide-brimmed rain hat. He was all set when lightning flashed, and he saw two men creep up her stairs. When the thunderclap followed, they broke the glass door and lights went on.
Stupid jerks.
After about twenty minutes, the lights went out, and the thugs ran down disappearing into the night.

Another downpour dumped a flood of water, but Oliver pulled the collar of his raincoat up and tied the hat’s string under his chin. With no one around, the rain created a perfect screen as he lumbered up the steps into a trashed apartment. He didn’t turn on lights but used his large flashlight, heavy enough for a weapon. What in the devil were they looking for? Cushions ripped and drawers dumped?
What is that cunt into?

He went looking for her bedroom where
his
interest lay. Her top lingerie drawer wasn’t upended but had been pawed through. It bothered him that those ignorant brutes had touched her delicates. He lifted a handful to his nose and inhaled. Jasmine! He always ordered jasmine tea when he visited Signora Sylvia’s establishment.

He craved matching sets and found two tasty ones: pale blue trimmed in lace and pristine white, entirely lace! He placed them gently in a plastic bag and stuffed it into the deepest pocket of his coat. He dipped into a rainbow of panties in the second drawer and couldn’t wait another minute. Snatching up a pair of bright red ones, he tore off the gloves—had to feel the silk—and threw himself across her bed, unzipped and slowly masturbated into them.

He couldn’t leave his own precious essence behind. He ripped them into three scraps of lace and stepped onto the balcony. “Let the rain wash these pretties,” he howled into the thunderous night and tossed them over the side.

Back in her bathroom, he grabbed cosmetics and dumped them into the shower stall. Some broke and dribbled out their contents. He giggled while squeezing the toothpaste tube out on top of the mess then decided to leave a choice word for her on the mirror. He found a dark-red lipstick.
She’ll understand that. She, the Italian expert.

After that bit of fury, he calmed down, pocketed the lipstick and put his gloves back on. Back in the living room, her books had been shoved around by those cretins. A few lay on the floor. Poetry books and a big one about Shakespeare. She’d written side notes in that one. Now she’s a Shakespeare expert. In another rage he began ripping its pages when an ingenious idea struck. He carried the tome to the shower stall, turned the water on and threw page after page into the mess already there.

Back in the living room again, he snatched up a small book of poetry called
Strong Is Your Hold.
Oh yea, missy, I want your strong hold on my rod. He read the poet’s name, Galway Kinnel. Who the hell was that? No doubt someone she admired. He shoved it in another pocket. Maybe they’d read it together. But then he recalled her hiss when he touched her arm. She’d tell him he wouldn’t understand. He’d been so gentle with her that day, he’d only taken her arm to calm her. Talk some sense into her. They could have been friends. Buddies. But she had overreacted and drove her knee into his privates. It was all her fault. She had to be punished.

Oliver marched back to her bedroom, looking, looking until he found another pair of untorn panties. Bright blue, like one of her eyes. He sniffed, sighed and reached for his zipper, but changed his mind. Time to leave. He’d save the bright blue for later. Rain still pounded against her window. He had his trophies, and the storm covered his escape. It had been an excellent night.

On the way to the Diavolo restaurant, Giulia reminded Chuck of her coming appointment with Oliver only three days away. “Are things ready?” she asked. “I want to catch him and be done with it.”

He stopped, put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You sure about this? We can keep wearing him down with our guard service.”

“It’d be marvelous if he went to another post, but, Chuck, a creature like that won’t stop preying on women no matter where he is.”

“Something is not right about him, about the whole thing. I’ve been thinking about the break-in. The underwear—some ripped, some taken—fits Oliver. But… but what about the other destruction?”

“The thought of him fondling my underwear is beyond creepy. Nancy reminded me that sleazebags enjoy messing with women’s underthings. But would Botteri’s thugs—or random vandals—bother with class notes or my Shakespeare book? It could be Oliver’s way to get back at me for kicking him.”

“Yeah. That’s true.” Chuck said, “I’d like to sneak into his office and find out what he keeps in there. Better yet, into his house on Viale Camisano.”

“That’s dangerous thinking, Chuck. If you got caught, you’d be in a lot of trouble with all kinds of authorities.”

He looked at her with a grin that said getting caught was not an option. And arm in arm they continued toward the restaurant.

“Micina? I need to ask one more time. Do you still want to keep that appointment on Friday?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay then, here’s what we’ve got. The lock doesn’t work from the inside even though it sounds as if it does. As far as I know, he hasn’t noticed. He did notice the jimmied door that doesn’t always close all the way. It seems the maintenance people are too busy to come adjust it. He’ll drive them crazy, but they’ll still be too busy.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m not seriously afraid of him, but I like all the precautions you’re taking.”

“You can still back out.”

“No.” She shook her head in one firm jerk to the side.

The calle had become extra narrow, and Chuck turned himself and Giulia flat against the wall to let people coming toward them pass by.

“I’ll be wearing a listening device that has voice-activated recording ability,” he said. “It won’t be admissible in court but I have a hunch it’ll be powerful way to convince skeptical officers on the base. More important, though, is I’ll know what’s going on while you’re in there. Do
not
hesitate for one second to scream or scram out of there. Devices can always malfunction.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. The rain had stopped and fog drifted back into the city. As they turned into the shadowy Calle Madonna, golden halos formed around overhead streetlights spaced along the way. Here, the upper floors of the buildings were very close together. Each light hung from a rod going from one upper extension of a building on one side to another on the opposite side of the calle. Although she knew they must be secured with bolts, to Giulia they looked as if the rods holding the lights had been wedged against each wall like the chin-up bars her brothers used in their bedroom doorway at home.

Throughout the city, calles were lit by lights that pierced the darkness every twenty to thirty feet. It had been this way for centuries, first with torches, then gas and now electricity. Giulia had read that the Council of the Republic believed in the adage that most crime happens in dark places. She agreed with the old leaders and always found those circles of light comforting.

The glistening walkway reflected the soft lights from above, and as they neared their destination, the wet paving stones seemed to emit an orange glow of their own. The mystical illusion came from the flickering neon flame-colored symbol of the devil’s fire that “raged” above the osteria’s doorway.

“Many upscale restaurants in Italy use the old-fashioned term ‘osteria.’” Giulia said. “What did osteria originally mean, do you know?”

“It meant a rustic place where wine and snacks were served. But now the term has a bit of cachet, and restaurants use it to get away with higher prices.”

“But I saw a simple osteria over on Larga Gallina.”

“I know the one. It’s good, maybe the only authentic osteria in town.”

Outside Diavolo’s door, a few people stood along the walls or sat on benches beneath the neon fire waiting their turn. It didn’t take long before Chuck and Giulia were seated and had ordered a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the vineyards north of Venice.

Giulia looked at the menu. “I want to try the
Bigoli in Salsa.
I keep hearing how delicious it is but never ordered it in all the times I’ve been in Venice.”

“It’s a Venetian specialty for sure, and I can recommend it here. Do you like anchovies?”

“Uhm, in moderation. Is that what’s in the famous sauce?” she asked. “Bigoli are those large, thick noodles, right?”

“Right. The anchovies are in an onion sauce. This Pinot ought to be dry enough to go well with the saltiness of the sauce. Maybe the onions absorb the salt because Babička always said to add extra salt when using onions. I’m skipping the pasta because I want the large appetizer plate
Frutti di Mare,
with paté of cod, and—”

Giulia wrinkled her nose.

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” He gently pinched the end of her nose.

“We’ll see,” she said. “What other delicacies from the sea will be on your plate?”

“Can’t remember it all. Marinated octopus, for sure, and maybe pickled sardines. You might find a tidbit you’ll want to sample. What’s your entrée choice?” he asked.

“The pasta and then a mixed salad will be plenty, but maybe I’ll decide on something later. Is that allowed at Diavolo’s?”

“Of course. It’s allowed anywhere. But Italian waiters like to get people to order everything first while they’re ravenous.”

“I suspected as much.”

After she gave her order, he said, “Instead of an entrée, I’m going to order another appetizer. The musetto sausage. I’m sure you’ll want a taste of that. It’s a rich pork sausage spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg, a touch of chili pepper, and . . .” he turned to the waiter and asked, “and coriander?” The waiter nodded. Chuck told him they’d decide later on other orders.

Here comes our wine and bread. Just in time. I’m starved.”

After their wine was sampled and poured and the waiter gone, Chuck leaned across the table and said, “That’s what spending time in bed with you does for my appetite.”

She blushed, and for a crazy reason, he wanted her even more.

In “her” room in Chuck’s apartment, Giulia was using the top of a large dresser to organize papers for tomorrow’s class. She sensed Chuck’s presence a moment before he slipped his arms around her using his nose to push her hair aside and nuzzle the back of her neck. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.

“Hmm?” She turned to lay her head against his chest and threw her arms around his waist.

“That, too.” He pulled her closer. “But first I have a proposition for you.”

She leaned back, looked up to his serious blue-grey eyes and waited.

“Tomorrow night, I’m going into Ogle’s office and maybe his house if the timing works out.”

Giulia stiffened, took a small step away but laid her hands on his hard, muscled forearms. “Chuck, your career is too important to risk.”

He continued. “Doubt if I’ll find rings or jewelry. He’d want more intimate things. Are you missing any sexy scraps of lace?”

“Most of my lingerie was ruined, but come to think of it, the blue bra you liked so well is missing.”

“Not the blue one!” he shrieked.

She laughed and this time it was a full-from-the-bottom-of-the-toes laugh. He laughed, too and rocked her back and forth. Then, with a soft nudge to her chin, he tipped her face to his, meeting her eyes.

“It would be easier to stay at the studio apartment because I can’t go into Ogle’s office until people have left the building. There’s a dinner meeting in town that
I think
he’ll attend. If so, after his office, I hope to go on to his home. Otherwise, I might have to wait until Thursday, or later, to do his house, but I
am
checking his office tomorrow night.”

“You’re determined aren’t you?”

“Yes. I want to know just how sick this bastard is. If he does have your missing underwear, my guess is he’ll have other women’s, too. If so, I’ll have more confidence about pushing for search warrants. Want to stay with me?”

“I can’t talk you out of this?”

“Nope.”

“Of course I’ll stay.”

“Good. If I manage to get in and out of both places, we could drive back here late tomorrow night, but it makes sense—”

“We should stay both nights,” she said. “I can be a lookout for you.”

Her voice sounded breathy with excitement.

“Giulia, no. Please understand. Not that you couldn’t help, but I know me. If you were along, I’d be distracted. My hope is to get in and out fast and take as many pictures as I can with my mini camera. I want you waiting at my studio apartment. That way, I can show you whatever I find immediately. Hell, I want you there anyway,” he said with a dimple-deep smile.

“Chuck, I do know how to be quiet. Sneaky, too. As a kid, I snooped in our parents’ place, the grandparents’ too. They never knew.”

“
Maybe
they never knew. And maybe they didn’t want to spoil your fun.”

“Oh no. My dad wouldn’t have put up with it, and now, I agree with him, sneaking is not nice. But,” she laughed softly, “the boys always got caught. They left trails a mile wide.”

He hugged her again. “I’m not one bit surprised about your sneak-skills, but angel, this will be breaking and entering and—”

She sighed. “Okay. You’re the expert. I’ll wait… this time.”

“Good. Got that settled. Now, when you’re finished packing, do we have plans for the rest of
this
evening?”

* * *

After work on Wednesday afternoon, Giulia noticed a pizza shop not far from Chuck’s studio and called to tell him she’d bring supper. It was the same place from which he’d brought pizza the first night they’d made love. His apartment had no oven to keep it hot, but they made do and ate picnic style on top of his king-sized bed.

“This pizza’s okay but not as good as the thrice-baked kind,” he said leaning over for a kiss. “Now, before I go, I need to refresh my memory on how to use this digital camera so if I find ‘contraband underwear,’ I can —”

She stifled a giggle.

“I can take fast photos and scram.”

“I like the scram part,” she said.

About eight, Chuck left for the post. He slipped in a side door of the admin building, took the stairs to the top floor—the third—and walked silently along each hallway looking for lights and listening for voices. Ogle’s office was on the first floor. When he reached that landing, he stopped to pull out a pair of thin rubber gloves. He felt certain the building was empty, although a cleaning person could appear any time. Or Ogle.

As soon as Chuck got inside Ogle’s office, he checked for a possible exit. The office was larger than most and had a private half bath with a window. He opened the window wide and leaned his head and shoulders out making sure he could squeeze through if he had to. It would be a bit of a drop, since the first floor was at least ten steps from the ground, but he could hang from the sill and then drop. He left it wide open.

Back in the office, he pulled out a penlight and began his search. He was almost finished when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. He froze. He closed a desk drawer without a sound and holding his breath slipped down the short hallway toward the open window. Then he heard the squeak of wheels. A janitor’s cart? With his hands on the sill ready to hoist himself through it, he waited. The squeaking wheels moved past Ogle’s door and stopped. A door opened from what sounded like a couple doors down. Wheels squeaked again, and a door closed.

Chuck went back to the desk, pulled out the top right-hand drawer again, picked up the folder marked Cavinato that he’d seen when he’d heard the noise. When he opened it, the local information page was on the top and a blue pencil circled the words Pensione Luciana. He took more photos. He put the folder back and closed its drawer. He’d already snapped pictures of black panties scrunched under folders in the bottom drawer of the desk. The last sound heard in Ogle’s office was the bathroom window easing shut.

On his way across the street toward the parking garage, Chuck glanced at his watch. Nine ten. According to a friendly secretary in charge of coordinating events, two visiting administrators from the University of Maryland were being wined and dined at Hotel De La Ville. The dinner would have barely started at nine. If Chuck knew anything about Oliver Ogle, he would not miss an opportunity to suck up to any perceived power. Confirming this notion, Ogle’s calendar had indicated he planned to be there. Written in a small, controlled hand in blue pencil were the words “Cocktails, 8:30.” Chuck grimaced at the irony of both Giulia’s nemeses hanging out at the same hotel.

He found Rob Ryland’s dark green Fiat Pinto where he’d said it would be. They had exchanged keys that afternoon. Chuck’s car was great for spotting in a crowded parking lot, but canary yellow did not make for a good getaway.

“Ciao. It’s me. I’m moving on to the next location. Wish me luck.”

Giulia sounded frustrated and pleaded again to join him. He replied, “Wait up for me, love.”

“You think I’d sleep?” she said in a hoarse voice.

“Calma, per favore!”
he said and closed the phone.

Chuck had been to a boring function in Ogle’s house once.
Villa,
Ogle called it, as many did who had houses outside the center of town. Viale Camisano was easy to find. It was an ancient—but still used—road leading to Padova. He parked the little car behind a grove of trees across a plowed field at the rear of Ogle’s house.

First he switched off the dome light, then pulled on a new pair of surgical gloves and covered them with leather ones in case he needed to climb trees or fences or other obstacles. Dressed in black cargo pants, heavy black sweatshirt and black running shoes with soft leather soles, he set off toward the house.

Once inside, he located the security panel. The system was a farce, and in minutes Chuck was glancing around the main floor. He sprinted up the steps to the bedrooms, figuring Ogle would want his souvenirs in a private area. He entered the master bedroom. When he closed the door on a large walk-in closet and found the light switch, he sucked in a breath. No racks for hanging clothes nor shelves for hats, gloves, or shoes were visible. Instead, a metal panel about three and one-half feet wide was mounted along each of the walls facing each other. The entire space was designed for his collection. A
large
collection of feminine under garments. Mounted on the metal surfaces were sets of matching bras and panties. Ogle had used colored magnetic circles: blue ones, brown ones, and green to mount his trophies. The circles were part of a coding system because each carried a tiny date printed in indelible ink. Chuck needed to break the code, hoping he’d find it somewhere in the house.

Then he recognized Giulia’s light-blue, lace-trimmed bra and panties to match, the ones she’d worn their first night of love making. They were attached with one brown and one blue magnet. Ah ha. Eyes. Another set, which was also held in place by the dual magnets in her colors included a bra made completely of white lace with white lace panties to match. Damn! He hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing her in those.

He wanted to snatch them off the wall and get the hell out of there.
Get a grip, man, calm yourself.
He needed to leave them here for the search warrant.
Which I WILL get.
The code system was obvious. Now he needed to find the filing system with names and maybe pictures. Oliver would surely want to gloat over them. First, though, he took pictures of the entire closet museum.

It was 10:30 p.m. when he finished shooting all the items. That dinner might be over soon. Where would Ogle keep folders with personal information? He turned off the light, closed the closet door on the hidden trophies and left in search of a filing cabinet or safe. Four other doors were on this floor. He opened each one. Two were furnished as bedrooms, one was a small bathroom and the one across from Ogle’s master suite held a home office. Chuck pulled the drapes closed. To save time, he switched on the overhead lights. It didn’t take long to find a cabinet with file folders also colored to match the blue, brown, and green of the magnets. All the blues were bunched together as were the browns and the greens. A few tabs were colored to look like hazel and two were grey. Only one had both blue and brown.

He snatched that one first, and sure enough Giulia’s sweet face looked at him. Her name, height, weight and. . .bust size, waist size, hip size—what the fuck! Where did Ogle get that information? Bastard!

Chuck couldn’t stand it. He hurried back to the trophy closet and carefully removed Giulia’s bras and panties and stuffed them into the deep pockets of his cargo pants. If all this made it as evidence in a court, he would not allow his woman’s intimate wear to be on display.

Back to the cabinet full of folders. He felt uneasy prying into other women’s information but needed to verify Ogle’s system. Sure enough, it included dates and locations of where the prizes had been “collected” as Ogle phrased it. Chuck photographed the insides of enough folders to document that most of these were U.S. citizens. If Ogle were ever arrested, that information would be valuable because the arrest would go through the U.S. court system.

I’ve been here too long.
He closed all the cabinet drawers. Turned off the lights in the home office, opened the drapes to where they’d been before and was starting down the stairs when he stopped in his tracks. If Giulia’s underwear wasn’t here, how could she prove Ogle had ransacked her apartment? Shit! Dammit to hell! They
had
to be on that infernal wall. He raced back up the stairs. His fingers fumbled as he foraged in his deep pockets for the magnets that he’d dropped in with her things. They might not be arranged exactly as they had been but, hell, who was Ogle going to complain to?

On the way downstairs again, he heard the distinctive sound of a diesel engine. Ogle was home. When Chuck was on the bottom step, the lights of the Mercedes flashed through the front windows of the house as Ogle pulled around to the back. Chuck had planned to leave by the rear entrance in order to re-set the alarm system. That wasn’t going to happen. He’d have to leave by the front. Surely all the doors were on the same system. Worth trying.

As he was about to open the front door, he heard Ogle muttering to himself as he walked past a front window coming straight for the front door. What was that all about? He didn’t wait to find out.

Moving with stealth and speed, Chuck reached the rear door, opened it, re-set the alarm and raced across the field to the grove of trees. His heart was thudding.
I’m getting too old for this stuff.
He didn’t remove his rubber gloves until he was inside the little car. Gloves? Where were the leather ones? He stepped out of the car to reach into his deep pockets. Ah. There they were. He’d worried he hadn’t followed his time-honored pattern of never laying a tool or personal item down. When he turned toward the villa, a light appeared on the main floor. By the time he settled back in the car, that light was out and another came on upstairs. The monster was in his lair. Does he visit his trophies every evening?

On the way into town, Chuck made a mental note to clean Ryland’s car for him since he’d crashed through a muddy stream to get away.

* * *

“He’s the one, isn’t he?” Giulia said. Her eyes looked haunted after seeing the pictures Chuck had taken.

“Yessss.” Chuck dragged the word. “Still don’t believe he’s the only one.”

“What?” she said looking up from his camera.

“You saw the destruction that day. Broken furniture, cushions slashed, crockery broken. Ogle
could
have done all that, but I doubt he’d waste time on that stuff. His goal was on these,” and he pointed to the pictures.

“It was smart to put my underthings back on that… wall. They need to be there if he’s ever investigated. I’d never touch them again anyway.”

“Oh sweetheart, I understand.” He pushed the camera aside. “Come here.”

Later, lying together spoon fashion in his bed, Chuck said, “Damn.”

“What?” Giulia said, drowsing against his warm body.

“Do you suppose we could find you some more frothy, white things?”