Frame-Up (31 page)

"Is it a museum?" Her face expresses her dislike of such places.

"No, it exhibits paintings and drawings and other art works, some from
English painters, like Constable, others from the famous Flemish painters,
Rembrandt, the French impressionists, Renoir, Monet, and the Old Italian
masters, such as Titian, Michelangelo. It’s fascinating how different
painters depicted nature and people over the centuries."

"Isn’t it boring to look at pictures?"

"It won’t be if you go with me. We can talk about them; we’ll have
fun." I’ve only plans for Sunday night. I almost offer to take her next day,
Sunday, but something holds me back. My thoughts will never be
completely free of the planned action for breaking into Garland’s house.
It makes more sense to wait. Hopefully by the following weekend I’ll be
in the clear. "How about next Saturday, or do you already have something
planned? No? Then I’ll come and fetch you at ten."

"Yes, Sally. Go. I’ve always regretted that I didn’t visit more galleries
when I was younger. I will prepare a packed lunch for both of you."

"No need for that, Mrs. Harper. Sally and I will have lunch in a café."

Sally’s face suddenly shows excitement. I take my leave.

Saturday, 4:05 p.m.

Driving past my apartment building in search of a parking space for the
van, I notice a black sedan illegally parked on the broken yellow lines in
front of the entrance. The unpainted repair job of the luggage
compartment door looks familiar, but I can’t place it at that moment. I
turn into a side street and then I suddenly see it again — the Rover sedan
Somes had when she came to arrest me Thursday a week ago. If she is
paying me another visit, it can only mean one thing. She intends to take
me into custody. The police must have uncovered something they
consider sufficient to revoke my bail. What could it be? An insidious
suspicion begins worming itself into my brain. Gary! He swore that he
would pay me back. Carlo asked him for Garland’s address. Is he using
this to remove the suspicion of being my accomplice? Shift it on Carlo?
Somes would jump on anything that would justify taking me into custody.
And that is the last thing I can afford at this critical point in my search.
Even if Crawford manages to get me bailed again, it will be Monday at
the earliest.

I park the van two streets over, but remain sitting behind the steering
wheel. What am I going to do now? Fausto and I have an appointment to
search Garland’s office. I’m pretty convinced that this will uncover the
evidence I need to clear myself. But not if I’m behind bars.

Or am I mistaken about the car? Panicking needlessly? There is one
way to find out — call the apartment, disguising my voice and ask to
speak to myself. I call my land line. The phone rings three, four, five, six
times.
Answer, you bitch!
After nine rings it will switch to the answering
service. Seven, eight.

"Walker residence," a voice I recognize as Somes’ answers.

"This is Anne. Could I speak to Cecilia, please?"

"Anne who?"

"Anne Fields. Is Cecilia there?"

"She is unavailable at this moment. What is your phone number?"

"Oh, don’t bother. It is not that important. I’ll see her tomorrow. Thank
you."

"Wait, Miss Fields …’

I cut the call. So I’m right. Somes is in my unit. The caretaker must
have let her in.

Should I do what my father suggested, talk to Crawford? Come clean
with DI Willis and report Carlo’s confession? But would he believe me?
Maybe if Carlo were still here and confessed in person. But to prevent
that very thing was the reason for sending him to mother. Furthermore,
if Garland hears about it, he might get rid of any evidence, evidence that
I’m convinced is right now still in his safe. No, coming clean at this point
is too risky. That really only leaves one option, namely go into hiding for
a couple of days. There is little risk of being found. London is too big, nor
am I considered a high enough risk to mount a full-scale search for me.

Suddenly, I remember that I have an appointment with Silvio at my
place in ten minutes. I have to prevent him from going to the apartment.
I start the van, return to Queensway and then continue driving south to
Bayswater Road, in the hope of intercepting Silvio, assuming he is
coming from South Kensington. When I reach Bayswater Road, I stop,
wondering right or left? Just then I see his car coming from the right. I
quickly park illegally and wave frantically. He doesn’t seem to pay any
attention to me and turns into Queensway, but then suddenly swings into
a parking spot. Dodging the traffic, I run to him.

He gets out of his car too.

"The police are at my place," I murmur in Italian, preempting him.
"Let’s meet at the restaurant. My van is over there." With that I’m away,
back to the van.

Fifteen minutes later I park the van behind the restaurant. Silvio is
waiting next to his car.

"What happened? Why are the police at your apartment?" are his first
words.

"Let’s first go to your office," I reply. I don’t want to stand around in
the open.

Once inside, he asks: "So?"

"I don’t know what happened. All I know is that Somes is in my
apartment, I presume, waiting for me, and the only reason she is waiting
is to arrest me."

"But why now?"

"They might have found evidence they think justifies arresting me
again."

He puts his arms around me, hugging me. It feels good. "My poor love.
What are you going to do? Call your lawyer?"

"No, I need another two or three days and then I’ll have the evidence
to clear myself. Until then I’ll go into hiding."

"But won’t that get you into more trouble?"

"Yes, but I’ll have to risk that."

"You can come to my place."

"No, Silvio, that wouldn’t work, not with your wife there, nor do I
want to get you into trouble too."

"I guess you’re right. So where will you go? To your father?"

"No. The police might check with him. I’ll book into a small hotel in
the City."

I slip back into his embrace. I need to feel his arms around me. I was
so looking forward to make love to him, but Somes has put a stop to that.

"I love you," he murmurs, kissing me, and I respond.

After a while, I disengage and ask: "Have you talked to your wife?"

"Not yet. She was still in bed when I left for the office at ten."

"Your bed?"

"Yes. I slept on the sofa after she gave up. If she had been strong
enough, she would have raped me."

"Poor Silvio," I reply, kissing him. "I won’t rape you, nor do I want to
fuck you. I want to share with you making love."

"Oh Ceci, why did it take me three years before I found the courage to
tell you that I love you? It’s three years, isn’t it, when we met the first
time?"

"A bit more than that. It was in June, after my first year in the MBA
program, when I celebrated passing the first year’s courses, and that is
three summers ago."

"Before you met Gary. When you were still free."

"I wasn’t free then. All my energy went into excelling in the MBA so
that I would land an interesting and lucrative job. I was an impenetrable
fortress then, and I might not have appreciated your true worth."

"And what is my true worth now?"

"The way you make my heart swell, make me want you all the time."

"Oh, Ceci, I wish all this were over. Emilia gone; you clear; the two
of us together."

"With Teresa."

He smiles. "Yes, with Teresa."

Saturday, 7:05 p.m.

I decide that I might as well try to get into the same hotel as Fausto. It
would simplify things. So shortly after seven I check in under the name
of Cindy Walsh, and ask for a room on level four. The desk clerk obliges
and gives me the keys to room 414.

I have only a sports bag for luggage, a purchase made after I left
Silvio. I also bought a toothbrush and toothpaste, a shampoo, as well as
a few pieces of essential clothing — a black tracksuit and black running
shoes I will need for tomorrow night. I also bought a black marker to
cover the few bits of whites and blues on the running shoes. I came by
underground. The van is with Silvio at the restaurant.

The room is identical to Fausto’s, except symmetrically reversed. I
place the toothbrush and toothpaste in the glass on the bathroom vanity.

Carlo should by now be with mother. Switzerland being an hour ahead
of London, their time is shortly after eight, still early enough to call. After
a few words of greeting I ask if Carlo has arrived.

"Oh, is Carlino coming today?" she exclaims.

"I put him on a plane to Milano just after lunch, and he promised to
take the train to Lugano."

"You should have told me. I would have gone to the station to meet
him."

"I didn’t know which train he might catch. So he hasn’t shown up yet."
Alarm bells start ringing.

"Don’t worry, Ceci. If he promised to come, he will. He may just have
missed the train."

"Mamma, there is a train leaving Milano for Lugano every hour."

"Oh, he will be here. After seven there are few buses to Montagnola.
The poor boy may be waiting at the station. It’s unseasonably cold here."

Yes, it’s well into November
, I’m tempted to respond,
and hence
seasonably cold, and Carlo’s promises aren’t worth much,
but I say
nothing.

"With Carlo here, will you also come home for Christmas, so the
whole family can celebrate together?"

Only half my family. "I hope I’ll manage it." Provided the Sanvino
affair has been settled, or else I may have to do it illegally on my Swiss
passport. "I will let you know by early December. I’ll call again
tomorrow morning. I need to talk to Carlo."

She chats for another five minutes, telling me things about her
neighbors I care little about, before we say goodbye.

Has Carlo done a runner on me? If he has, there is only one reason. He
intends to go back to Garland and blackmail him for more money. Given
his current physical state — just having come off a prolonged drug binge
financed by Garland’s first payoff — he will want to do this at the earliest
possible time, and that is tomorrow night after the Garlands have returned
from their weekend house.

I must get Fausto’s cooperation to stop Carlo. I’ve no doubt that if
Garland refuses to open the gate for him, he will climb over the fence and
trigger the alarm. That will bring in the police and God knows what may
happen then. Carlo could be charged for trespassing or worse. He may
then spill the beans — not that this in itself is unattractive — but it would
warn Garland and he may do away with any incriminating evidence. So
far, there has been no need for that, and, knowing his obsession to have
everything documented, I’m pretty sure that the evidence of the
transactions is still in his house, probably in the safe.

I even doubt that the police would take any of Carlo’s statement
seriously. They would see him as a druggie and therefore unreliable. Only
if DI Willis were informed might Carlo’s statements be investigated. And
if the attempt to arrest me again was triggered by something Gary
reported about Carlo, then they may already be biased that my brother is
one of the accomplices they so far have not been able to identify.

There isn’t anything I can or should do right now. I first need
conclusive confirmation that Carlo didn’t board the flight to Milan by
calling my mother again tomorrow morning. But even knowing that he
hasn’t shown up in Montagnola, I remind myself, is no conclusive proof
that he wasn’t on that flight. He could have stayed in Milan. I gave him
enough pocket money for one or two highs.

Or is there a way to find out if he was on that flight? Airlines usually
refuse to disclose who is on board a flight to a private person, but I could
impersonate the police. They surely wouldn’t withhold that information
from them. An idea starts forming in my mind. However, if I claim that
the call comes from Scotland Yard or the City of London Police, the
airline may want a call back to verify that the call is genuine. Why not
impersonate the Italian police? Staff at Alitalia are likely to be more
intimidated by the Italian police and would hardly refuse a request from
them. Fausto may be willing to pull this off.