Force of Habit: A Falcone & Driscoll Investigation

by Alice Loweecey

  “Frank.” Her voice cracked. “I thought you trusted me.”

  “I did.”

  “How can you not believe me?”

  “I believe what’s in front of my eyes. I believe that you lied to me about Monday night and you’re lying now to cover yourself.” His hand brushed the impossible oral-sex photos. “Cover yourself. I’m such a comedian.”

  “I never touched him!” Her hand covered her mouth. If she took it away, would she scream at him?

  “Of course not. You had nothing to do with Blake’s erection that you’re so attentive to.” He snatched that photo and pushed it into her face. “How fast you learned to prefer sucking to biting.”

  She slapped him. Surprise filled his eyes. She hadn’t realized how empty they’d been.

  “Oh, Frank, I’m sorry.” She rubbed her stinging hand. “I lost my temper.”

  “Was it as easy as losing your virginity?” He steepled his fingers in a classic Sherlock Holmes pose. “That is, if you still had it to lose. One does hear stories about the goings-on in convents these days.” He smiled through his tented palms. “I wonder about the real reason you left.”

  A ball of fire and ice filled Giulia’s stomach and boiled into her throat. She willed steadiness into her voice. “I swear on the Cross of Christ I am innocent of everything these photos imply.”

  “Don’t blaspheme the Cross, Ms. Falcone. I might not be a good Catholic, but I do remember that Dante punishes blasphemers by eternity in a desert accompanied by a continual rain of fire. You might want to study up on that.”

  He gathered all six photographs and slipped them into his jacket pocket. “Before all this excitement, I remember I had an idea about surveillance. Please make up a schedule that has you and I watching Blake’s condo and Pamela’s house in alternate shifts from four a.m. to six a.m.”

  “All right.” She walked to her desk on rubber legs.

  “I think we’ll start running this as a business, not a chat room. Please knock on my door only for situations that can’t be handled by my staff. If our current client drops in, Sidney will interface with him. She’s new, but she seems to know the appropriate employee-client boundaries.” He closed the door between them.

  Giulia sat without moving in front of her monitor. She was going to lose this job. The photos were practically seamless. She could see the errors—but that was because she knew where to look. How could Frank believe she’d knelt on the floor in front of Blake or invited him into her bed? She thought she understood Frank, a little. Apparently someone should also sell her the deed to the Brooklyn Bridge.

  She would’ve smiled if her muscles remembered how.

  Would Frank use the photos as an object lesson for Sidney? What look would fill Sidney’s eyes after Frank showed them to her?

  The door opened and a waft of kiwi shampoo scent preceded Sidney’s boisterous alto. “Fight on, on, on, on, on, fight on, on Penn State!” She tossed a “Green Tea-Green Planet” satchel on her desk. “Good morning, Ms. Falcone. Wow, it’s dim in here. And hot. How come you didn’t open the windows? Never mind, I’ll do it.”

  The yank and rattle of the venetian blinds woke Giulia. She booted her computer and sipped her tepid coffee. She didn’t want it. Or the carrot muffin in her bag.

  Sidney looked like a Creamsicle in a bright orange shirt and white pants. “You look tired, Ms. Falcone. Bad night? Warm milk with nutmeg works for me. Puts me out like a light in ten minutes.”

  A thump and unintelligible words from Frank’s office.

  “Mr. Driscoll’s early. Did you guys get a break in the stalker case? Hey.” She grinned. “I’m learning the lingo.”

  Giulia unfroze her numb lips. “No, no breaks. We’re going to start early-morning surveillance.”

  “Ugh, better you than me. I’m so not a morning person.” She uncapped a bottle of green tea and drank. “Have you tried the whole-wheat bagels downstairs? I’m so glad they offer healthy stuff. Oh, here.” She unzipped a side pocket and handed Giulia a double-bagged bunch of what looked like chocolate-covered coffee beans.

  “Um, thank you. These look delicious. Does your mother make the chocolate with milk from your goats?”

  Sidney giggled. “This isn’t chocolate, Ms. Falcone. It’s our fertilizer. You can’t eat it.” Her phone buzzed and she hit the speaker button. “Yes, Mr. Driscoll?”

  “Good morning, Sidney. Would you please tell Ms. Falcone I expect the surveillance schedules by noon? Thanks.”

  She turned off the speaker function. “You heard that, right, Ms. Falcone?”

  Giulia nodded. Frank’s voice sounded the same as always. Of course it would when talking to Sidney. She was a sweet, innocent puppy. Giulia’d been innocent once. Still was, technically. Technically. Like that mattered anymore.

  Sidney set her bag on the floor beneath her desk and booted her computer. “Surveillance sounds so CSI. I know I have lots of work and stuff to learn, but can I help somehow?” She glopped all-fruit spread on the bagel and took a large bite. “Will you need anything done late at night? Like, I don’t know, digital photos to upload?”

  Giulia clenched her teeth. Wrong example to use this morning, Sidney. “I don’t know. I’ll ask Mr. Driscoll.”

  Frank might promote Sidney after he fired her. Sidney had zero experience, but neither had she when Frank hired her. Sidney’s enthusiasm should make up for it, with plenty left over.

  When Giulia labeled tabs in the surveillance spreadsheet, the flaw jumped out. It didn’t take anywhere near long enough to cross the room and knock on Frank’s door.

  “Come in.”

  She closed the door. He didn’t look up. Today he hadn’t chosen to imitate any of the classic detectives. His khakis and rugby-striped shirt made him more boyish and attractive than ever.

  “Frank, surveillance won’t work at both houses.”

  He continued typing. “Did your extensive field experience tell you this?”

  Because she’d sat through innumerable sermons from her Superiors with a neutral countenance, she didn’t react to his rudeness. A little imp on her shoulder suggested she write them thank-you notes.

  “Pamela’s street is too exclusive. Your car or a rental would be spotted before an hour passed. The same if you or I dressed in all black and walked up and down the street or loitered or hid behind a hedge.”

  Frank’s hands hovered over the keys, then came down hard on the desk. “Damn. You’re right. Blake’s condo is one neighborhood over from the exclusive area he’d like to live in. Actual poor people can be seen there. Just passing through, of course.” He started to grin.

  It switched off. “All right. Revise the schedule. I will take into account any suggestions you have for Pamela’s surveillance.” He clicked the mouse. “Please close the door behind you.”

  She stared through her screen, not really listening to Sidney’s chatter. Maybe a rosary on her knees would clear her mind, even though she wasn’t guilty of anything but lustful thoughts. Over an unworthy object.

  The schedule for Blake’s condo took her all of twenty minutes. One column for time, one for day, one for location. Assuming it didn’t rain, she could hide behind the porch swing or the woodpile. Even if it did rain, she supposed. The light rail stopped a quarter-mile from his street. She could incorporate it into her exercise routine. Frank could sit in his car every other morning.

  Her ideas ran out at Pamela’s worksheet.

  “Sidney, how would you stake out a house in one of those super-rich neighborhoods? The kind where the lawns could double as putt-

  ing greens and the nanny is paid more than both of us combined. Early morning, four to six a.m.”

  “That sounds like the house my boyfriend lived in. Two boyfriends ago, I mean. My current sweetie works for a landscaping company while he gets his MSW. He’s so sexy when he picks me up, all sweaty and smelling like fresh grass. I’m going to miss that when he graduates and sets up in private practice.” She kept going when Giulia did
n’t smile. “Um, well, you couldn’t just hang out on the corner or across the street, because the servants would be up by five to start laundry and breakfast—no joke. They’d open the curtains and see you and call the cops, and the cops would rush right over.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Oh! I know! You could dress up like a landscaper and write down stuff on a clipboard—make it look like you’re comparing colors of flowers, eyeballing the topiary, stuff like that. The people next door to my old boyfriend had a huge one right in the middle of their lawn. Two swans touching beaks, or bills, or whatever. So they formed a heart, you know? Ew.”

  “I’d still be a stranger lurking at an odd hour.”

  “That’s okay, because you’d be a hired-help stranger. It probably wouldn’t work more than once or twice, because the regular landscapers come around a couple times a week and they all know each other.”

  Giulia searched used-clothing stores on the Web and typed their information and Sidney’s idea below the schedule.

  The mail arrived at eleven. Sidney gave Giulia brochures for spy equipment and a flyer soliciting donations for the Children with Cancer auction. She looked over her shoulder and leaned into Giulia’s ear. “Did you and Mr. Driscoll have a fight or something? It kind of feels like an ice-skating rink in here today and I don’t have skates. I’m not being rude or anything by asking, am I? I don’t want to butt in where I don’t belong. It’s just that you two are always so cute, making jokes and teaming up to brainstorm ideas and stuff, but this morning it’s like, well, you know. Do you?”

  Ice. Appropriate. The atmosphere after what they’d said to each other could freeze three circles of Hell. Poor Sidney, getting sideswiped by this train wreck.

  “Just a disagreement, Sidney. It’ll pass.” What was one more lie? “I’ll be sure to give you credit for the landscaper-disguise idea.”

  “Wow, thanks, you’re really going to use it? That’s so cool.”

  Giulia set the spreadsheet on Frank’s desk.

  “A phony landscaping company? Good work, Ms. Falcone.”

  “It wasn’t my idea. Sidney came up with it.”

  “Then I’m glad to see that one of my employees has justified my choice in hiring her.”

  Giulia bit the inside of her cheek. Don’t say anything. Keep a neutral front. He’ll get over this when you prove the photos are faked. Or he’ll fire you and it won’t matter.

  The phone rang and a moment later Sidney yelled, “Mr. Parker on one!”

  Giulia and Frank smiled, and for an instant the rapport returned. Then the ice formed again as he glanced at her, then the door.

  “Sidney,” Giulia said after she closed it, “always use the intercom.”

  “But his door was open.”

  Giulia smiled at the genuine puzzlement on her face. “This is an office. What if a client walked in? Professionals modulate their voices. If you remember always to make the professional choice, it’ll become habit.”

  Frank stepped out of his office and over to Sidney’s desk. “Ms. Falcone and I are meeting Mr. Parker. Go ahead and take lunch; the machine can get the calls for an hour.”

  Frank held the door of Tutti Mangia for Giulia in silence. She wondered when he would speak to her. Not a word from him during the twenty-minute car ride. Any small-talk ideas withered on her lips before she opened them.

  This restaurant catered to sophisticated diners. No dripping candles in straw-wrapped wine jugs. No imitation peasant costumes. Italian opera played at a discreet volume through invisible speakers. Stainless flatware that almost looked silver graced linen tablecloths.

  Giulia wanted to snatch a menu. It was 99 percent guaranteed they served greens and beans as an appetizer at $4.95 a bowl. A small bowl. She could make an entire pot of greens and beans for three dollars. The thought would’ve made her smile any other day. She would’ve explained the joke to Frank, and he would’ve laughed at the pretentiousness of passing peasant food off as gourmet. On any other day.

  A hostess led them to a corner booth already occupied by their client.

  “Blake.”

  “Frank. Ms. Falcone.” He waited for the waitress to open her pad. “Merlot for Mr. Driscoll and myself. Water for Ms. Falcone.”

  When she left, the cold smile returned to Frank’s mouth. “I didn’t realize you knew my assistant’s drinking preferences.”

  “She stuck to water Monday night, so I figured it was a good bet.”

  Giulia kept silent. Whatever she said would make it worse. Especially since she wanted to grab Blake by his silk tie and demand he tell Frank the truth.

  “Are you ready to order?” The waitress set their drinks in front of them. Crystal goblets, even for the water.

  “Rigatoni Fra Diavolo for me. Frank?”

  “Linguine primavera.”

  Giulia wondered if anything would stay in her chaotic stomach. “A small antipasto, please.” Their manners were slipping; she should’ve ordered first.

  The waitress brought a bowl of steaming marinara sauce and breadsticks in a silver-plated basket. Giulia took one and began picking the crust to pieces. Anything to keep herself occupied.

  “Do you have any progress to report?” Blake dipped a breadstick in the dish of sauce and took a bite.

  “Yes. In addition to the cameras, we’ll be watching your condo and Pamela’s house every morning from four to six. All the house deliveries were made between those times. We think it’s our best chance to get a decent look at her.”

  Giulia noticed he still referred to them as a team. Keeping up a good front for the client.

  “Yeah, well, you missed a delivery this morning.” Blake opened a briefcase on the seat next to him. From a 6 x 9 plain brown envelope, he handed Frank a pile of photographs.

  Giulia let out a tiny gasp. “Oh.”

  Frank glared at her.

  Blake laughed. “Nothing to get jealous over, Frankie. Right, sugar?”

  If Frank’s laugh was forced, Giulia couldn’t tell. He grinned at Blake. “Our friend taped a set to my office door sometime last night or this morning. Quite a wake-up call.”

  “She put them under my windshield wiper.”

  “Care to explain them?”

  Giulia shredded more bread.

  “What’s to explain? My ex decided to try amateur photography and digital manipulation.”

  “She must have had some interesting images to work with.”

  Their food arrived. Frank slid the pictures together and dropped them in his lap.

  Giulia swallowed bile at the mixed odors of sauce, hot peppers, and salad dressing. Her stomach cramped and burned, but she picked up her fork and played with the julienned salami.

  Blake gestured for the photos and spread them on the table. “I didn’t realize your curtains were open, sugar. My ex sure got an eyeful of what she’s missing.”

  Frank speared shrimp and macaroni into his mouth. Blake stabbed a hot pepper and swallowed it whole. Giulia hid the salami beneath the lettuce.

  “Come clean, Blake.” Frank slugged his wine. “You’re not telling me this one of you in all your glory is faked.”

  Blake laughed and poked his own abs. “Of course not. I work hard at these muscles. The important muscle down there, well, that just comes naturally.”

  Frank brayed. There was no other word for it. “Always the stud, Golden Boy. But I have to object at seducing my assistant.”

  “Your sweet little assistant offered me a place to crash. What was I supposed to think?”

  Frank spread the photos along the center of the table. “So this one of you happened when, exactly?”

  “Right out of the shower, just like it looks. I asked sugar here if she wanted me to bother with clothes. Struck you speechless, didn’t I?” He chucked Giulia under the chin.

  Frank nudged the one of her kneeling before Blake. “Not for long, obviously.”

  Giulia swallowed, trying to reverse an attack of cotton mouth. “Mr. Parker
.” She coughed. “Mr. Parker, Mr. Driscoll is under a misconception—”

  Blake laughed. “Misconception? Good one, sugar. When I take a girl sack-wrestling, she knows she better prevent a misconception.”

  Giulia hooked her fingers under the edge of her antipasto dish, ready to chuck it in his face.

  No. If you make a scene, Frank will misquote Shakespeare and say you’re protesting too much.

  Frank caught her eyes. He looked down at the dish and up again, and she could swear he was thinking, You turn shrewish when you’re rejected.

  Could this get any worse? In the movies, that question was the signal for the bad stuff to happen. Even though she honestly could not imagine this farce getting any worse. No, not farce. Theater of the absurd.

  Frank tapped his index finger on the same photo. “What about it, Blake?”

  “As much as I’d like to tell you all the details, Frankie, it didn’t happen.”

  The waitress arrived with Blake’s second glass of wine.

  “I’m good, thanks,” Frank covered his glass with his hand. After she left, he shook his fork at Blake. “You’re not going to tell me that a boner like that sprang up on its own.”

  Blake slapped Frank on the back. “I have a good imagination, Frankie-boy.”

  “Uh-uh. You’re shoveling it pretty deep.”

  Blake set down his fork. “Listen, Frank. I’ve had some hot women come to my bed. Your little girl here, well,” he let his eyes roam from Giulia’s hair to her waist, and back to her breasts, “she’s not up to my standards. Sorry, sugar. I know you wanted me, but it wasn’t going to happen.”

  Giulia’s facial temperature soared past the heat index of the Fra Diavolo peppers. From the corner of her eye, she watched the sneer return to Frank’s mouth. He’d never believe she hadn’t slept with Blake now. Blake’s locker-room act would convince his own mother.

  “By the way, sugar, did your last bed partner give you that double shiner? You don’t look like the kind of girl who likes it rough. Guess you never can tell, can you, Frank?”

  Dear Jesus God in Heaven. She had to get away. But what would they say about her if she hid in the ladies’ room? Did it matter? She had no career to ruin now. No. Cowards ran. She survived ten years in the convent and a sexual assault. She could survive Blake’s slander.