FRAMED

by Lynda La Plante

  “I love you, I love you …”

  He looked into her determined, quivering face, reached up, and traced her cheek with his forefinger.

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes, and I can’t bear it another day, another hour, without being close to you. I want you… .”

  “Do you now?”

  “I don’t know what you feel, if you like me, I don’t understand you, I don’t understand what you want.”

  He leaned his head on his elbow, looking down into her young, beautiful face. “You are living in my home. Doesn’t that mean anything to you—that you are inside my home, my territory.”

  “I don’t understand why … why you let me here, when you don’t seem to … I know about you and Lola, so why have you got me here?”

  “Don’t you like it here?”

  “Yes, I’ve never been so happy …”

  “Ah, you are happy, are you?”

  “No, no, I am … I want …” She just couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t say she wanted him.

  “What is it you want?”

  “You, I want you …” She’d said it.

  He spoke so softly, it was hardly audible. “I am here.”

  There were no more than seven or eight inches between them, but he never moved. He kept on looking at her, watching her. She felt as if she were about to explode. Did she only have to reach out? Was it that simple … ? She could feel her short, sharp, panting breaths. She moved a fraction closer, closer … she could feel the heat from him, was about to touch him, when she drew back.

  “No, you come to me …”

  She threw the sheet aside and all her sexual frustration turned into blazing anger. Did he want some slave, was that what he was after? The clothes? The villa? She wanted to hit him as he lay there smiling, watching her, playing around with her when he knew, knew how she felt.

  ” ‘I am here!’ … Is that all? … Fuck you! I’m not some kid you can turn into your little whore! Is that what you want? … Is that what you’ve done to Lola? I’m leaving …“He rolled onto his back and laughed. She threw herself at him, fists flying. He was so strong he simply gripped her wrists tightly, and drew her down beside him. He bent his head to bury it in her neck, and emitted what sounded like a low growl. His bite was hard, hurting her, and she struggled, kicked out at him. Then he released her wrists, and gently cupped her face between his hands. He kissed her. He was a gentle lover, an aggressive lover, a man who made love to the sweetest creature he had known in years, a frightened little girl he had turned into the woman he wanted. He knew she would never betray him and that was more important to him than anything else. He lived on an edge, always looking over his shoulder, and now he had and knew he had another pair of eyes that would watch his back, that would join with Lola’s like his two guard dogs; his two beauties would be wary of strangers, be protective, guard him, obey him.

  Late the following morning Charlotte went down to breakfast. Lola was sitting, eating a thick wedge of home-baked bread. The coffee was steaming, the kitchen smelled of fresh-ground coffee. Maria was singing somewhere in the villa. There was the aroma of fresh beeswax and the gentle perfume of the hanging blossoms on the verandah. The dogs barked lazily. Lola turned, her face smeared with Maria’s homemade jam. She looked at Charlotte, threw her bread aside, and held out her arms. Charlotte felt the sweet, sticky kisses on her cheeks, and then Lola drew her to the table and pulled out a chair.

  Charlotte could not remember a time when she had felt more complete, happier, and above all safe. The villa was so strong, like a fortress, and it was … for the first time it felt like her home. Beneath the table Lola’s bare feet rested against Charlotte’s, and she smiled… .

  “He’s swimming, and then we are going to the boat. He is going to take you fishing.”

  There was no jealousy between the two girls. They both loved him, both felt loved. It was enough. What might have happened at a later date they would never discover,

  because the following week Philip Von Joel was arrested.

  f

  Charlotte eased herself into the bed beside Lola, and lay on her side. Lola cuddled up close, slipping an arm around Charlotte, drawing her into the curve of her body.

  “It’ll be all right, we’ll find a way to see him. If he was able to get messages to us here, then we’ll be able to help him, I know it.”

  “I hope so,” whispered Charlotte. “I don’t think I can live without him.”

  f

  When Larry got home it was well after one. He was standing in the darkened bedroom, taking off his jacket, when Susan snapped on the bedside lamp. She peered at him through puffy slits.

  “McKinnes called,” she said. “It was urgent. He’s left his home number. Where’ve you been? It’s after one …”

  “I had some reports to finish,” Larry said, pulling off his tie, hating being there.

  Susan threw back the bedclothes and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She stood up, reaching for her dressing gown. Confrontation time, he thought. Again. He went to the door.

  “Where have you been?” Susan demanded.

  He paused. “I just told you.”

  “But McKinnes couldn’t find you!” Larry walked out, leaving his jacket over a chair where he had dumped it. Susan picked it up and took it to the | wardrobe. She smoothed the collar, disturbing something in the fabric. Perfume. She sniffed. Her brows tightened. She felt the pockets and pulled out three ticket stubs. She could hear Larry down in the hall talking on the phone. She stared at the flimsy slips of paper. Her mind i raced, but it had no direction. She was mystified. The door opened and she jumped. She hadn’t heard Larry put down the phone.

  “Something happened?” she said, pocketing the stubs.

  “It must have,” Larry said. “He wants me.”

  She put her arms around him so swiftly and tightly that she surprised herself.

  “You’re not going anywhere tonight,” she told him.

  He looked at her awkwardly. She stood on her toes, lips puckered to kiss him on the mouth. He turned his head aside; it happened, he couldn’t avoid it. Susan released him and stood back.

  “I’ll check on the boys,” he said.

  Susan watched him walk out of the room again. She sighed, though it was hardly a sigh of resignation—she

  would never resign herself to being kept in the dark. She I slid back into bed and pulled the bedclothes up tight under her chin. She was careful to stay well over on her own side.

  Next morning at eight-thirty McKinnes took Larry to the new safe house. Although it was clear that Larry had been reinstated, McKinnes had not actually said so, and he had not hinted at any reason. Larry thought it best, for the time being, to let events unroll without asking questions.

  They sat in the unmarked patrol car for a minute, looking out at the sordid apartment block. Larry couldn’t believe it.

  “Are we here?” he said, knowing they must be.

  McKinnes sniffed. “What do you expect? A five-star hotel?”

  Larry turned sharply, his defenses up, then realized it 1 was only McKinnes’s baleful humor. The chief, fortunately, was hung over and didn’t notice the little flare of paranoia.

  They got out of the car and entered the building. McKinnes used two keys to open the door of the apartment where Von Joel was being held, then he stood aside. He said he would be in touch later.

  Larry went in and closed the door behind him. He found DI Shrapnel in a room that had obviously been designed for occupation by a child. A folded, forlorn-looking cot stood by the window; a tiny gas fire was built into the begrimed wall opposite. The two men nodded at each other. Their relationship, still profoundly basic, precluded the need for introductory daintiness. Shrapnel dangled a key.

  “We keep him locked up when we’re off duty. This one’s for you, I keep the other. There’s two blokes out front, one at the back and another near the main entrance.”

  Larry took the key. “How is he?”r />
  “Same as ever.” Shrapnel shut the door. “I want to ask you something,” he said, his eyes hooded.

  “What?”

  “This herbal stuff, is it all for real?”

  Larry made a face that didn’t say yes or no.

  “You see”—Shrapnel moved closer, as if somebody might overhear—“I’ve had this problem, for years …” He broke off, cleared his throat. “This is personal, Jackson.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “The thing is, I can’t get it up, know what I mean? And he …” He jerked his thumb at the wall. “Well, have you ever heard of this—he said I can get them from this guy he knows.” He fished a slip of paper from his pocket. “Patches. Put them on my dick. Tet … tetzozerone or something.”

  Larry looked at the paper. “Testosterone,” he said.

  “Yeah, that’s it.” Shrapnel took back the paper. He looked embarrassed. ‘They all know I’ve got the droop.” He shrugged. “Fact of life, nothing to be ashamed of. It’s overrated anyway.’

  “Sorry?” Larry turned. He had been looking out the window. “What did you say?”

  “Sex. I said it’s overrated.”

  “No, it isn’t, Frank. Get the patches.”

  After a hurried cup of coffee, which Larry promptly wished he had never drunk, he went along the passage and unlocked the door to Von Joel’s room. Von Joel was standing on his head against the wall. He came down, smiling. Larry went in and closed the door.

  “Good to see you!” Von Joel punched Larry’s arm lightly. “I got you back on the case.”

  “It’s not yours,” Larry said flatly. “You don’t give the orders, you don’t make the rules.”

  Von Joel continued to smile, but there was a hardening in his eyes.

  “Did you tell McKinnes about my girls?”

  Larry stiffened. How could he possibly know … ?“Hey, come on.” Von Joel was frowning now. “What j have I done to you that’s so bad?”

  “You lied to me,” Larry said coldly. “I met your wife. Moyra.”

  “Ah. I see. Moyra.” Von Joel smiled again, faintly. “You met Moyra.” He stepped closer. “Did you tell your wife about Lola? You tell some things, some you keep quiet about. Mickey? I never talked about Mickey. Not to anyone but you.”

  “You never had a brother.”

  Von Joel gripped Larry’s arm tightly. “I never lied to you,” he said.

  Larry jerked free. He walked out of the room, banged ‘ the door shut, and locked it. Von Joel took a deep breath and let it out slowly, grinding a fist into the palm of his ! hand as he scanned the flaw in his strategy.

  Jackson was not the pushover he had thought. He started to control his breathing, forcing himself to rethink how he would approach Jackson now. Time was running out. He had to make his move fast, faster than he had anticipated. He had already heard Shrapnel talking about Reading. He knew about the holding cells there, and if he was moved it would be even more difficult to get out, if not impossible. Time was short. This shit hole might prove a better move than he could have anticipated. It was just Jackson. He had underestimated Jackson. That was a big mistake.

  19

  They were in his jacket pocket,” Susan said, suppressing a little belch as she leaned across and handed the ticket stubs to Colin Frisby. They had been drinking wine for half an hour and now Susan believed she had had too much. In the circumstances it didn’t trouble her. “He was out until way after midnight.”

  Frisby looked at the stubs, then at Susan. “Opera?” He had just been passing again and had decided to drop in so that he could, as he put it, “make sure everything’s all right.” Susan was glad he had called, she needed to talk to someone. Colin, for his part, was glad she had suggested the wine. Each time he visited, his mission went a little further toward its goal.

  “The night before,” Susan said, pushing back a nonexistent strand of hair, “there were three calls. He said they were something to do with the case, then he left the phone off the hook.” She picked up another slip of paper, a receipt, from the table beside her. She handed it to Frisby. “The Hyde Park Hotel, of all places …” She 1 took a big gulp of wine and wiped her lips with the side of her hand. “Colin, I wasn’t going through his pockets like some jealous idiot. It was just an accident.”

  He nodded, frowning delicately, eyes crinkled, a look , that said he understood perfectly. They were developing a nice self-righteous complicity, he and Susan. Larry’s deceit was a mystery they were determined to crack.

  “No other calls?” Frisby said, looking at the receipt.

  “No.”

  “Anything else?”

  Susan put down her glass. She brought her cupped hands up around her head, as if it were suddenly too much for her neck to support.

  “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this,” she said. She let her hands drop and looked at him. “It’s just, since he came back from Spain, it’s like I don’t know him.”

  Frisby, sure of his timing, reached out and took her hand. He held it.

  “You want me to check out this hotel receipt?”

  “No.” Susan shook her head. “Forget it,” she said, sounding cold suddenly. “I wish I hadn’t told you.” She took back her hand and stood up. “I’ll make some coffee.”

  She went to the kitchen. Frisby took out his notebook and jotted down the waiter’s number from the receipt. He put the notebook back in his pocket, took a swig from his glass, stood up and crossed to the mantel. He yawned, gazing at the framed family snapshots, making a mental note to bring the wine himself next time. Mood swings weren’t such a hazard with decent wine.

  f

  Larry unlocked Von Joel’s door quietly, hoping for a measure of surprise. It was late evening and there had been no sounds coming from the room, not even music. He turned the handle and threw open the door. Von Joel was

  sitting in the center of the room, his back to the door. He turned, smiling, and held up a joint. Larry saw the blue smoke in static layers above his head.

  “Want a drag?”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  Von Joel drew hard on the joint and held on to the smoke, taking it deep into his chest. He let it out, still smiling.

  “You better believe it,” he said. “You brought me the gear.”

  Larry frowned, not understanding.

  “My herbal medicine. Frank’s really getting into it. I make him tea with it in.”

  “What?” Larry was appalled. “You mean he’s drinking the stuff? Oh, my God!”

  His tough demeanor had fled. He stood there looking awkward and helpless. Von Joel began to laugh, a deep, friendly sound, warm and infectious. It rumbled on, and after a while it began to get to Larry. He struggled to keep his face straight, then gave in. He closed his eyes, shaking with mirth.

  “Help yourself,” Von Joel said, indicating a small bag beside him. “You look as if you could do with a drag. You’re so uptight. Loosen up.”

  Larry’s face straightened suddenly, as if someone had thrown a switch. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said.

  Von Joel opened the bag of grass. Larry leaned down and grabbed his wrist.

  “Hey, steady!” Von Joel protested. “I’m just going to roll you one.”

  He jerked his wrist free, bringing his arm up sharply so that his elbow struck Larry on the testicles.

  “Aah! Jesus Christ …”

  As Larry doubled over Von Joel jumped to his feet and held him tight with both arms.

  “I didn’t lie to you, Larry. …”

  Larry pushed him away, using more force than was needed.

  “Oh, I see.” Von Joel’s voice had gone cold. “Come on then …” He started squaring up. “You think you can take me?”

  Larry backed off, still doubled over, catching his breath. He had no fears about his chances in a scrap. He just didn’t want to get into this.

  But Von Joel was determined. He was in the boxing stance, bouncing on the balls of h
is feet, facing three-quarters-on to Larry, beginning to dodge around him. After a minute he realized Larry wasn’t going to be drawn. He ducked and dived a couple of times, throwing fall-short punches, then he straightened up and held out his hand. He was holding the door key.

  “You want it,” he said, “come and get it.”

  Larry tried to snatch the key. Von Joel clipped him on the shoulder, hard. Larry reacted with a fast right jab.

  “Getting really pissed now, huh?” Von Joel bounced around, getting on Larry’s right side. “Come on …”

  Larry moved forward, taking steady steps, delivering short hard punches to Von Joel’s head and shoulders. Von Joel moved back, still smiling, until he was touching the wall with his shoulder.

  Larry stopped and put his hands up, indicating that was it, it was over. Von Joel sprang forward and landed a right hook on Larry’s chin. It sent him across the room and he couldn’t stop himself from crashing against the door.

  “What’s going on in there?” Shrapnel yelled from the passageway. “You in there, Jackson? You okay?”

  Larry rolled his head sideways against the door, panting-

  “Go back to bed, Frank. We’re just having a bit of a workout.”

  They listened, hearing Shrapnel confer with another officer. The voices faded and a door closed.

  “I never lied to you about my brother,” Von Joel said quietly. “You want to check him out, go to Somerset House. You’ll find him. His name was Mickey but we had different surnames. Look up Johnstone, born Bradford, 1955. You should trust me, Larry.”

  Larry fingered his jaw. Von Joel handed him the door key.

  “I just want to be friends.”

  Larry moved away from the door. “I’m not your friend, Eddie.” He opened the door and stepped out into the passage. “I’m on the other side.” He shut the door and locked it.