Frame-Up

by Gian Bordin

  "I won’t; promised." He pauses for several seconds.

  "Yes, Fausto, is there something else?"

  "Cecilia, will you share the promised farewell dinner with me before I leave London? I very much would like that."

  "Yes, I think this would be a fitting end to our cooperation. How about this coming Wednesday —"

  "Why only Wednesday?"

  "Because I want to take you to my favorite restaurant in town and it’s not open on Mondays and Tuesdays, and I’ll also get you to meet my fidanzato. Anyway, you might want to stick around for a few days more and talk to Detective Inspector Willis about how the police plan to recover the money. You simply claim to be a representative of Ventura Holdings, sent to London to inquire about the recovery of the money. If they ask whether you know me and whether we have met, say yes. The police might have observed us meeting. Simply say you asked me for information."

  "Cecilia, you really think of everything and you can be certain that I’ll not reveal what we have been up too. And I’ll talk to il capo, about staying here for a few more days."

  "So, Wednesday at the latest."

  Monday, 10th November, 8:30 a.m.

  This morning I ignore the alarm, letting it work itself through the agonizing sequence of more and more insistent beeps. Carlo going to the toilet some time later finally drives me out of bed. I don’t dare leaving him unsupervised until he is completely over the aftereffects of the drugs. As it turns out, he goes straight back to bed and refuses my offer of a hot drink.

  I make myself a double espresso, thaw a croissant in the microwave, and eat it leisurely. I am a free woman, no jail threat hanging over me any longer — the quest that has driven me for the last fourteen days accomplished; the absence of uncertainty, of impatience, of anxiety, freeing but also unaccustomed.

  What am I going to do with myself? I’m clear about one thing. I’m not going back to be a stockbroker. But what else? Silvio’s dream of ultimately opening his own restaurant rises in my mind. If we become partners, as I fervently hope, even get married, and I want to be supportive of his dream, my choice of what to do will to some extent depend on where he opens his restaurant. He hinted that he prefers somewhere along the lakes at the foot of the Alps or even in the mountains. Obviously, a bigger city, like Milan or Turin would offer more opportunities for my professional skills … How about going into partnership with him also business wise? Putting one or even two hundred thousand pounds of my own funds into the venture might allow us to take over a restaurant the moment something suitable comes along. I wonder whether this would be enough of a challenge for me; offer me sufficient intellectual stimulation in the long run … But going into partnership with Silvio in more than one way doesn’t necessarily imply that I couldn’t diversify my energies sooner or later also in other directions — something that offers flexibility in terms of time input. Financial consultant? Small business venture consultant? Information systems consultant? I would feel confident to master any of those. So living in a sufficiently big city wouldn’t be essential as long as I have access to high-speed Internet access.

  My ruminations are cut short by my father’s call on the land line.

  "Cecilia, a friend of mine in the City Police Department, whom I asked to keep me informed of any major development in your case, just informed me that Garland was arrested late last night and that all charges against you have been withdrawn. Congratulations."

  "Yes, it was a rather eventful night yesterday. Carlo got shot, nothing serious, fortunately, just a bullet in the arm."

  "What do you mean? I don’t understand. I thought he went to Montagnola."

  "No, he failed to board the plane. When I discovered that, I used him to trap Garland. I uncovered the evidence I needed and gave it to DI Willis."

  "So it was all your doing. But why was Carlo shot?"

  I give him a somewhat sanitized version of what happened, leaving out our intention of breaking into Garland’s house in case Carlo did not show up. There is no need for this much honest disclosure. I conclude with: "DI Willis has confined Carlo to live with me under my supervision until the matter of whether he will be charged has been settled."

  "Isn’t it rather ironic? You make the decision not to protect him any longer, to make him face up to the consequences of his actions, and now you are thrown right back into being his mother again."

  "Yes, but it won’t be for long and it will be different. Maybe what happened, how close he has come to have a criminal record, might help Carlo to have a careful look at his life. Maybe if both you and I work on him, offer him support, he might be willing to go into treatment for his addiction."

  "I doubt he will look kindly at any advice or help coming from me."

  "Maybe not, but you are his father. If you make the gesture of offering help, I don’t mean dictate to him what he has to do, but offer support and show that you accept him for what he is, not for what you would like him to be, it may be different. It’s high time that you two accept each other. He was very hurt when you and mother split up. I think he felt that some of it was his fault, since you often fought over his misbehavior, not to speak of having been in constant strife with you in the year before."

  "Did he tell you that? Don’t you think that’s just an excuse for his antisocial behavior?"

  "No, dad, he didn’t tell me that in so many words. I inferred it from other things, and his behavior is not antisocial. Being hooked on drugs is not the same as being antisocial. As far as I know he has never hurt another person, at least not physically. He doesn’t finance his drugs by stealing —"

  "No, because he always gets the money for the drugs from you. You are not doing him a favor with that."

  "He is my brother and he is your son. This is the first time he’s in trouble with the police. Do you want him to end up becoming a convict who’s in and out of prison? … No? … Then show him that you are willing to be his father." I’m working myself into anger.

  "All right, Cecilia, I hear you. I don’t want you to get angry with me. You’re too precious. You guide me."

  "Thank you, dad. With the Mafia threat gone, are you getting Lucy and the girls to come back home? I could fetch them. I might even convince Carlo to meet his two darling sisters. I’m sure they would wind him around their little fingers."

  "You think it is a good idea that they meet him?"

  "Yes, dad, getting to know Lucy and his sisters might be healing for him."

  "All right." He doesn’t sound convinced.

  "Carlo likes children, dad. Don’t worry. May I borrow your car to fetch them? I could do it tomorrow."

  "Sure. I’ll ask Lucy and let you know by this evening."

  "Thanks, dad." The iPhone sounds the opening notes of Beethoven’s third. "Dad, I have another call. See you soon." I disconnect as I hear his "bye".

  It’s Silvio. For the third time I go through last night’s events.

  "So you’re clear. I’m so glad for you. It must be a big load off your shoulders."

  "Yes, it is."

  "And now you’ll even be rid of the mafioso."

  "You’re really jealous of Fausto, I think. But yes, our association is finished, except that I’ve invited him to celebrate the successful completion of the Sanvino affair with a sumptuous dinner at your place."

  "You didn’t."

  "I did, and I count on you to join us. You might even get to like him. He doesn’t fit my typical picture of a gangster, at least not in his attitude toward me."

  He remains silent for a while.

  "Silvio, getting to know him, you will see that there is no reason for jealousy."

  "OK, Ceci. It just feels daunting to associate knowingly with a mafioso."

  "Silvio, you must have served and chatted with quite a few Mafia people over the years."

  "I guess you’re right. I’ve suspected a number of customers not to be quite kosher."

  My next call is to Fausto.

  "Il capo was very pleased to hear
that we have solved the case," he reports. "He told me to thank you for your help. That’s a rare admission for him, you know. He also agrees that I should stay here and arrange for the money to be deposited to the Ventura account. Do you think it would be all right if I approached DI Willis already today about that?"

  "Yes, I think so. And I’ve more news for you, Fausto. I have arranged our celebration dinner at Il Corno d’Oro for Wednesday evening. Let’s meet at the bar there around six thirty."

  "I’m looking forward to that. You know, Cecilia, I have to admit that I wasn’t at all keen when il capo ordered me to go to London. It promised to be an unpleasant job. But now I’m glad I came. It was a real education to work with you, and I only suffered a bloody nose." He chuckles.

  "You’re not still sore at me for that?"

  "No, it was an appropriate punishment for my arrogance. You taught me never to underestimate an opponent."

  "Oh, Fausto, you really are a strange mafioso, but I like you."

  "Thank you, Cecilia, I am honored."

  Monday, 12.04 p.m.

  The land line rings. I answer.

  "DI Willis here. Good morning, Miss Walker."

  I check the clock on the microwave. He is slightly behind. "Good afternoon, sir."

  "Is it that late already? Yes … Miss Walker, I thought you were entitled to know that Garland has made a full confession. He has also implicated Gary Buxton and Robert Gough, both from Goldsax, as accomplices. He paid them each one hundred thousand pounds. We are currently bringing them in for questioning. If it’s any consolation, Garland also claims that it had never occurred to him that Ventura would ever get wind of the rise in the value of the Sanvino shares or that it would lead to your arrest on suspicion of fraud."

  "Not much of a consolation, is it, for all the trouble and unpleasantness it caused me."

  "Criminals always find ways to minimize what they do, but I think I owe you an apology for the unpleasantness we caused you, particularly Somes’ behavior, as well as my thanks for your unorthodox actions to solve this case. Sometimes I wish that we were permitted to use similar methods. As I said last night, all charges against you have been withdrawn and no other ones will be filed."

  "Thank you, sir, for telling me. I guess Somes won’t be pleased. She really wanted to see me behind bars."

  He laughs. "Right. She’ll never forgive you for having bested her."

  "She had me in her sight right from the first interview, as you may remember."

  "Yes, I was rather surprised."

  "Will the fingerprints she took from me with such obvious pleasure be destroyed now?"

  "No, they will be attached to the Garland file as proof that none of the incriminating documents contain your prints."

  "Fine. Will Garland be charged for firing the gun?"

  "No. He claims it was a defensive reaction and given the circumstances in which it happened this is hard to refute. A charge of willfully firing a gun would not hold up in court."

  "But he removed the gun from his desk drawer before I threw the brick into the window. In fact, that was the reason for smashing the window."

  "I understand, but if we charge him with that, then your brother will have to be charged with attempted blackmail. I guess you would rather avoid that."

  "Yes, you guessed correctly. What really matters is that I am cleared of any wrongdoing. Thank you, sir." And Carlo’s wound isn’t serious and may be a wake-up call for him.

  "I have another matter for which I would like your input," Willis resumes after a short pause. "A Mr. Fausto … Bergamini from Ventura has asked for an appointment with me about the recovery of the two million pounds plus. Do you know him? Is he genuine?"

  "Yes, he approached me, I think about two weeks ago, and wanted information about the Sanvino affair. I also talked to Mr. Carvaggio of Ventura Holdings and he confirmed that Mr. Bergamini is his representative." I figure it is wiser to follow the same advice I gave Fausto. "If I may ask, what will happen to that money?"

  "Garland, on advice of his lawyer, has agreed to make good the entire amount. It will help him to get a reduced sentence."

  "Ventura will be happy to hear that."

  "That’s why I asked you about Mr. Bergamini, whether it would be permissible to give him that information."

  "Sir, you can always call Mr. Carvaggio directly."

  "Right. That’s all."

  "Wait, sir. What’s going to happen about my brother?"

  "Since all he did was to provide his signature for opening a bank account, but had no further involvement in the fraud, and has a clean record up to now, he is likely to get a stern warning and diversion. And as a said, we will ignore his attempt to blackmail Garland. If he does not re-offend within one year, everything will be wiped from his record."

  "Thank you, sir. I would hate having to visit him in prison. Maybe I can now convince him to get treatment."

  "That would be highly desirable, Miss Walker. Have a good day."

  Carlo emerges from the guest bedroom just as I disconnect and takes a shower. By the time he has done his toilet, I have lunch on the table, a dish of fresh ravioli in a pesto sauce. In spite of having slept twelve hours, he still looks hung over. Maybe lack of shaving contributes to his haggard looks.

  Halfway through the meal he utters the first words. "Will I have to go to jail?"

  "You’ve come very close to it. No, they will put you on probation. If you do not re-offend for a year, they’ll wipe all charges."

  He continues eating in silence. "Ceci, will you forgive me for tricking you?"

  "Yes, Carlo, I will. I care very much for you, but you also must know that if you ever get into trouble again I won’t be there to rescue you. From now on you’ll have to bear the consequences of your actions. I talked to dad." His face freezes into a mask. "Don’t react like that. He is your father, whether you like it or not. I know he cares for you, and he has offered to support you if you are willing to get help for your addiction and go into therapy."

  "He hasn’t shown any interest in me ever since mother took us to Montagnola. The only thing I ever got from him was money."

  "That’s not the whole story. He tried to keep in touch with us, but mother prevented it. I only found out when I returned to London that he offered to have us with him every summer. She refused. She didn’t even ask us if we wanted to go."

  "Why did he leave us in the first place, if he cared for us," Carlo sneers.

  "Their marriage had broken apart long before the divorce. You were too young to remember —"

  "Oh, I remember their fights. How often did I hold the hands over my ears not to hear them! And it was often over me!"

  "Carlo, listen, listen carefully. First, the marriage between our parents was on the rocks within a few months after they settled in London. Mother was too young when they married; she had illusions about married life; she had no friends here and was homesick from the very beginning. Second, once they got into a pattern of fighting, what they were fighting about was irrelevant. It just provided the material to have a go at each other. So, father accused mother of spoiling you, and she accused him of being too stern with you. But it wasn’t really about you. It was about them. Mother blamed dad for everything, for being homesick, for feeling miserable, for losing her friends, for the weather. She was severely depressed, refused to seek professional help, and finally couldn’t cope any longer."

  "Yes, and then he traded her in for a younger model."

  "Once you get to know Lucy, you will see how wrong you are. Lucy is not as good-looking as Mamma. She is no beauty and just a few years younger than mother, but she has her head and her heart in the right place. I’ve come to like her very much. She made dad happy, while mother only made him miserable. I love mother, but I also see her for what she is. Third, even if during the last year of their marriage, they often fought about you, that doesn’t mean that dad left mother over you. You carry no blame. I mentioned to dad that you seemed to blame yourself.
He was shocked that you would think that."

  "And two years ago he told me to go to hell, that he washes his hands off me."

  "Yes and you also know why he reacted like that. For over a year you pretended to be enrolled at university. You can’t blame him for being badly hurt by your deception. But he is willing to hold out a hand to you if you are willing to take it."

  "He’ll just try to force me into the mold of a lawyer, like he did before."

  "No he won’t, nor would I let him. Carlo, think about it. You can’t continue going through life like you did these last four years. You’ll be in the morgue before you’re thirty, another case of overdose, or beaten to death in jail by another convict."

  "Oh, sis, do you have to make it sound so gruesome?"

  "Carlo, you are my brother. I love you and I beg you, face reality … and that reminds me. One aspect of that reality is that until the police lift the conditions they imposed on you, you are to live here with me, you are not to leave London, and you are not to get drugs. If you leave the apartment without me, you are to tell me where you go, when you will be back, and be back by that time. If you violate any of these conditions, even your charm won’t help you anymore. They’ll revoke bail and take you into custody."

  "And what am I supposed to do all day?"

  "I’ll find things for you. Where is your guitar?"

  "I sold it."

  "You exchanged my special present for a single high?" I sound indignant even to myself.

  "Just make me feel guilty." Then he adds with a grin: "It was three, actually."

  "All right, I’ll rent you another. You can compose a ballade about the misery of coming off drugs. That should keep you busy for a while. And there are all my CDs, several Italian films on DVDs you haven’t watched yet, TV. There’s my laptop. You can surf the net to your heart’s content, and I got two or three dozen books you haven’t read."