Setting up Francesca

…

I asked Alfie to send me a track of Francesca’s movements, yes, I cloned her phone too, because I didn’t trust her, and yes, she went to see Anna at the Burkehardt’s residence.

We had a recording of her conversation, but it didn’t amount to much and Anna finished up yelling at her and kicking her out of the house.  Not literally, but if she hadn’t left the house when she did…

She was sitting at the table with her computer open.  By the way she shut it quickly, I suspect it was a video call to her boss.

“Your boss not happy with progress?”

She glared at me.

“You should go and have a talk to Anna Burkehardt.  Charming lady.”

Cecelia snorted almost too loudly on her way to the bathroom.

Francesca shrugged.  “Where have you been?”

“Looking at vines, would you believe.”

“How is that going to help?

“It’s not.  But I’ve decided you can come with me to see the countess.”

“You found her?”

“Not exactly.  She’s always been here, waiting for the day to sign the documents.  I was going to keep her away from your lot, now I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.  You can recognise her if you see her?”

“Are you saying the woman you have is not the countess?”

“No.  I’m asking if you can recognise her.”

“Of course.  We have a half dozen photographs we used, and some that deliberately disguise her in case she’s trying to be anonymous.”

“Good.  Tomorrow morning.”

That simple conversation was to see if she called her boss and they make arrangements to ‘take’ the countess into their protective custody, or, take her to Anna von Burkehardt.

As I said to Cecelia later, we would soon find out who Francesca and her people were working for.  Because of the hostility that Anne had shown towards her, I was wondering if Anna was, in fact, the one who hired them to find the countess.

“You’re going to have a busy morning tomorrow,” I said to Cecelia.  “You need to watch is leave and see if anyone follows us.”

“Do you really think they’d be that unsubtle?”

“Yes.  When large sums of money are involved.”

“And what will Anna do to her?”

“Nothing.  She’ll know straight away it’s not the real Countess, so I’m sure after they snatch her, the Countess will escape.  She can’t afford to be unmasked.  Not yet.

The fact that Cecelia didn’t tell me what I was doing was risky, told me that it was risky.

During the night, tossing and turning, with various women on my mind, I went through various scenarios, each of which had a bad outcome, the worst where Francesca became collateral damage.

This whole exercise was to see the lengths the fake Countess would go to not to be identified.  Or whether she thought her cover was good enough to fool everyone.

Except perhaps Anna.

A mother knows her daughter-in-law, especially after all that time.  A fake could not replicate the mannerisms, the speech, the idiosyncrasies, or a lifetime of just being together.

And I was banking on Francesca’s boss being greedy and putting money before ethics.  Francesca didn’t strike me as one with ethical problems, but I had read books by their covers before and been horribly wrong.

If it all blew up in my face at the very least, I could use it as an example of what not to do, but I doubt Cecelia would thank me in a hurry.

By the time I was ready to go, Cecelia had gone out for her morning run, and Francesca was ready to go and see the countess.  We had just enough time to sort out how we were going to communicate, and it was going to be amusing having Cecelia’s voice in my head.

At one point I had heavy breathing in my ear and told her it was distracting.  She simply replied that I should get out and join her and get rid of some of that retirement flab.

She did not have to be so mean, even if she was right.

I finished the coffee Cecelia had made in the percolator an hour before and tasted over-brewed, then finally stopped running scenarios that ended in disaster in my head.

“You ready?” I asked her.

I’d seen the transcript of the call Francesca made to her boss after I told her I was taking her to see the countess, and I knew the answer to that question.  It was rhetorical, but I couldn’t tell her that.

I just hoped the team that descended on us at the hotel was not a smash-and-grab type, not afraid to leave bodies behind.

© Charles Heath 2023

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Looking for a missing countess

…

No one mentioned the real Countess or her sister.

Did they know?  Did Dicostini have them?  He had to.

Cecilia was very disappointed she couldn’t shoot anyone.  I was too, for different reasons.

Perhaps the only good thing to come out of it was that it didn’t look like Juliet was a party to the whole plan, just a part of it if Plan A didn’t work.

Cecelia packed up the rifle and I replaced everything in the hamper. 

“That was fun?”

“Wasn’t it?”

“How did you guess?”

“I would have sooner if the research team had done its job properly.  There was only one thing that could cause this level of trouble.  Greed.  It’s not what we usually deal with.  I prefer power-crazy megalomaniacs trying to take over the world.”

“I could write a script.  What do you think?”

“Been done to death I would think.”

“Are we going back to smash a few heads?  I feel like a little gratuitous violence, especially against that lot.”

“As tempting as those sounds, no.  We now have to do a search of every one of their properties, starting with those without any signs of life.  Long, hard, and tedious.”

“Are you trying to make it sound exciting?”

I gave her a searching look.  “You’re crazy, you know that.”

“Of course.  Why do you think I’m here with you.”

We had a week, but I was hoping it would not take that long.  There were less than ten other properties where the women could be located, and we started with the two closest.

The property we were on, now, would have to wait until after dark.  Cecelia had noted that there were a half dozen workers tending the vines during the day, as well as office and maintenance staff.  Quite a few employees for a place that wasn’t financially viable.

The nearest was another plot of vines, with a different grape variety, and I suspect possibly added from another winery that wasn’t viable.  Cecelia picked them as either Trebbiano or Vermentino, using her cell phone to identify them.

That’s how boring the search was going.  Three outbuildings that reeked of musty wine, quite a few old barrels, or barrels waiting to be filled, and old farm machinery that was rusting out.

There was also a vintage BMW under a tarpaulin that might be worth quite a sum of money.  If it didn’t have the front smashed in.  I took a photograph of the car for future reference, that thought that Anna believed Dicostini was responsible for the death of her husband.

Was that the car involved in the accident?

The second property was more of less the same as the first, but this one had a villa on it, fallen into disrepair.  There were a few people working in the fields next to the property, so we had to be careful not to be seen.

It was a large house, musty, with little furniture and large open spaces.  It must have been a comfortable place once.  I checked for a basement while Cecelia checked for an attic, or signs of life upstairs.  I found there were new locks in the doors and a room with two beds, unmade, and by the look of the dust layer, hadn’t been used in a few years.

It was an initial ray of hope very quickly snuffed out.

Day one was over, with no progress to report.  I sent a message to Rodby in code, just in case his new ‘wife’ accidentally on purpose picked up his phone.

I wondered how that was going for him.  It would be a situation he had not had to deal with before, and maybe this would hasten his thoughts to retiring and getting out of what was becoming a very dirty business.

On our way back to the hotel, Cecilia said, “What do you think Francesca’s been up to?”

“I’d be surprised if she didn’t go to see Anna.”

“For what purpose.”

“I’m sure her boss would like her to touch base, and assure her everything that can be done, is being done.”

“Except they’re waiting for us to do their job for them.”

“As long as we find them, it doesn’t matter.  It’s going to get a little tricky if we can’t liberate them without letting anyone know.  There’s no telling how much collateral damage there’ll be.”

“There never is, but I like to try and avoid it if possible.  Rodby likes his ‘by any and all means possible’, but, as you know, I operate differently.  You stick with me for too long you might lose your objectivity.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here.  I’m usually the exact opposite.”

I would not have pegged her for an ‘all means possible’ person, but then she was an actress and was very good at being different people.  Her strength lay in being a total chameleon.  Then that picture in my mind of her with the sniper rifle at Larry’s mother’s place left me with a shiver down my spine.

I would wrap this up as quickly as possible, send her home, and go back to my once quiet life.

© Charles Heath 2023

Watching the prime suspect

…

I joined Cecelia on the side of a hill about 500 yards from the front of the main entrance to the Burkehardt residence.  On one side there were several outbuildings, and beyond those, the vines, acres and acres of them.  On the other side, where we were, there was more vines and gardens.

It was warm, but we were under the trees and had a hedgerow to hide behind, so we were quite safe from being seen.

Cecelia had picked her spot with care.  Clear sight to the front entrance, clear sight of the driveway from the road to the house, and the opportunity to like up targets with the rifle, already set out.

It was not loaded.  She was using the sight to home in on those at home.

“A mother, a father, two girls and a boy.  The parents fight a lot.  Th mother and the three children left about a half hour ago, and the old man is sitting at a table reading the newspaper.  You’d think he’d be out working.”

“Anyone call?”

“One.  The man answered a cell phone, spoke for a minute then went back to the paper.  If he starts doing the crossword, I’m going to shoot him.”

She took another look, then sat up.  She had brought a hamper with food and drinks.  No wine.  We needed to remain focused.

It was a fine day, and just started to get hot, despite the fact we were quite buried by the surrounding trees.  The heat was tempered by a slight breeze, and the sound of it rustling the leaves was oddly soothing.

One of the more pleasant stake outs I’d been on.

My phone buzzed.  A message.

‘One of the phones called a man named Dicostini about twenty minutes ago and said they were on their way, there was a problem.’

As I suspected, the fake countess was working with Dicostini.

“And…?”  Cecelia looked at me expectantly.

“Expect to see the fake countess.  They are on their way.”

We didn’t have to wait very long.  I had expected they would arrive about an hour after I had, but then, the countess did have some disconcerting news.  What surprised me was the fact she just didn’t tell him over the phone.  If I were Dicostini, I would have told her to stay away for fear of being linked together, and that was still a possibility if there were other people in the house, loyal to the Dicostini or not.

Cecelia had picked up the gun and was pointing it at every car that passed the driveway entrance, checking on the drivers and passengers if there were any.

“Got them.”

I saw the car stop at the driveway entrance for a minute, and then start slowly along the driveway.

“Juliet is driving the car.  The two women are in the back.  Odd.”

“Perhaps they’re practising being wealthy dowagers.”

She put the gun back facing the house.

“You got your phone?”

“Why?

“Alfie would have put an app on it so you can listen to the conversation.  I didn’t think about it until now otherwise we could have listened to them on the way here.”

I gave it to her, and she fiddled with it for a minute, handing it back and the car stopped outside the house.

“You think it would be that riveting?”

“No.  But it might give us some idea what they’re up to?”

Then a voice came over the speaker, not too loud but loud enough for us to hear.

“You stay in the car, Juliet.  The fewer people who know about this the better.”  I could not put a face to the voice.

“Distinction for the uninvolved.  I will not be breaking you out of prison just so you know.”

“Don’t be such a spoilt brat.”

I heard two doors slam and then silence, other than feet crunching on the gravel.  Cecelia lined them up in her sights and said, “Just say the word.”

At the top of the stairs, I could just see them stop at the door and rang the bell.  It took several minutes before Dicostini answered.

“This is not a good idea, coming here,” he said.

“Well, the phones aren’t safe.  We disabled the GPS, and I sure as hell aren’t going to tell you anything using one.  Let’s go inside.”

“You shouldn’t be here.  If anyone sees, you…”

“Not if we come, say our piece, and go.  Arguing is only making it more dangerous.”

He stood to one side and let them pass.

Three minutes later I heard Cecelia say, “Got them again.”

The vices came back.

“What’s so pressing you have to come here.”

“The signing had been delayed.”

“The Burkehardt’s.  The suspect something.  You?  What do you do wrong?”

“I’ve seen the solicitor, and the family in London, even that fool Rodby insisted I use as an escort.  They all think I’m the countess.”

“Except now you are missing, they’re worried.  Rodby should have kept out of it, but you going missing the way you did, has only caused us trouble.  The Burkhardt’s called him and then he had to do something about it.”

“You know that was for effect, to get away from the family because the longer I’m with them the more chance they’ll discover the truth.  Rodby should be happy to know I have been found, which is exactly as it was planned, and that his man will be taking me to the signing.  Rodby will do as he’s told.”

“A week’s a long time for things to go wrong.  You have to say in hiding.”

“It’s another week and I have people pressing me for money.”  Vittoria wasn’t happy.

“You know the deal.  The countess signs the papers, and you get your payment.  I can’t help it if it’s been delayed.  They can’t delay it forever.  You’ve delivered the message, now go, before anyone finds you here.”

© Charles Heath 2023