Framed by Lynda La Plante Read Free Book Online

operation, monitored at its various stages by the three British policemen, went moderately smoothly. In Von Joel's study at the villa Spanish police officers carried out a thorough search in spite of noisy imprecations, dire warnings, and physical resistance from Lola. As one of the officers opened a hollow book from the shelf and took out three passports, all with Von Joel's picture inside, Lola stopped abusing them. She ran to the door and screamed to the housekeeper to call Von Joel at the gallery in Benabana and tell him what was happening.
Events, however, were ahead of anything that could be improvised. Von Joel was in the middle of negotiations with Penaranda, the young Spanish painter whose exhibition had been held at Puerto Banus two nights before. When the housekeeper rang she told Von Joel that rooms at the villa had been searched by the police. Items had been removed, she said, and Lola had been arrested.
Von Joel was on the point of asking which rooms had been searched and what had been taken away when he glanced out of the window and saw two determined-looking police officers about to enter the gallery. He put down the receiver, asked Penaranda to excuse him, and signaled to Charlotte.
"Get back to the villa," he told her. "Check the passports. You know what to do, just get them to my lawyer. Fast. The police have got Lola, they're coming for me now, probably you too. Just keep your cool. Smile! That's my girl. . . ."
From outside the gallery Larry, Falcon, and Summers watched the two Spanish policemen confront Von Joel. He conducted himself calmly, shaking hands and smiling affably at the first officer to enter the gallery. The second one declined the handshake. He stood squarely in front of Von Joel and held up the three passports he had found at the villa. Von Joel took them, frowning delicately, examining them as if he were seeing them for the first time.
"Cool bastard, isn't he?" Falcon murmured.
Von Joel handed back the passports.
"Come on, come on," Larry muttered, his face almost touching the window. "Get the cuffs on him!"
Inside the gallery, in spite of Von Joel's efforts to maintain a disarming calm, the atmosphere was tense. Charlotte, close to tears, was wrecking the mood. When she tried to stand close to Von Joel a policeman restrained her.
"Just a second," Von Joel said, resting his hand lightly on the officer's arm. "It's okay, Charlotte . . ." He spoke firmly, almost imperiously, willing her to stay in control of herself. "Can you finish the arrangements with Penaranda? I want maybe three canvases a year—do it now, sweetheart!"
He turned to the policemen and asked them, in Spanish, if Inspector Carreras was in charge, and if he might give him a call. He took his wallet from his pocket, opening it and blatantly displaying a wad of money. Stiffly, the officer with the passports told him no, Comisario Dominguez was in charge, and it was not possible to make calls.
Von Joel pursed his lips, looking from one officer to the other, realizing he was against a wall.
"He's fucked," Falcon breathed.
As Von Joel was led from the gallery, without handcuffs, he looked directly at Larry. For a second Larry was the young uniformed constable again with his back pressed to the wall and there was that smile on Von Joel's face. His eyes were terrifying, like the green ocean one minute, turned almost black with a controlled fury the next, but his voice was casual, mocking.
"This one down to you, is it?" he asked Larry.
A policeman pushed him gently from behind. He moved on, leaving Larry with the feeling he had been threatened.
That evening Comisano Dominguez explained to the Scotland Yard contingent what was happening. Von Joel, he said, was being held in the jail at Malaga, a deeply unpleasant place for anyone, but particularly so for a man accustomed to the finer things in life.
"He has asked to speak with his lawyer," Dominguez said in his careful, deliberate way. "We hold Senorita Lola del Moreno and Senorita