Chapter 2 - The Sound Behind the Wall
The woman who entered Vittorio’s bedroom did not look like someone who expected to find a crime scene.
Isabella Moretti was sixty-three, elegant, silver-haired, and dressed for breakfast in a dark green silk robe.
She was also Vittorio’s mother.
Her gaze moved from the armed guards to the destroyed headboard.
Then to Elena.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Vittorio held the tablet.
“Mother.”
Isabella looked at him.
“What?”
“Did you order this bed?”
She blinked.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
“Yes.”
Elena watched Vittorio’s face.
He did not move.
Isabella approached.
“You complained the old one was uncomfortable.”
“I never complained.”
“You told me you weren’t sleeping.”
“That was after this arrived.”
Isabella stopped.
For the first time, she looked closely at the torn upholstery.
“What is that?”
Marco stepped between her and the bed.
“Please don’t come closer.”
Isabella’s eyes sharpened.
“I’ve lived in this house longer than you’ve been employed here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then move.”
“No.”
That single word changed the room.
Isabella turned toward her son.
“Vittorio?”
He held up the tablet.
“You approved the purchase.”
“I approve dozens of household purchases.”
“You personally approved this one.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“Because it was a bed.”
“It contains electronics.”
Isabella stared at him.
Then she laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because she thought he must be joking.
When nobody joined her, the laugh died.
“What electronics?”
Elena stepped aside.
Isabella saw the opening.
Her hand went to her mouth.
“My God.”
Vittorio watched her carefully.
Elena watched Vittorio.
This family, she realized, had survived by noticing everything.
Every hesitation.
Every blink.
Every badly timed breath.
Isabella looked genuinely horrified.
Or she was extraordinarily good at pretending.
“Who did this?”
“That’s what we’re determining.”
“You think I did?”
Vittorio said nothing.
The silence answered for him.
Pain crossed Isabella’s face.
“You think your own mother put something inside your bed?”
“I think your authorization is attached to the purchase.”
“I did not choose the manufacturer.”
“Who did?”
Isabella looked toward Marco.
“Household procurement.”
Marco checked the tablet.
“No.”
“What?”
“The request bypassed procurement.”
Isabella frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
“It was submitted through your private account.”
“I didn’t submit it.”
Vittorio’s jaw tightened.
Elena quietly stepped backward.
She suddenly wished she had remained at the Bellmont Hotel.
At the Bellmont, the worst thing she had discovered inside furniture was a wedding ring and half a turkey sandwich.
Nobody had drawn guns.
Nobody had accused his mother of planting mysterious electronics.
Nobody had paid twenty-six thousand dollars for a headboard.
A man entered carrying two metal cases.
Dominic Vale was in his forties, lean, spectacled, and clearly irritated at being summoned before eight in the morning.
Marco pointed.
“Bed.”
Dominic looked.
His irritation vanished.
“Everybody back.”
He put on gloves.
For the next fifteen minutes, nobody spoke.
Dominic removed the devices one at a time.
He photographed each.
Numbered each.
Disconnected nothing until he understood how the pieces were linked.
Elena stood beside the dresser.
Vittorio stood near the window.
Isabella sat in a chair.
Finally Dominic straightened.
“Well?”
Vittorio asked.
Dominic removed his glasses.
“I know what some of it does.”
“Tell me.”
“The smaller units are audio transmitters.”
“Listening devices?”
“Yes.”
Vittorio’s face hardened.
“And the rest?”
Dominic hesitated.
“I need lab equipment.”
“Guess.”
“I don’t like guessing.”
“Today you do.”
Dominic looked toward Elena.
“Who found this?”
“She did.”
Dominic studied her.
“How?”
“I heard it.”
“You heard this?”
“One of them.”
“That’s unlikely.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Dominic almost smiled.
Then he turned serious again.
“There are low-frequency emitters here.”
Elena’s arms prickled.
“What does that mean?”
Dominic chose his words carefully.
“They can produce vibration or sound at frequencies people may not consciously notice.”
Vittorio stared at him.
“Could they keep someone awake?”
“Possibly.”
“Headaches?”
“Possibly.”
“Ringing ears?”
“Yes.”
The room became silent.
Vittorio looked at the bed.
Four months of sleepless nights suddenly had a physical shape.
Black boxes.
Thin wires.
Red lights.
Someone had not merely watched him.
Someone had invaded the one place where even a man like Vittorio Moretti was supposed to be defenseless.
Elena saw his hands close into fists.
“Who receives the audio?”
Dominic shook his head.
“We need to trace it.”
“Do it.”
“I’ll need time.”
“You have until noon.”
Dominic sighed.
“Of course I do.”
He returned to work.
Isabella stood.
“Vittorio.”
He did not look at her.
“I didn’t do this.”
“I know.”
She stopped.
“You do?”
“I know you wouldn’t be stupid enough to attach your own authorization.”
That was not exactly forgiveness.
But Isabella seemed relieved.
“Then someone used my account.”
“Yes.”
“Who has access?”
Vittorio looked at Marco.
Marco answered.
“Mrs. Moretti. Her assistant. Mr. Moretti in an emergency. IT administration.”
Isabella shook her head.
“My assistant has worked for me eleven years.”
“What’s her name?” Elena asked.
Everyone looked at her.
She immediately regretted speaking.
“Sorry.”
Vittorio answered anyway.
“Celia Grant.”
Elena’s expression changed.
Vittorio noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Elena.”
She hesitated.
“I met her this morning.”
“When?”
“About three.”
Isabella frowned.
“Celia doesn’t arrive before eight.”
“Well, somebody who introduced herself as Celia was here at three.”
Marco moved closer.
“Where?”
“Service corridor.”
“What was she doing?”
“Leaving.”
“Carrying anything?”
Elena thought.
“A leather folder.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked whether I was the new housekeeper.”
“And?”
“I said yes.”
“Then?”
“She told me Mr. Moretti was a light sleeper and I should never vacuum near his room.”
Vittorio looked at Marco.
Marco was already reaching for his radio.
“Find Celia Grant.”
A guard answered from somewhere downstairs.
Marco listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Vittorio demanded.
Marco lowered the radio.
“Her car isn’t here.”
“Call her.”
“They already did.”
“And?”
“Phone disconnected.”
Isabella sat down again.
Elena felt the hair rise on her arms.
Dominic suddenly spoke.
“Vittorio.”
Everyone turned.
He was staring at one of the devices.
“What?”
“I found the transmission log.”
“Where is it sending?”
Dominic looked uncomfortable.
“Not far.”
“How far?”
“Very not far.”
Vittorio stepped closer.
“Dominic.”
“The signal receiver is inside the property.”
Nobody moved.
Elena looked around the enormous bedroom.
“Inside the mansion?”
Dominic nodded.
Marco immediately ordered another security sweep.
Vittorio turned toward Elena.
“You said you hear electronics.”
“Sometimes.”
“Can you hear this receiver?”
“I’m not a bloodhound.”
“Try.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
Five hours on the job.
Elena wondered whether asking for overtime would be inappropriate.
Probably.
She followed Dominic’s instructions.
He activated one transmitter briefly.
Elena closed her eyes.
There.
Faint.
A pulse.
Not from the bed.
From somewhere beyond the wall.
She opened her eyes.
“That direction.”
Marco frowned.
“East wing?”
Elena nodded.
They moved.
Vittorio insisted on coming.
So did Isabella.
The security men went first.
Elena followed because apparently making sensible life choices was no longer part of her Thursday.
They passed the library.
Nothing.
A guest suite.
Nothing.
Then Elena stopped beside a narrow corridor.
“What?”
Vittorio asked.
She raised one hand.
“Quiet.”
Everyone obeyed.
There.
A faint electrical hum.
She turned toward the wall.
Behind it was a framed painting.
Marco removed it.
Nothing.
Elena touched the paneling.
“Hollow.”
One guard found a seam.
He pressed it.
A hidden service door opened.
Behind it was a staircase.
Going down.
Vittorio stared into the darkness.
“I didn’t know this was here.”
Isabella whispered, “Neither did I.”
Marco switched on his flashlight.
The staircase descended beneath the east wing.
They followed.
At the bottom stood a steel door.
Locked.
Dominic’s receiver scanner screamed.
Vittorio looked at Marco.
“Open it.”
Marco tried the handle.
Nothing.
One guard produced tools.
Thirty seconds later, the lock gave.
The door opened.
Inside was a narrow room filled with equipment.
Monitors.
Recorders.
Hard drives.
Headphones.
And photographs.
Hundreds of photographs.
Vittorio sleeping.
Vittorio eating.
Vittorio meeting people.
Vittorio alone.
Elena felt sick.
Then Isabella gasped.
One photograph had been placed separately on the desk.
It showed Elena.
Entering the mansion at two o’clock that morning.
Someone had written beneath it in black ink.
SHE HEARS TOO MUCH.
Elena stared at the words.
A computer monitor suddenly awakened.
A message appeared.
HELLO, ELENA.
May you like
Then another line began typing.
WE WERE WONDERING HOW LONG IT WOULD TAKE YOU TO FIND US.
