Read Online Two Women by Brian Freemantle - Free Book Online Page A

tomorrow,’ promised the woman.
    Now with increasing impatience Carver endured fifteen minutes going through what the firm’s lawyer thought important to emphasize in the death notices and obituaries, which mostly concerned the assurance that Carver’s already agreed succession would ensure the uninterrupted business continuity of George W. Northcote International. Manuel said he and his wife would return to East 62nd Street that night, to ensure that everything would be ready before anyone arrived. He was very sorry about Mr George. It was terrible.
    Alice started lightly: ‘I thought you’d forgotten me …’ But at once became subdued when he talked over her to tell her what had happened. She said: ‘Shit,’ and then: ‘An accident?’
    â€˜That’s what it’s going to be described as.’
    â€˜Do you really think he was killed?’
    â€˜The doctor says he could have suffered a stroke, from high blood pressure: that it could have been the cause of his falling into the blades.’
    â€˜I asked what you thought,’ persisted Alice.
    â€˜I don’t want to, but I think he was killed,’ said Carver, hearing the casual, conversational tone of his own voice. He was talking of murder as if it was a normal topic, like the weather or some commuter gridlock and wasn’t Manhattan a shitty place to try to get around in.
    â€˜This doesn’t seem real: sound real,’ said Alice, matching his thinking, which she often did.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜What are you going to do?’
    â€˜I can’t think of anything to do.’
    â€˜He didn’t give you what you asked for?’
    â€˜No. But it should be here somewhere.’ Carver was impatient to get off the line.
    â€˜How’s Jane?’
    â€˜Sedated.’
    â€˜It won’t be easy for us to meet?’
    Now it was Alice who sounded remarkably sanguine: unmoved. But then although she’d been impressed by the man – wrongly as it transpired – she’d only met George Northcote two or three times. ‘Not over the next few days,’ he agreed.
    â€˜Call me, when you can.’
    â€˜When I can.’
    â€˜And be careful, darling.’
    â€˜I will,’ said Carver, wishing he knew how to be.
    Carver pushed the chair slightly back with the same motion of replacing the telephone, momentarily looking between the desk and the workstation before deciding he couldn’t wait for Janice’s search the following morning: that he had to look – try to look – for himself. The moment he booted up he recognized the duplication with the Manhattan office, curious that Northcote had required the copies here in the country in view of his operating difficulties. Carver scrolled his way through every one of Northcote’s personal files and accessed every password and entry code, each time carefully entering the names of the three hovering, criminal and incriminating companies. None registered.
    He turned, hurriedly, to the desk. The top left-hand drawer contained receipted bills, each annotated with the number and date of the cheque that had settled it, the one below that cheque books with the stubs meticulously completed and coordinated with the invoices above. The bottom drawer held only stationery. The diary, a duplicate of the appointments book from which they all worked in Wall Street, was in the top right-hand drawer. Carver momentarily hesitated before picking it up, aware as he did so of the shake in his hand, reminding himself how important it was going to be when he reached the office the following day to retrieve Northcote’s office copy.
    Carver initially held it up by its spine, hopefully shaking it, but it concealed nothing loose. After that he turned at once to the day Northcote had been in New York for the supposedly severing encounter with his mob controllers. The entry read: ‘S–B. Dinner. Harvard.’ There was a dash