Free Two Women by Brian Freemantle Page A

Snow know? Or rather, would Janice Snow show him a way forward? At that moment he thought of one himself, feeling another spurt of self-criticism that it hadn’t occurred to him before. Northcote’s bank. That had to be a source, whatever the importance of BHYF and NOXT. It was unimaginable – like so much else was unimaginable – that Northcote didn’t have a safe-deposit facility: several safe-deposit facilities, in Manhattan banks. What better place – what more obvious place – to hide secrets but in a bank safe-deposit box?
    Carver was so tired he had literally to force himself to move, simply to walk back into the dressing room, where he found by feel more than sight the valise, in which he packed the five-year-old files from the nightstand and stumbled back downstairs into the study to add the will, diary and the four photographs of the laughing, dark-haired girl named Anna.
    Jane still lay on her back but there weren’t any more sobs. He let his clothes lie where they fell and eased as carefully as he could into bed beside her, anxious to avoid movement or contact that might awaken her. There was no instinctive, automatic shift at his presence.
    Who, wondered Carver, was Anna?
    â€˜So what the hell happened!’ demanded Burcher, the soft voice unaccustomedly loud.
    â€˜He wasn’t up to it. He croaked,’ said a crinkle-haired, heavily built man.
    â€˜Who are you?’ said Burcher.
    â€˜Who wants to know?’
    â€˜I want to know because the Families want to know. Because they’re not happy.’ Burcher thought again how wise he’d been letting the people he represented know that he was strictly adhering to the pyramid procedure. There were far more people in the restaurant back room than when he’d last been there. The attitudes and atmosphere were bravado.
    â€˜He’s my caporegime , Paulo Brescia,’ wheezed Emilio Delioci.
    â€˜Were you there?’ Burcher asked the man and knew at once from the discomfited shift that he hadn’t been.
    â€˜I sent people.’
    Burcher let the silence build and when he spoke he was quiet-voiced again but sounded every word, as if he were tasting it as he wanted them to taste it. ‘Aren’t you aware of how important George Northcote was to the Families?’
    â€˜He was ours,’ said Emilio Delioci.
    Burcher shook his head. ‘You were allowed to believe that as a mark of respect. Northcote created a system that benefited not just New York but every other Family in this country and so every other Family in this country is going to be as sore as they are in New York and that’s as sore as hell. You’re close to being put out of business.’
    â€˜You can’t threaten us like that, asshole!’ said Brescia.
    â€˜You want to put that to the test, asshole?’ challenged Burcher. ‘Let’s all of us get something very straight and very clearly understood. What I say is what New York say: you insult me like some bit player in The Godfather , you insult New York and if they feel like it – if they feel you are not doing what you’ve been asked to do, then …’ Burcher extended his hand towards Brescia and snapped his fingers dismissively, ‘… you’re gone. History that no one remembers. Have I made that very straight and very clear to everyone here?’
    â€˜I don’t want any misunderstandings,’ said Delioci.
    â€˜Neither do I,’ said Burcher. ‘So I’ll ask again. What happened?’
    â€˜My people told Northcote they wanted what he’d held back,’ said Brescia, all the truculence gone. ‘He said he’d given you the message: that that was how it was going to be. They tried to persuade him. He suddenly went stiff and died on them. They made it look like an accident: that’s how the local radio and newspapers are reporting it.’
    â€˜So somewhere there’s a load of stuff