Page 96 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

His son was talented and ambitious. In addition, Julian possessed the feral instincts and the intelligence required to take the helm ofEnright & Enright. But there was no getting around the fact that the boy had been indulged from the cradle. The result was a spoiled, impulsive young man.

It did not matter that he was spoiled. The Enrights had always moved in wealthy, socially elite circles. Julian was a product of his upbringing. It was only natural that he was accustomed to privilege and the finer things in life.

It was the impulsiveness that was worrisome. The trait had been evident since Julian was a toddler but it was becoming increasingly pronounced. Perhaps it was a direct result of his string of successes, Graham thought. When a man got accustomed to committing murder and getting away with it time and again, it was only to be expected that he might start to think himself invincible.

Julian needed to learn control. He needed to mature. But there would be ample opportunity in the future to guide him and shape him so that he could fulfill his destiny.

First things first. It was imperative that the notebook be recovered and the woman who was calling herself Irene Glasson be terminated.

A buzzing sound interrupted his thoughts. He went back to his desk and pressed a button.

“Yes, Miss Kirk?”

“Mr. Duffield is here to see you, sir. He wishes to discuss his will.”

“Thank you, Miss Kirk. Please send him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door opened and Raina Kirk ushered Duffield into the room. He was a frail man in his early eighties who was quickly going senile—just the sort of client that Graham cultivated to maintain a façade of legitimacy and respectability for the firm. It was Duffield and his ilk who unwittingly provided access to certain social circles and—most important of all—the inside information that so often proved useful to the real work of Enright & Enright.

Raina took Duffield’s arm and escorted him to one of the client chairs.

“Thank you, young lady,” Duffield cackled.

Raina smiled, politely ignoring the lecherous grin on the old man’s face. “You’re quite welcome, Mr. Duffield.” She stepped back and looked at Graham.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“That’s all for now, Miss Kirk,” Graham said.

“Yes, sir.”

Raina left. The door closed behind her.

Graham suppressed a small sigh. Raina Kirk was another problem that would have to be dealt with fairly soon. She had sent one too many coded telegrams, overheard one too many snippets of conversation, booked one too many hotel rooms for Julian, recorded one too many unusual financial transactions.

Lately Graham had begun to suspect that she had listened in on some of his telephone calls.

No question but that the time had come to fire Raina Kirk. She would not be the first private secretary he had been forced to let go, Graham thought. That meant he would soon be seeking a new woman for the position.

Replacing a competent secretary with an equally skilled one who had no close family was always a challenge. He had followed the policy his father set down when the business was founded. He made certain that his private secretaries were single women of a certain age who possessed no close relatives. Relatives could be a problem when it came time to terminate a secretary. And, sooner or later, each had to be fired.

The position required a woman well versed in the secretarial arts. Her typing, dictation, bookkeeping, and organizational skills had to be excellent. But such women were also quite intelligent and insightful. Eventually they learned too much about the firm’s lucrative sideline.

When Julian returned from California, he would deal with Miss Kirk, just as he had dealt with her predecessor. Replacing Kirk wouldn’t be easy, Graham thought. She was the most talented secretary he had ever hired. But an executive had to do what was best for the firm.

There was one benefit to firing secretaries. The exercise was an excellent way for Julian to keep his knife skills sharp.

Chapter 44

“Mr. O’Conner is here to see you, sir,” Elena said over the intercom.

Oliver pressed a button. “Good. Send him in, please, Elena.”

The door opened and Tom O’Conner walked into the office. He was in his forties, a big, muscular, ruddy-faced man who had handled security for the Amazing Oliver Ward Show. He wore the dark jacket, trousers, and tie that were the day uniform for the men on his staff.

Tom’s clothes, like all the other staff uniforms, were supplied by the hotel. They were cleaned and pressed regularly by the housekeeping department, so Tom always started the day looking crisp and tailored. But somehow, within an hour after arriving for work, he managed to look rumpled.