The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (11 page)

Sam gritted her teeth and the woman inserted a finger inside her rectum, probed once, and then slid it out.

‘All done,’ she said. ‘There’s paper towels by the sink.’

‘Thanks,’ said Sam, fighting back tears of embarrassment and rage. ‘Thanks a million.’

Terry was sitting at the same corner table he’d been at the last time she visited. He stood up as he saw her walking across the visiting room. ‘Hello, love,’ he said and tried to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Sam pushed him away and sat down, crossing her legs away from him.

‘What’s wrong?’

Sam glowered at him. ‘They fucking strip searched me, Terry.’

‘Oh God. I’m sorry.’

‘Pushed and probed me like I was a piece of meat. What’s going on?’

Terry reached over and took her hand. ‘Are you okay?’

Sam pulled her hand away. She didn’t want Terry touching her. She didn’t want anyone touching her, ever again. ‘No. I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay that you’d need a fucking map to find it from where I am.’

To her left was an old couple, the man in his seventies in ill-fitting prison denims and a red vest that was several times too big for him. He had lined parchment skin and deep-set eyes that made his head look more like a gleaming skull. His wife was probably in her mid-sixties, about twice his size, plump and matronly, wearing a big woollen coat and a hat with a huge brown plastic handbag that she clutched in her lap with both hands. Sam could see that her fingernails were bitten to the quick. They sat in silence, occasionally looking at each other and smiling. Sam wondered if that was what lay ahead of her and her husband. Years of visits until there was nothing left to say, just a shared silence and single beds. She shivered.

‘Are you cold?’ asked Terry.

Sam shook her head.

Terry leaned forward, the concern clear on his face. ‘There’s a guy in here got it in for me, love. Guy called Riggs.’

‘Chief Prison Officer? Yeah, he was there. Said my name wasn’t on the list. Bastard.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Will you stop saying “sorry”, Terry, it doesn’t make me feel any better.’ She looked around the visiting room. At the far end a prisoner barely out of his teens was sobbing while his girlfriend or wife sat back in her chair, arms crossed defensively, a frown on her face. Children were running around and playing, while prison officers walked up and down, eyes forever on the move, looking for contraband. ‘Christ, I wish I was a million miles away from here.’

‘You and me both, love.’

Riggs walked into the room and sat at a table by the door, glaring at Terry. Terry smiled broadly and gave him a small wave. ‘I’ll fucking have you when I get out of here,’ he said under his breath, still smiling.

Sam turned to see who he was looking at. When she saw that it was Riggs, she turned and scowled at Terry. ‘Will you stop winning friends and influencing people? It’s no wonder they’re giving you a hard time.’

Terry raised his hands in surrender and settled back in his plastic chair.

‘And don’t say “sorry” again, Terry. All right?’

‘All right.’

They sat in silence for a while, then Terry leaned forward. ‘Everything’s fixed up, yeah?’

Sam gave Terry a long, hard look. ‘You’re a bastard, Terry Greene.’

‘Love . . .’

‘Don’t “love” me. Getting me to do your dirty work.’ She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. ‘The stuff was dropped off as arranged. I picked up the GPS gizmo from the hotel and gave it to Reg Salmon. I’m meeting Kay and the rest tomorrow.’

‘Be careful with them, yeah? You’ve got to show them who’s boss.’

‘But I’m not their boss, Terry. I’m a wife and mother, not a bloody gang leader.’

‘You mustn’t show weakness, love. They’ll turn on you.’

Sam sighed and nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll be okay.’ She put a hand up to her forehead. ‘I can’t believe you’ve got me doing this for you.’

‘Who else could I trust?’

‘I’m not doing the counterfeit thing, Terry. I’ll do this for you, but that’s it.’ Terry tried to hold her hand but she pulled it away. ‘I mean it.’

‘I know you do.’ He put his hands on the table and interlinked his fingers. ‘Andy McKinley’s taking care of you, yeah?’

Sam nodded. ‘He’s a good guy.’

‘Yeah. He’s solid. None too bright, though.’

‘Kay said that. Andy’s not stupid, Terry. If anyone’s stupid, it’s me.’

Terry smiled and shook his head.

‘Has Laura been to see you?’

‘Not yet. I sent a request form. Takes time.’

A small boy fell at Sam’s feet and she bent down and picked him up. He twisted out of her grip and ran back to his mother, crying.

‘Remember how Laura was always trying to run before she could walk?’ said Terry. ‘Always falling over. But never cried. Tough kid.’

‘Toughness isn’t always a virtue, Terry.’

Sam watched as the mother picked up the boy and cradled him against her, whispering into his ear as her prisoner husband looked on anxiously. She turned back to look at Terry. ‘Did you do it, Terry?’

Terry held her look. Then he slowly shook his head. His eyes never left hers. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, love, I didn’t.’

She stared back at him, trying to see the answer in his eyes. Finally she shook her head, admitting defeat. ‘I used to know when you were lying. You’d come back at all hours and tell me it was business kept you out, and I knew. I knew Terry Greene, knew you’d been out with one of your slappers because I could see it in your eyes. But this. I just don’t know. Why is that, Terry? Have you got better at telling lies, is that it? Better at covering your tracks.’

Terry hunched forward over the table. ‘Find that slag Morrison, love. Find him and get him to tell you the truth.’

‘He told the court, Terry. He told them everything. He said he saw you leaving Snow’s house with a gun.’

‘He was lying, love,’ said Terry earnestly. ‘On my mother’s life.’

‘Why would he lie, Terry?’

‘Raquel must have put him up to it. Paid him. Offered him a deal on something else.’

‘Terry . . .’

‘You know what coppers are like. He was desperate to fit me up. Getting Morrison to roll over on me wouldn’t have been much of a challenge. Now the trial’s over, he might tell you what really happened. He might even know who really killed Snow.’

‘So how do I find Morrison?’ asked Sam.

Terry looked around as if he feared being overheard. Riggs was looking in their direction but he was too far away to eavesdrop. Terry put his hand up over his mouth as he talked. ‘There’s a cop on the payroll. Has been since the year dot. His name’s Mark Blackstock. Detective Superintendent. His mobile’s in the Filofax under Blackie. If he gives you any trouble, there’s some pictures in the safe deposit box that’ll gee him up.’

Sam shook her head in amazement. ‘Bent coppers?’ she said. ‘Now you want me to deal with bent coppers?’ Sam sat back in her chair, stunned. ‘This is going from bad to worse.’

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Luke Snow was in the back of a dark green Jaguar, sucking up dirt with an industrial Hoover, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw a large man in a dark overcoat peering through the open door. ‘Luke Snow?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘I do, Luke. Now don’t piss me about. Get out of the car, yeah?’

Luke found it difficult to understand the man’s accent, but he sensed the menace in the man’s voice.

The man stood back as Luke clambered out of the car and switched off the Hoover. ‘What do you want?’ He tried to sound confident, but he could see that the man was a good six inches taller than he was, and looked like he worked out. The man had a hard face, and cold blue eyes that stared unblinkingly at Luke. Luke found it difficult to meet the man’s gaze and he kept looking away.

‘My name’s McKinley,’ said the man. ‘Just so you know who I am. I don’t hide behind anonymous phone calls, Luke. I am who I am, right?’

‘So?’

‘So your brother was a scumbag. He sold drugs to kids. You wouldn’t have caught
him
in overalls cleaning out the back of a rich man’s car.’

‘He didn’t deserve to die like a dog.’

McKinley nodded. ‘I understand that, Luke. I can see why you’d feel the way you do. But that’s got to be between you and Terry Greene. Between men. Do you get my drift?’

Luke said nothing. McKinley’s eyes continued to bore into him and Luke looked down. ‘She lied, man. She fucking lied.’

‘Everyone lies, Luke.’

‘She lied in court.’

‘So she won’t go to heaven. You married, Luke?’

Luke narrowed his eyes, wondering if the big man was threatening his family. ‘Yeah,’ he said hesitantly.

‘You love her, right? Your missus?’

Luke nodded again.

‘You’d lie for her, right? Of course you would. Wouldn’t matter if it was right or wrong, you do what you have to do to protect the ones you love. Look, your brother’s dead and I can imagine how that must feel, but Terry Greene’s behind bars for it. He’s gonna be seventy before he gets out. You, you’re a young guy, you’ve got a wife to go home to. Someone warm to sleep with at night. Be a man, Luke. If you want to take your grief out on someone, take it out on Terry Greene. Or me. But don’t go frightening women. Okay?’

Luke raised his eyes and met McKinley’s gaze for about the first time since he’d come into the cleaning bay. He stared at him for several seconds. McKinley stared back, totally relaxed, as if he didn’t care one way or the other what Luke said. McKinley’s physical superiority was intimidating, but there was something above and beyond that which made Luke Snow hesitate and think about what he’d said. McKinley was right. It had been wrong to take out his anger on Greene’s wife and he suddenly felt ashamed. ‘Yeah. Okay.’ He nodded. ‘It’s over, yeah.’

McKinley nodded, satisfied. ‘I appreciate that, Luke. I really do.’ He turned to go, then stopped. ‘Answer me one thing, Luke.’

‘What?’

‘That business with the chicken head? What was that, voodoo?’

Luke shook his head, puzzled. ‘Voodoo? Give me a break, man. I’m from Brixton, not Haiti.’

‘So why the chicken head?’

‘Just wanted to gross her out.’

McKinley walked off chuckling, leaving Luke still shaking his head in bewilderment.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Sam Greene opened the front door within seconds of McKinley ringing the doorbell. She was dressed in a pale blue suit, the skirt just above the knee, and was carrying a large burgundy briefcase. McKinley reached out a hand for the case but Sam shook her head. ‘I’m a big girl, Andy, I can carry my own case.’

‘Fine by me, Mrs Greene.’

He opened the rear door of the Lexus for her and climbed into the front seat. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head, so he fastened the seatbelt before she had a chance to remind him. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and caught her smiling to herself.

McKinley kept checking in the mirror as he drove to Lapland. Sam was staring out of the window, deep in thought, the briefcase on her knees. It can’t have been easy for her, thought McKinley. Terry Greene had a right cheek expecting his wife to start running things for him while he was inside. It was devotion above and beyond, especially when they’d been separated for more than a year. McKinley didn’t think many wives would have been prepared to do what Sam Greene was doing. And if things went wrong, if Terry’s carefully orchestrated plans fell apart, then there was a good chance that she would end up in prison, too.

She lit a cigarette and wound down the window halfway, the slipstream tugging at her hair. McKinley wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was doing just fine, but he knew that it wasn’t his place. He was just muscle, a hired hand, and besides, words of encouragement might sound patronising and he didn’t want to run the risk of offending her.

Sam smoked three cigarettes during the drive, and didn’t say a single word. McKinley parked at the back of the club in between a brand new BMW and a red Porsche. In all a dozen luxury cars were lined up behind the club, and at the rear entrance a group of large men in long coats were huddled, several of whom recognised McKinley and acknowledged him with offhand nods. One of them, whom McKinley didn’t recognise, made a comment about Sam’s short skirt. McKinley stopped and gave him a hard stare, but Sam carried on walking as if she hadn’t heard. The man shrugged apologetically and McKinley let it go, but he made a conscious effort to imprint the man’s face on his memory as he walked past him. There’d be another time.

‘Sorry about that, Mrs Greene,’ he said as he caught up with Sam. ‘They’re not usually hired for their table manners.’

‘Andy, at my age I’ll take compliments wherever I get them,’ she said.

‘Och, Mrs Greene . . .’ protested McKinley. He pushed open the door to the club and followed her inside.

There were still three hours to go before the club was due to open, but the twelve men sitting around the bar weren’t there to see girls dancing naked around silver poles. They turned as one to look at Sam as her high heels clicked across the dance floor. George Kay was in the middle of the group and he gave Sam a beaming smile.

McKinley watched impassively at the side of the club, his arms folded across his chest.

Sam waited until she had their full attention, then she swung the briefcase up on to the bar. ‘Thank you all for coming, gentlemen. I know you’ve all been a bit disconcerted by Terry’s sudden removal from the scene, but I’m here to reassure you that it’s business as usual.’

There were mutterings from some of the men, but George Kay shushed them. ‘Give the girl a chance,’ he said.

His tone was patronising and Sam hated him for that, but at least the men went quiet and let her speak. ‘Terry’s asked me to take care of the delivery you’re expecting,’ continued Sam. ‘That you’ve paid for.’