The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (34 page)

As they reached the outskirts of Bristol, Sam read out the address and McKinley nodded. ‘I’ll find it, Mrs Greene,’ he said.

He didn’t have to stop to ask for directions, and twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of a pretty detached house with a neatly tended garden. A gleaming blue MGB was parked in the driveway. Sam nodded at the car. ‘The girl done well,’ she said to herself. She sat in silence, staring at the house. ‘You been here before, Andy?’ she asked quietly.

‘What makes you ask that, Mrs Greene?’ he said.

‘Just a thought,’ said Sam.

McKinley twisted around in his seat. He looked at her with his cold blue eyes. ‘What are you getting at, Mrs Greene?’

Sam shrugged. ‘You seemed to know the way, that’s all.’

‘It’s not that big a city.’

Sam lit a cigarette. She wound down the window and blew smoke out of the car. ‘I don’t know, Andy. Maybe she might’ve been a witness, maybe Terry might’ve wanted you to warn her off.’

McKinley turned back in his seat and stared silently through the windscreen.

‘Andy?’

McKinley put his big hands on the steering wheel. ‘Bit of a headache, Mrs Greene. That’s all.’

Sam opened the door.

‘Mrs Greene?’

‘What?’

‘Do you think this is a good idea?’

‘Is there something you want to tell me, Andy?’

McKinley sighed, then slowly shook his head.

Sam got out of the car, dropped her cigarette and twisted it into the pavement with her heel, then strode up the path and rang the doorbell. She turned to look at the Lexus. McKinley was still staring straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

The door opened and Sam turned her head. A pretty black girl stood on the threshold, looking quizzically at Sam. She was in her mid twenties, flawless black skin, high cheekbones and large dark brown eyes framed by shoulder-length hair. ‘What?’ she said, in a south London accent. ‘What do you want?’ A baby was crying somewhere in the house.

‘You’re Alicia Snow, yeah?’

The look on the girl’s face hardened and she tilted her chin. ‘What are you doing here?’

Sam frowned. ‘Do you know me?’

‘How did you find me?’

‘You know who I am, don’t you?’ said Sam.

Alicia went to close the door but Sam was too quick for her. She used her shoulder to force her way in.

‘Hey! You can’t do that!’ shouted Alicia.

Sam stormed down the hallway and into a large living room. The baby was in a playpen, holding the bars and crying her eyes out. Sam stared at the child. She was about fifteen months old, maybe a month or two younger, with paler skin than her mother and lighter coloured hair. She stopped crying and stared back at Sam.

Alicia came up behind Sam. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said.

Sam didn’t reply. She barely heard Alicia, it was as if the girl’s voice was at the end of a long tunnel. Time seemed to have stopped as she stood staring at the baby. There were toys in the playpen. A Winnie the Pooh soft toy. Some plastic balls. A cuddly caterpillar. Blocks of wood with animals painted on them.

‘I’ll call the police,’ said Alicia.

‘No you won’t,’ said Sam quietly.

A group of framed photographs on a sideboard showed Terry and Alicia, holding champagne glasses, in what looked like Lapland, George Kay grinning behind them. A photograph of the two of them on a beach, Terry in swimming trunks, Alicia in a black bikini that left little to the imagination. The beach could have been in Spain. It could have been the beach close to Micky Fox’s villa. One of the photographs was of Terry, holding a baby, a month or two old. Terry beaming at the camera. The proud father.

Alicia put a hand on Sam’s shoulder but Sam shook her off. ‘Don’t you touch me!’ hissed Sam. ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’

The baby started crying again and Alicia went over and picked her up. She made shooshing noises as she stared defiantly at Sam, the baby in her arms.

Sam shook her head, unable to accept what she was being faced with. The enormity of it all took her breath away.

‘I think you should go,’ said Alicia.

Sam turned and ran from the room. She fumbled with the lock on the front door and staggered out of the house, gasping for breath. She felt as if she’d been punched in the chest, every breath an effort. Her heart was pounding and she could barely stand.

Sam put a hand out to steady herself. The door slammed shut behind her. She didn’t know if it had been the wind or if Alicia had done it. She didn’t care. She had to get away from what she’d seen, away from the child and the photographs and everything that they signified. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart, then walked slowly down the driveway past the MGB.

McKinley hadn’t moved, and was still staring fixedly through the windscreen.

Sam opened the rear door of the Lexus and slid on to the back seat. ‘Drive,’ she said.

‘Where to?’ said McKinley. He looked at her in the rear-view mirror, but averted his eyes as soon as he saw that she was staring at him.

‘Just drive,’ she hissed. Sam groped in her handbag and lit a cigarette with trembling hands.

McKinley drove slowly, flashing looks at her in the mirror. They drove past a children’s playground.

‘Stop here,’ said Sam.

She scrambled out of the car and walked across a patch of grass to a set of swings. Tears ran down her face as she blew a plume of smoke that was whisked away by the wind. Terry had lied to her. It had all been a lie. Everything. He’d told her what she’d wanted to hear, he’d used her, lied to her. And she’d let him. She had been so bloody stupid. So unforgivably stupid.

She heard the door of the Lexus open and slam shut but she didn’t turn around as McKinley walked across the grass.

‘Mrs Greene . . .’ he said haltingly.

Sam whirled around and slapped him, hard. McKinley didn’t flinch, so she slapped him again. And again.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘You bastard!’ said Sam. She turned her back on him as tears trickled down her cheeks. Sam refused to wipe them away. She took a long pull on her cigarette and shivered. ‘How could you?’ she whispered. ‘You knew, all the time. Right from day one. He did it, didn’t he? Terry killed him. Shot him dead, just like the police said.’

She looked over her shoulder and McKinley nodded.

Sam turned away from him again. ‘What happened?’

‘I wasn’t there, Mrs Greene,’ he said.

Sam sighed.

‘I wasn’t, Mrs Greene. I only know what Terry told me. He said it was self defence.’

‘He was shot twice. The chest, then the head.’

‘I’m just telling you what Terry told me. Snow said he needed cash. A lot of cash. When Terry went around to pay him off, Snow pulled a gun.’

‘Pay him off? Because of her? The wife?’

‘Ex-wife,’ said McKinley. ‘Snow said Terry owed him. Said Terry had stolen his wife and had to pay.’

McKinley moved to stand next to Sam. ‘It was self defence, but who was going to believe him? Raquel was gunning for him, the filth weren’t going to listen to Terry.’

‘So you helped him?’

‘Terry gave me the gun. I got rid of it. Dumped it in the canal.’

‘Then Terry came to me for an alibi?’

McKinley nodded.

‘And you paid off Sean Kelly?’ said Sam. ‘Got him to confess to the murder?’

‘Kelly’s got cancer. Jumped at the chance to take Terry’s money. Asher and Patterson gave his wife ten grand. Kelly put up his hand to the shooting.’

‘They paid off Snow’s wife, too?’

McKinley nodded.

‘So you all knew?’ said Sam bitterly. ‘You, Asher, Patterson, you all knew that Terry had knocked up Alicia Snow, and that’s why he killed her husband?’

‘It was self defence, Mrs Greene.’

‘So you keep saying.’ Sam had reached the end of her cigarette. She flicked away the butt and lit another. ‘You bastards. You must have thought I was so fucking stupid.’

‘No, Mrs Greene. It wasn’t like that.’

‘You bastards,’ repeated Sam. She walked away from the swings and climbed on to a wooden roundabout. She sat down, blew smoke and looked scathingly at McKinley. ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’

McKinley stood looking at her, his hands clasped at his groin.

‘Terry knew about Morrison, didn’t he? Knew that there was a witness, knew that Morrison would put him at the scene. And he knew that there was no way he could get to Morrison while he was under police protection. No way he could get to him before the trial. Right?’

McKinley nodded.

‘But afterwards, after the trial, with Terry behind bars, Morrison would be easier to get to.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘He used me, didn’t he? He used me to get to Morrison?’

McKinley didn’t say anything, but Sam could see by the look on his face that she was right.

‘I was so bloody stupid,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see that he was using me?’ She drew on her cigarette and exhaled slowly. ‘Did you kill him?’ she asked eventually. ‘Did you kill Morrison for Terry?’

‘No, Mrs Greene. I didn’t.’

‘But you know who did?’

McKinley’s jaw tightened, then he nodded slowly. ‘Pike and Russell.’

‘Killed him and made it look like suicide?’

McKinley nodded.

‘You told them where to find Morrison, didn’t you?’

McKinley said nothing.

‘Didn’t you?’ shouted Sam, her voice echoing around the deserted playground.

‘Mrs Greene . . .’ McKinley shook his head sadly. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’ said Sam. She put her cigarette to her mouth with a trembling hand. ‘You’re sorry?’

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Russell checked the driving mirror. ‘He’s still there, three cars back,’ he said.

Terry laughed out loud from the back seat of the BMW. ‘What is it with Raquel?’ he said. ‘Does he think if he puts two cars between us and him that he’s fucking invisible?’

‘They learn it at woodentop school,’ said Pike, who was in the front passenger seat.

Terry settled back. ‘Plan B it is, then,’ he said. All three men laughed.

Pike took out his mobile phone and tapped out a number. ‘Kim? Yeah, you in position?’ Great. Be with you in five, yeah?’ He cut the connection and gave Terry a thumbs-up.

Terry grinned and settled back in his seat.

They drove on to a motorway, keeping well below the speed limit, until they reached an underpass. Russell brought the BMW to a stop and Terry and Pike got out and scrambled up the embankment.

They stood at the top and waved at Frank Welch as he went by in his Rover. ‘Wanker! shouted Pike.

Welch glared at them, but he was powerless to do anything, boxed in by the fast-flowing traffic.

Russell drove off as Terry and Pike climbed up to the top of the embankment. Kim Fletcher was waiting for them at the wheel of a Toyota four-wheel drive. Terry and Pike got into the Toyota and Fletcher drove off.

‘You got it, Kim?’ asked Terry.

Fletcher reached into the glove compartment and took out a handgun, which Pike passed back to Terry.

‘Lovely,’ said Terry, checking the gun’s action.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Lapland was just about to close. Two blondes were making a desultory attempt to keep a group of suited businessmen interested, but the men were looking at their watches and draining their glasses.

Terry walked in, flanked by Fletcher and Pike.

George Kay was sitting alone at a table with a half-empty bottle of champagne in front of him. He frowned as he saw Terry, then hauled himself to his feet and waddled over, hand outstretched. ‘Terry, you should have called. Half the girls have gone home.’

Terry shook Kay’s hand and slapped him on the back. ‘Just wanted to drop by and say hello, George.’

‘Always glad to see you, Terry. You know that. Bottle of bubbly?’

‘Yeah, why not?’ Terry sat down at Kay’s table and motioned for Pike and Fletcher to sit. ‘So how’s business?’ asked Terry.

‘Bit slow tonight, but it’s midweek. We’ll be jumping on Friday.’ He waved at a pretty waitress and mouthed ‘champagne’ to her. ‘Sam not with you?’

Terry shook his head. ‘Boys’ night out.’ The blondes had perked up when they saw Terry, and were now doing some heavy-duty hair-tossing and creative polework, but Terry didn’t appear to notice. ‘You know what I fancy, George? Poker. I haven’t played poker for years. Got any cards?’

Kay looked confused. ‘Cards?’ He took out his inhaler and took a long pull on it. ‘Might have some in the office.’

‘Go get them, yeah? And might as well close the door and let everyone go home. I feel like a long night.’

He looked at Pike and Fletcher, and they both grinned and nodded. The waitress returned with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and four glasses. Kay frowned at the bottle. ‘Not the Moët, dear,’ said Kay. ‘Get us a bottle of the good stuff, will you?’

Two hours and three bottles of Christal later, the four men were alone in the club, sitting around a pile of banknotes. Kay won the pot, and he grinned as he pulled the money towards him.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Pike, sitting back in his chair. ‘That’s your third pot on the run, George.’

‘Yeah, your luck’s in tonight, Georgy boy,’ said Terry. ‘Wish I had your luck.’

‘Just the way the cards fall,’ said Kay. He opened a fourth bottle of champagne as Fletcher dealt the cards.

‘Nah, your guardian angel is on your case,’ said Terry. He grinned. ‘Let’s put her to the test, yeah?’

Kay frowned as he poured champagne for the four of them. Terry reached into his pocket and pulled out the revolver. Kay’s hand trembled and champagne slopped over the card table.

‘Steady, George,’ said Terry.

‘Fucking hell, Terry!’ said Kay.

‘What, you’ve seen a gun before, haven’t you?’ said Terry.