The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (21 page)

‘I don’t think I like your tone, Mrs Greene,’ said the administrator, sitting back in her chair.

Sam walked up to the desk and glared down at the woman. ‘And I don’t think I like the fact that you let an eighty-year-old woman with Alzheimer’s go walkabout.’

‘Mrs Greene . . .’ protested the administrator, but Sam cut her short by pointing her finger at her face.

‘She needed looking after,’ shouted Sam. ‘Twenty-four hours a day. That’s why she was here. That’s what we were paying for.’

Mrs Hancock sneered at Sam. ‘Actually, you weren’t,’ she said.

Sam frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Mrs Hancock stood up. ‘You haven’t paid your mother-in-law’s account for more than three months.’

‘Yeah, well, you can whistle for your money now.’

Mrs Hancock reached for the phone on her desk. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mrs Greene. Or you’ll force me to call security.’

‘Security? If you had any security, Grace wouldn’t have got out in the first place.’

Mrs Hancock started to dial, and Sam turned her back on the woman and stormed out of the office.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Terry was whispering into one of the landing telephones when he saw Chief Prison Officer Riggs flanked by Dunne and another guard walking up the metal stairway. Riggs paused at the top of the stairway, looked around, then headed towards Terry.

Terry hung up as soon as Riggs came within earshot. ‘Your missus sends her regards, Mr Riggs,’ Terry said.

Terry moved to get past Riggs and the two other guards, but Riggs stepped to the side, blocking his way. ‘I’ll miss your sense of humour when you leave, Greene,’ said Riggs. He smiled coldly. ‘In about thirty years.’

Terry could sense something was wrong. He looked at Dunne, but the guard looked away quickly, unwilling to meet his gaze.

Riggs had a triumphant look in his eyes. ‘Your mother’s dead,’ he said quietly. Riggs stared at Terry, wanting to see how he’d react.

Terry felt as if his stomach had turned to ice. He couldn’t breathe and his heart was racing, but he forced himself to keep looking at Riggs.

Riggs’s eyes hardened. ‘She was hit by a fucking ice cream van,’ he said. ‘Had to scrape her off the road with a wafer.’

Terry took a step towards Riggs and the three guards tensed. Terry took a deep breath. Losing his temper wouldn’t get him anything other than a period in solitary. Or worse. He kept his hands at his sides and clenched his jaw as he stared at Riggs. Riggs stared back, a smile flickering across his lips, wanting Terry to lash out. Terry refused to give him the satisfaction.

When Riggs realised that Terry wasn’t going to react, he turned and walked away, his shoes squeaking.

Dunne pulled a sympathetic face. ‘Sorry, Terry,’ he said, his voice a soft whisper so that Riggs wouldn’t hear.

Terry didn’t say anything, but he acknowledged Dunne with a curt nod as he glared at the back of Chief Prison Officer Riggs.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Sam parked the Saab outside Laura’s house and walked slowly to the front door. She rang the doorbell several times but there was no answer, so she went around the side of the house and opened the wooden gate that led to the rear garden. Laura was at the far end of the lawn, clipping roses. Sam walked across the grass towards her daughter. ‘Laura?’

Laura flinched and turned around. She was wearing sunglasses even though the sky was overcast and threatening rain. ‘Mum, what are you doing here?’

‘Thanks for making me feel so welcome,’ said Sam.

Laura smiled but Sam could see that she was far from happy to see her. ‘You should have called, Mum.’

‘I did call. Lots of times. But I keep getting your machine.’

Sam went to kiss Laura on the cheek but Laura backed away as if she didn’t want to be touched. Sam frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’ There was a small cut on Laura’s chin and a bruise on her left cheek.

‘Nothing,’ said Laura, too quickly.

‘Laura . . .’

‘Mum, it’s nothing. I’m just busy, that’s all.’

‘You’re pruning roses, Laura. It’s not brain surgery.’

‘Please, Mum, just go. I’ve got a headache.’

Sam reached out and slowly took off her daughter’s sunglasses. She gasped as she saw the black eye.

‘I fell,’ said Laura. She saw the look of disbelief on Sam’s face. ‘Honestly. I fell.’

Sam folded up the sunglasses, shaking her head sadly.

‘It’s not his fault. He’s under a lot of pressure. At work.’

Sam put an arm around her daughter and guided her towards the house. ‘Come on, I’ll make you a coffee.’

They walked to the house as tears began to run down Laura’s face.

‘Maybe hot chocolate’ll be better,’ said Sam. ‘Like we used to, yeah? Hot chocolate and EastEnders. Remember?’

‘Yeah, Mum,’ sniffed Laura. ‘I remember.’

Sam sat Laura down in the kitchen and made two mugs of hot chocolate while Laura dabbed gently at her eyes with a piece of kitchen roll.

‘How long has this being going on?’ asked Sam as she poured boiling milk on to the chocolate powder. Laura shook her head but didn’t reply. ‘Laura . . .’ insisted Sam.

‘They’re giving him a tough time at work.’

‘That’s no excuse.’

‘Because of Dad.’

Sam handed Laura her mug and sat down opposite her. ‘What do you mean, because of Dad?’

‘They wind him up,’ sniffed Laura. ‘Father-in-law’s a drug dealer and a murderer. Not the normal sort of pedigree of a merchant banker, is it?’

‘Hitters always hit, Laura. There’s no changing them.’

‘I love him, Mum. He loses his temper, that’s all. He’s always sorry afterwards.’

‘Oh, that makes it all right, then.’ Sam leaned over and brushed a lock of Laura’s hair behind her ear.

Laura kept her head down as if trying to hide her bruises. ‘He doesn’t mean it,’ she whispered. ‘If he didn’t love me so much, he wouldn’t do it.’

‘That’s what he says, is it?’

Laura looked away, embarrassed.

‘Laura, in all the time I was with your father, no matter how much we argued, no matter how we rowed, he never, ever, laid a finger on me.’

‘I know,’ said Laura quietly. She put her hands around her mug of hot chocolate.

‘Real men don’t hit women,’ said Sam. ‘They can make your life a misery in a million different ways, but they don’t hit.’ Laura started crying again and Sam hurried around the table to sit next to her. She put her arm around Laura’s shoulders and tried to comfort her. ‘It’s all right, Laura. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.’

Laura wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. You don’t have to apologise for anything. Drink your chocolate.’

Laura sipped her hot chocolate. ‘Did you see Gran today?’ she asked.

Sam’s face fell and Laura stiffened. ‘What? What’s happened?’

Sam cupped her hand around her daughter’s cheek. ‘She’s had an accident. I’m sorry, love. That’s why I came around. Your gran’s . . . your gran’s dead.’

‘Oh God, Mum! No!’

Laura’s look of disbelief turned to one of horror and Sam hugged her.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

McKinley was waiting for Sam as she drove up to the house in her Saab. He’d parked the Lexus in front of the double garage and stood by the front door, his gloved hands clasped in front of him, his face a sombre mask. He walked over to her as she got out of the car and closed the door for her.

‘I’m so sorry about your loss, Mrs Greene,’ he said.

‘How did you . . .’

‘Terry phoned me,’ McKinley said, before she could finish. ‘Called me from the landing. He’s been trying to call you on the mobile.’

Sam frowned and took her mobile phone out of her handbag. The battery was dead. She showed it to McKinley.

‘Aye, he’s been trying to get through for hours, he said. Prison authorities notified him about his mother.’

‘How’s he taking it, Andy?’

‘He’s not one for showing his feelings, Mrs Greene. But it’s hit him hard.’

‘Yeah, he’s not the only one.’ She took out her door key. ‘Come on in, Andy, we could both do with a drink.

McKinley held out a business card. ‘A WPC was here a while back. Came to tell you about Mrs Greene. I said I’d be talking to you but she gave me this and said if there were any questions, you could call her.’

‘You keep it, Andy,’ she said. ‘I know all I need to know.’

The message light on the answer machine was flashing accusingly. The digital read-out showed two messages. Sam pressed ‘play’. It was Mrs Hancock from the nursing home. Sam deleted both messages without listening to them.

They went through to the sitting room and Sam poured them both brandies.

‘Were you close?’ asked McKinley. ‘You and your mother-in-law?’

Sam nodded. ‘Yeah, since my own mum died. That was about fifteen years ago. Car crash.’ She smiled. ‘Which is why I’m so picky about seatbelts, I guess.’ She took a sip of brandy. ‘Grace was always there for me. When I needed someone to talk to, you know?’

McKinley nodded. He was a great listener, looking at her with his pale blue eyes as if he were hanging on her every word. It would be very easy for a girl to get romantically involved with Andy McKinley, Sam realised. He was attentive, thoughtful and kind, but he was tough, too. Sam never felt anything other than completely protected when she was with him. If she’d been twenty years younger, she’d probably have been tempted, but the age difference being what it was, she felt more like his elder sister. Or worse. His mother.

‘Even when the Alzheimer’s kicked in, I still used to enjoy talking to her. There was a stillness about her. I used to feel so much better getting things off my chest, you know?’

McKinley nodded. ‘It’s good to have someone to talk to,’ he agreed.

‘What about you, Andy? Who do you talk to?’

McKinley shrugged but didn’t answer. Sam didn’t press it. She had known McKinley long enough to know that he didn’t like personal questions, and she respected his desire for privacy.

‘Do you know what Terry wants me to do about the currency thing?’ she asked.

‘He mentioned it. Just the basics.’

‘You don’t mind helping me?’

‘I’ll do what I can.’

Sam sipped her brandy. ‘Thanks, Andy. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Really.’

McKinley leaned forward and clinked glasses with her. ‘It’s a pleasure, Mrs Greene.’

Sam held his look. He was a good-looking man, was Andy McKinley. Tall and strong with a confident air, the sort of man you knew you could rely on, who’d never let you down. Sam wondered again if he had anyone special in his life. He’d never mentioned being in a relationship and he seemed to be on call twenty-four hours a day.

‘How old are you, Andy?’ she asked.

‘Old enough, Mrs Greene,’ he said with a smile. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I was just wondering if I’m old enough to be your mother, that’s all. You can’t be much older than Laura.’

McKinley grinned. ‘I’ve had a rough life, Mrs Greene,’ he joked.

‘Really?’

McKinley shrugged, then he became serious. ‘I’ve had my moments, but it’s worked out all right.’

‘You an only child?’

McKinley flashed her a slightly embarrassed smile. ‘Five sisters,’ he said.

‘My God! Older or younger?’

‘I was the youngest.’

Sam started laughing, and McKinley looked hurt. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Andy,’ she said, reaching out and patting him on the back of the hand. ‘It was just the thought of you and five older sisters. I can just imagine them dressing you up, treating you like a little doll, you know.’

McKinley’s face reddened. ‘That was pretty much what it was like.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.’

He took a long drink of his brandy then put down the glass. ‘Our dad disappeared when I was about eight. He had some pretty heavy debts and no way of covering them. One night he packed a suitcase and legged it. Left my mother to bring up six kids.’

Sam sipped her brandy, not sure what to say. She knew that any words of commiseration would sound trite.

McKinley settled back in his chair. ‘It was too much for her. Burned her out before her time. She had a heart attack. Died in the kitchen while I was at school. Got back home and she’d gone.’

‘Andy . . . that’s terrible,’ said Sam.

McKinley shrugged again. ‘It was a long time ago. It was hard at the time, I guess, but my sisters shielded me from the worst of it. They wanted to put me and two of my sisters into care but my older sisters wouldn’t have it. They insisted the family stayed together and they got their way.’ He picked up his brandy and took another drink. ‘Tough cookies, my sisters.’

‘Like their brother.’

‘Aye, maybe. Certainly toughened me up. We were always short of money. I left school first chance I got and became the breadwinner.’

‘You still in touch with them?’

‘Sure. They never left Glasgow, but I try to get back whenever I can. They’re all married now.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve got more than a dozen nephews and nieces, can you believe that?’

Sam nodded. ‘Yeah, Andy, I can.’

They sat in silence for a while, then McKinley looked at his watch. ‘Okay if I push off, Mrs Greene? I’ve got things to do.’

‘Sure. Can you pick me up tomorrow? About ten? There’s something I’ve got to take care of.’

‘I’ll be here, Mrs Greene. It’s okay, don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.’ He stood up. ‘Thanks for the drink.’ He hesitated as if he were about to say something else, but then he shook his head.

Sam reached up and touched his hand as he walked by. She’d had a sudden urge to give him a hug, but knew that to do so could easily be misinterpreted. She made do with a gentle brushing of the back of his hand with her fingertips. McKinley didn’t react and Sam wondered if he’d even noticed the brief physical contact.