The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (39 page)

‘I don’t know, Dad. I just want to talk to him.’

‘You should talk to Laurence Patterson,’ said Terry. ‘Find out where you stand. Divorces can be messy if you don’t get the right legal advice.’

‘Dad . . .’ protested Laura.

‘I’m just saying, if he’s done a runner, you’ve got to protect your position.’

‘Yeah. Maybe.’ Laura shook her head. ‘I’m just confused, you know.’

‘Talk to Laurence,’ repeated Terry. He tried to pick up Sam’s coffee but she batted his hand away.

‘You know where the kettle is,’ she said.

Terry got up to make a cup of coffee as Laura went upstairs to the bathroom.

‘How did it go?’ said Sam.

‘Asher and Patterson are in for a million. They’re dipping into their clients’ accounts, which is a bit naughty of them, but they know it’s going to be a quick deal. And I got three hundred from Kay.’

Sam raised her eyebrows. ‘You got three hundred grand from George Kay? That must have been like getting blood out of a stone.’

‘Sort of.’

Sam sipped her coffee. ‘Who are you going to sell it to once you’ve got it into the country?’ she asked.

Terry took his coffee over to the kitchen table and sat down. ‘There’s some North London guys that Micky and I did some deals with a few years back. The governor’s Geoff Donovan. He’s up for it. It’s going to be C.O.D. all round. He’s putting together a syndicate to come up with the readies. It’s going to work, Sam.’

Sam put down her mug and wiped her face with her hands. ‘Are you sure about this, Terry?’

‘It’s the only way, love. It’s either this or we sell up and move into a one-bedroom flat in Clapham. And I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t face that.’

‘But heroin . . .’

‘Don’t think of it as heroin. Think of it as a commodity. We buy it on the Continent, we sell it for five times the price here. Just like we do with the cheap booze.’

‘It’s not the same, Terry. You know it’s not.’

‘Because it’s illegal? Because the government has decided that alcohol is a legal drug and heroin isn’t?’

‘It’s heroin, Terry.’

‘You keep saying that, love, but we’re not forcing anyone to be a junkie. We’re supplying a need, that’s all. People choose to use heroin, no one forces them. Same as you and your cigarettes. No one forces people to smoke, but millions do.’

Sam reached out for the pack in front of her, then stopped. Suddenly she’d lost the need for a cigarette.

Terry reached over and tapped the pack. ‘How many people do these kill every year, Sam? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? You know how the kids are always moaning at you to stop. But does the government make them illegal? No. Why not? Because it makes millions from the tax on them.’ Terry sat back in his chair and stretched. ‘I tell you, as soon as the government works out how it can tax drugs like cannabis and heroin, they’ll be legal.’

‘But what if we get caught, Terry?’

Terry smiled. ‘We won’t, love. Trust me.’

∗      ∗      ∗

 

McKinley brought the Saab to a halt outside the brick-built warehouse. ‘Better if I went in with you, Mrs Greene,’ he said.

‘I don’t want to spook him, Andy,’ said Sam. She grinned. ‘Just don’t crash my Saab while I’m inside, yeah?’

McKinley groaned. ‘It was an accident with the Lexus, Mrs Greene. I told you.’

‘Yeah, well, Terry tells it different.’

McKinley grimaced. ‘Terry told you what happened?’

‘No secrets between a husband and wife, Andy,’ said Sam. She took a deep breath and smiled at McKinley. ‘That’s what they say, isn’t it?’ She stared out of the window, psyching herself up.

‘You’re sure about this, Mrs Greene?’ asked McKinley.

Sam sighed. ‘No, not really, but I don’t see that I’ve a got a choice.’ She got out of the Saab and winked at him. ‘If I’m not out in ten minutes, send in a search party, yeah?’ She walked towards the entrance, feeling McKinley’s eyes on her all the way.

The door leading into the warehouse was open, and as she approached, two men appeared, both well over six feet tall with rough skin and badly cut hair. She recognised one of them from the last time she’d spoken to Poskovic, and she nodded at him. He turned and shouted something in Kosovan into the warehouse. Sam heard Poskovic shout back, and the two men stepped to the side to allow Sam in.

There was a dank, musty odour in the warehouse, overlaid with the smell of stale fried onions. There were up to twenty hot dog trolleys being prepared, and heads swivelled as Sam walked by.

Poskovic stood at the far end of the warehouse, supervising two men stacking cases of lager. He was wearing a battered leather jerkin over a tatty multi-coloured pullover. His face hardened as Sam walked up to him. ‘What are you doing here?’ he snarled.

‘I came for a chat,’ said Sam.

‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ said Poskovic. ‘You should go, before I forget that you are a lady.’

‘Why, Zoran, that’s almost a compliment,’ said Sam. She nodded at a table and a couple of chairs. ‘How about we sit down?’ she said.

‘Better you go,’ he said. ‘My men are still angry at what your husband did.’

‘The way my husband tells it, you went after him with shotguns,’ said Sam.

‘Have you any idea how much your husband cost me? He burnt out my last place. Burnt it to the ground.’

‘I’m sorry, Zoran,’ said Sam. ‘It wasn’t my doing, I can promise you that.’

Poskovic shrugged. ‘Two of my men were badly beaten. One of them is still in hospital. He is an animal, your husband.’

‘I hear what you’re saying, Zoran. Honestly I do. But you gave as good as you got, didn’t you? Guns blazing, Terry said.’

‘He beat them up. And smashed our van.’

‘And his Lexus was almost written off. Zoran, it’s tit for tat.’

Poskovic frowned. ‘Tit for tat?’

‘It means, what he does to you, you do back to him.’

Poskovic nodded. ‘Next time, we will hit him harder.’

‘And he’ll hit you harder. Tit for tat.’

Poskovic shrugged. ‘I did not expect to see you again,’ he said.

Sam smiled thinly. She looked around the warehouse. ‘This is bigger than the other place. Every cloud, hey?’

Poskovic frowned. ‘What?’

‘Every cloud has a silver lining. It’s an expression. It means something good can come out of something bad.’

‘So you are saying I should be grateful that your husband burnt me out?’

‘No, that’s not what I meant, Zoran.’

Poskovic glared at her. ‘Do you think I had insurance, Mrs Greene?’

Sam shook her head. ‘No, I don’t suppose you did,’ she said. ‘Have you got any booze, Zoran? I’ve got a terrible thirst. What about that vodka we had last time?’

‘That went up in the fire,’ he said.

‘Pity,’ said Sam.

Poskovic slowly smiled. ‘But I had more sent over from St Petersburg.’ He waved towards a metal desk against one wall. ‘Bottom drawer,’ he said.

Sam went over to the drawer and took out the bottle of vodka.

Poskovic picked up two large glasses off a shelf and took them over to her.

‘What do you want, Mrs Greene?’ he asked as she poured two large measures of the clear spirit.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Laura and Trisha were in the kitchen when Sam got back to the house, loaded down with supermarket carrier bags.

‘Come on, give me a hand,’ chided Sam. Laura and Trisha took the bags off Sam and started putting the provisions away. ‘Do you think you two can take care of yourselves for a couple of days?’ asked Sam.

‘Why?’ asked Trisha.

‘Your dad and I want to go away for a bit, that’s all.’

‘What, like a second honeymoon?’ asked Laura.

‘Sort of.’

Laura hugged Sam. ‘Mum, that’s great. Where’s he taking you?’

‘Spain. Just a few days in the sun.’

‘You should go for longer. Go for a couple of weeks. Trisha and I will be fine. Won’t we, Trisha?’

‘I don’t care either way,’ said Trisha.

‘No wild parties,’ cautioned Sam.

‘As if we would,’ laughed Laura. ‘When are you going?’

‘Day after tomorrow.’

‘I’ll take you to the airport,’ offered Laura.

‘That’s okay. We’re going to drive.’

‘To Spain?’ said Trisha. ‘It’ll take you for ever.’

‘That’s what your dad wants. Who am I to argue?’

∗      ∗      ∗

 

McKinley slotted the packs of money behind the door panels of the BMW. Sam and Terry stood at the back of the car, watching him.

‘It’s not illegal is it?’ said Sam. ‘Taking money out of the country? I went to Spain with the last lot in a briefcase.’

‘This is two million quid, Sam. Customs would sit up and take notice if they spotted it. They’d be all over us like a rash. We’ll go over in the car and fly back. McKinley can drive the BMW back, the drugs’ll come in the vans.’

‘It’s got to be the most expensive BMW in the world,’ said Sam as McKinley eased more packs of banknotes into the doors. She smiled slyly. ‘I’ve just had a thought.’

Terry raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’

‘Let’s just get in and drive. Take the money and run. Two million quid, we’d be set up for life.’ Terry looked at her incredulously and Sam smiled. ‘Joke,’ she said.

Terry shook his head. ‘You had me going there, Sam. You really had me going.’ He looked at his Rolex. ‘Come on, McKinley, get a move on. We’ve got to meet up with Fletcher and the boys at the ferry terminal.’

‘Nearly done,’ said McKinley.

Terry hugged Sam. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

Sam nodded. ‘Butterflies, that’s all.’

‘You don’t have to come. I can handle it.’

‘Think I’d let you drive away with the money?’ said Sam.

Terry looked hurt. ‘What do you mean?’

Sam lightly slapped his cheek. ‘Joke,’ she said. ‘No, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Frank Welch squinted through the viewfinder of his camera and clicked away from the driver’s seat of his Rover. The motordrive whirred and he focused the long lens on the three white vans as they headed towards the ferry. He recognised the drivers. Roger Pike. Kim Fletcher. Steve Ryser. All of them on Terry Greene’s payroll. And following them in his BMW, the man himself. Terry Greene. And with him in the back, his wife.

Welch knew that he couldn’t follow Greene and his team on to the ferry. He hadn’t brought his passport with him and Superintendent Edwards had his warrant card. All he could do was to photograph them and find out when they were due back.

He focused the long lens on McKinley and snapped several shots of him, then photographed the registration plate of the BMW.

As he took the camera away from his face, a large black and white photograph was held up against the driver’s side window. Welch flinched, then stared in amazement at the photograph. It was of Roger Pike pushing a piece of wood under the rear tyre of Welch’s Rover on the day he was on surveillance outside the offices of Greene’s accountant. It was a good picture, clearly showing the look of delight on Pike’s face and the nails studded in the slab of wood.

The picture was whipped away, revealing a large man in a dark overcoat standing next to the car. Welch wound down the window.

‘You haven’t a clue what they’re up to, have you?’ said the man.

‘Who are you?’ said Welch.

The man opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. The Rover wasn’t a small car, but the man’s bulk made Welch feel suddenly claustrophobic.

‘You’re in the job?’ asked Welch. The man had the confident air acquired by policemen and career criminals, a sense that they were better than the general population, a cut above the rest.

The man tossed an envelope into Welch’s lap. Welch opened it gingerly. Inside were more surveillance photographs showing Welch on Greene’s tail.

‘Piss-poor surveillance, it has to be said,’ the man sneered. ‘Every time he needs some privacy, he sells you a dummy.’

‘I’m on my own, you know,’ protested Welch.

The man nodded at the white vans. ‘Do you want to talk about this or not, soon to be former Detective Chief Inspector Welch?’

Welch took a pack of breath mints from his pocket and popped one into his mouth. He nodded. ‘Okay. What have you got?’

The man took another photograph from his pocket and handed it to Welch. Welch looked at it and felt a surge of excitement. It was a black and white photograph, slightly grainy as if it had been blown up. Terry Greene shaking hands with a familiar face. Geoff Donovan, a high-profile North London gangster.

‘The reason that Terry Greene is on his way to Spain with his missus and Andy McKinley and the rest of the seven dwarves is that they’re putting together the mother of all heroin deals. Ten million quid’s worth.’

Welch frowned. ‘How do you know?’

‘I read tea leaves. How the hell do you think? I’ve a man on the inside.’

‘So why don’t you take this to the Drugs Squad yourself? It’d be a feather in your cap.’

‘I’m starting to wonder how you made chief inspector.’

Welch’s frown deepened, until realisation dawned and a knowing smile spread across his face. ‘You’re on his payroll,’ he said. ‘He’s got his claws into you and you want out.’

The man stared at Welch, his eyes hardening. ‘Some things are better left unsaid.’

‘I get rid of Greene, and you’re off the hook,’ said Welch triumphantly.

‘Maybe I’m talking to the wrong cop,’ said the man. He held out his hand for the photographs but Welch moved them out of his reach.

‘No way,’ said Welch.

‘Okay, then. But we handle this my way or not at all.’

Welch nodded slowly. ‘Okay.’

‘First thing, you keep well away from Greene and his associates. You carry on the way you’re going, you’ll spook him. Agreed?’