The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (40 page)

‘Agreed,’ said Welch.

‘You wait for my say-so, then you can come down on him like the proverbial.’

Welch looked down at the photograph of Greene and Donovan. If he could catch two of London’s biggest villains red-handed, he’d be able to write his own ticket. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

The man patted Welch on the shoulder with a shovel-sized hand. ‘You can call me Blackie,’ he said.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Superintendent Edwards dipped his digestive biscuit into his cup of tea as he studied the overtime sheets in front of him. The door to his office burst open and Edwards jumped. His biscuit broke into two and the wet half disappeared into his cup.

Frank Welch stood in the doorway, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide like a child desperate to open his Christmas presents. Behind him was Edwards’ secretary. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said, ‘I told him you were busy.’

Edwards waved her away and pushed his cup and saucer to the side. ‘Exactly what part of suspension don’t you understand, Frank?’ he said.

Welch closed the door and walked up to the superintendent’s desk. ‘The part where Terry Greene puts together a ten-million-pound heroin deal,’ he said. He dropped a stack of photographs on to the desk.

‘Holiday snaps, Frank?’

Edwards looked through the surveillance photographs. Pictures of the BMW and the three vans driving on to the ferry.

‘There’s two million pounds hidden in the panels of the BMW. Greene’s using it to fund a heroin deal in Spain. Street value of ten million. He’s planning to drive it back into the UK through France.’

Edwards looked up, frowning. ‘Says who?’

‘I’ve a man on the inside,’ said Welch.

Edwards flicked through the photographs. He raised his eyebrows as he got to the picture of Greene and Donovan. ‘Geoff Donovan, gangster of this parish?’

Welch nodded eagerly. ‘That’s right. Greene’s fixed up to sell the heroin to him.’

Edwards flicked through to the next photograph. It was of Pike sabotaging Welch’s tyre on surveillance. The superintendent frowned at the picture. Welch saw what he was looking at and scooped all the photographs off the desk.

‘You’re on suspension, Frank.’

‘So get me unsuspended.’ He waved the photographs in the air. ‘This is major, but without me it’ll turn to shit.’

Superintendent Edwards thought about it, then reached for his phone. ‘Let me make a call,’ he said.

Welch beamed triumphantly.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

McKinley drove the BMW down the driveway to Micky Fox’s villa. Terry nodded appreciatively. ‘Nice place,’ he said. ‘I could go for a gaff like this. How about it, Sam? Fancy moving to Marbella? We’d certainly be among friends.’

‘Until they get extradited,’ said Sam. She got out of the BMW and walked towards the front door, where Fox was waiting for her with outstretched arms.

‘Sam, you’re becoming a regular here,’ he boomed and gave her a bone-crushing hug.

‘Looking that way, Micky,’ she gasped.

Fox released her and went over to shake hands with Terry. ‘You’re putting on weight, my son,’ he said, patting Terry’s stomach.

‘What can I say? It’s Sam’s cooking,’ said Terry, putting an arm around Fox and walking into the villa with him. McKinley and Sam followed.

‘You’ll like Oskar,’ said Fox. ‘He’s an all-right geezer for a Russian.’

Oskar, a large bearlike man with a grey ponytail, was standing over a barbecue at the poolside, stabbing chunks of steak with a large fork. He had stripped to the waist, showing a scarred chest and an old bullet wound in his flabby stomach. He was sweating profusely and he wiped his arm across his forehead as Terry and Fox walked out on to the terrace.

Two young Spanish boys were swimming in the pool, and another was lying naked on a lounger.

‘Bit bohemian this, Micky,’ said Terry.

Fox laughed and slapped him on the back. ‘Oskar, this is Terry!’ he called.

‘You have my money?’ Oskar shouted.

‘Doesn’t believe in small talk, does he?’ Terry said to Fox. He gestured with his chin at Oskar. ‘When do we get the gear?’ he shouted.

‘When I get the money!’ shouted Oskar.

‘This is like a fucking pantomime,’ Terry muttered.

‘Oh no it isn’t,’ said Fox, and he burst out laughing.

‘Carry on like this and you’ll be in the pool with your fancy boys,’ said Terry.

‘That’s the plan,’ said Fox.

Oskar walked over, the fork in his hand, and shook hands with Terry. ‘You like steak?’ he asked.

‘Love it,’ said Terry.

‘We are barbecuing,’ said Oskar.

‘Yeah, do you want to stay for a bite?’ asked Fox.

Terry nodded over at Sam, who was standing on the terrace with McKinley, shading her eyes against the bright Mediterranean sun. ‘Thanks, Micky, but I’m going to take Sam out for dinner.’

‘Good idea,’ said Fox. ‘Where are the vans?’

‘They’ve gone straight to the garage. You can get the compartments welded tonight?’

‘Sure.’

‘What about my money?’ asked Oscar.

‘McKinley’ll get it for you now,’ said Terry. He pointed at the barbecue, which was smoking furiously. ‘I think your steak’s burning.’

‘I like it burnt,’ said Oskar. He grinned, showing a mouthful of blackened teeth.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

A waitress with jet-black hair and a swimsuit model’s figure opened a bottle of Dom Perignon and filled two fluted glasses. Terry waited until the waitress had walked away before raising his glass to Sam.

‘To us, yeah?’ he said.

Sam smiled and they clinked glasses. The restaurant was on the side of a hill with breathtaking views of the sea. The tables were covered with crisp white cloths and each had a silver candelabra and a rose in a crystal vase. Sam looked around, soaking up the atmosphere. Most of the tables were occupied by couples, and there was a lot of whispering and hand-holding. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.

‘Yeah, Micky says the food’s good, too.’

Sam sipped her champagne. ‘Nice to be away from the kids for a while.’

‘They’re hardly kids any more,’ said Terry. ‘Laura and Jamie have flown the coop, and Trisha’ll be off to university soon.’

Sam sighed. ‘Where’d the years go, Terry?’

‘Hey, don’t sound so despondent, we had our good times.’

Sam smiled. ‘Yeah, we had our moments, didn’t we?’

A waiter arrived at the table with their food. Sam had ordered sole, and Terry had lamb chops.

‘So when are you going to retire, Terry?’ asked Sam.

‘I’m too young to retire,’ said Terry, cutting into one of his chops. ‘I’ve a few years to go before I get my bus pass.’

Sam put down her knife and fork.

Terry could see that she was building up for an argument, so he put up his hands to quieten her. ‘The rough stuff, that’s over,’ he said quickly. ‘Whiter than white, I promise.’

‘How white?’ said Sam. ‘What about the clubs, for instance?’

Terry winced. ‘The clubs are a problem. Kay’s sold me his share.’

‘What?’

‘He wanted out. I got it for a song.’

Sam looked at him suspiciously.

‘Come on, Sam, try your fish,’ cajoled Terry.

‘Last I heard, George Kay wanted to buy
you
out.’

‘People change.’

Sam looked at him suspiciously. ‘Do they now?’

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Laura knocked on the door to Trisha’s bedroom. ‘Yeah?’ called Trisha.

Laura pushed open the door. ‘Cocoa?’

‘Yeah, thanks,’ said Trisha. She was lying face down on her bed in T-shirt and jeans and leafing through a plastic folder.

Laura was holding two mugs of steaming cocoa. She put one down on the floor next to Trisha and sat down on the bed next to her. She reached out to touch the folder. ‘What’s this?’ She opened it. It was full of newspaper clippings. All of them about their father.

‘What does it look like?’ said Trisha, rolling over and staring up at the ceiling.

‘You kept all these?’

‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ said Trisha. She looked at her sister, and brushed Laura’s hair away from her eyes. ‘Have you been crying?’

‘A bit.’

‘Because of Jonathon, yeah?’

Laura sighed. ‘This thing about him going to Canada just doesn’t make any sense,’ she said. ‘He’s never talked about Toronto before. I think Dad’s scared him off.’

Trisha took the file and flicked through it. ‘When did you first know what Dad did for a living?’ she asked.

Laura shrugged. ‘God, I don’t know. There were always some pretty strange people around the house. And Dad was always coming and going at all hours.’

‘Mum never said, did she?’

‘She was probably in denial,’ said Laura. ‘I didn’t know about the drugs, not until the tabloids turned him over. That was a bit of shock. Jonathon hit the roof.’ She took a sip of her cocoa. ‘Wasn’t all he hit,’ she added quietly.

‘He hit you?’ asked Trisha. ‘Jonathon hit you?’

Laura didn’t say anything but she pulled a face.

‘He did, didn’t he? Bastard.’ Trisha’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s why you were in hospital, wasn’t it? That bastard hit you. God. Dad should have killed him.’

‘Trisha!’

‘I hope Dad did run him out of town. He could have killed you, Laura.’

‘It wasn’t that bad, Trish. It was the glass coffee table that did the damage.’

‘I’d never let a man hit me. Ever.’

‘That’s easy to say,’ said Laura. She smiled at a photograph of her father on the front page of the
Evening Standard
along with the headline ‘
LONDON’S TOP DRUGS BARON
?’ ‘It’s funny,’ she said, ‘Jonathon was born with a silver spoon, pretty much. Public school, Oxford. Straight into the City. But he’s got a real hard side to him.’ She tapped the cutting from the
Standard.
‘Dad, after all he’s been through, after all this, he’s still a softie really. Never laid a finger on any of us.’

‘He shouted and stamped his feet a bit,’ laughed Trisha.

‘Yeah, but it’s not like we didn’t give him reason to,’ said Laura.

They smiled at each other. ‘He’s okay, I guess,’ said Trisha.

‘Yeah, he loves Mum to bits.’

‘He walked out on her,’ said Trisha, defensive again.

‘She threw him out,’ said Laura. ‘Doesn’t mean they don’t love each other.’

‘You think?’

Laura ruffled her sister’s hair. ‘Drink your cocoa.’

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Sam and Terry walked hand in hand through the square, the moon above almost full. It was a warm night and Terry had slung his jacket over his shoulder. The air was heavy with the smell of oranges from the orchards at the edge of the village.

Terry raised Sam’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

Sam nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘For what?’

‘For the meal. For bringing me along.’

Two teenagers walked past them, arm in arm. She had long blonde hair and was laughing and resting her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder. He had black curly hair and tight jeans and stroked her arm as they walked. Sam smiled at the two lovers. The girl couldn’t have been much older than Trisha. She snuggled against Terry.

‘It’s almost like it used to be, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Dinner, champagne, a moonlit walk . . .’

‘ . . . and bed?’ Terry continued for her.

She pinched him and laughed. ‘You’ve a one-track mind, Terry Greene.’ Ahead of them was a pretty stone-built church with a square bell tower. ‘Look at that,’ said Sam. ‘It must be hundreds of years of old. Do you want to go inside?’

‘In a church?’ said Terry, pretending to be shocked. ‘Now who’s got a one-track mind?’

‘I meant have a look around,’ said Sam, ‘and you know I did.’

Terry grinned. ‘Yeah, come on.’

They walked into the church. It was cool and peaceful, with high vaulted ceilings and pink-painted walls. The lines of oak pews were worn shiny smooth from generations of worshippers. They walked hand in hand towards the altar.

Sam looked across at Terry. He was smiling and his eyes glinted as he looked at her.

‘I was just thinking, it’s like our wedding,’ said Sam.

Terry nodded. ‘That’s what I was thinking, too. Takes you back, doesn’t it?’

‘We had poached salmon, didn’t we? Salmon in a watercress sauce.’

Terry frowned. ‘What made you say that?’

Sam sighed. ‘It was something Grace said. Last time I saw her.’

Terry put his arm around her. ‘I miss her,’ he said.

‘Yeah. Me too,’ said Sam. She gave his arm a small squeeze. ‘I want to light a candle.’

Terry took his arm away and she went over to a side table where more than two dozen small candles flickered in front of a painting of the Virgin Mary. She took a fresh candle, lit it, and then stood with her eyes closed for almost a full minute while Terry watched.

She opened her eyes and smiled.

‘So what did you wish for?’ asked Terry.

‘That’s birthday candles. You don’t ask for wishes in a church. You ask for forgiveness.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘Anything you want to confess?’

Terry grinned. ‘Not without my brief present.’

Sam smiled thinly and nodded to herself. She walked over to the front pew and sat down. Terry sat next to her.

‘Are you being honest with me, Terry?’ asked Sam.

‘About what?’

Sam shook her head sadly. ‘That’s the wrong answer,’ she said. ‘You’re either being honest or you’re not. It’s like being pregnant. No half measures.’

‘Always with the trick questions,’ said Terry.

‘Always with the evasive answers,’ said Sam.

Terry looked at her seriously. ‘I’m being up front, love,’ he said. ‘A new leaf. A new life.’