Read The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) for Free Online

much, but I guess I needed to hear it for myself.’
    ‘You’ll probably have more luck offloading his nightclubs, that’s what I’d be trying. Or his modelling business. What’s the geezer’s name that Terry was pally with? Locke?’
    ‘Yeah. Warwick Locke. I’m seeing him this afternoon, after I’ve visited Terry, but he didn’t sound too hopeful on the phone.’
    Jacko stopped and put his shovel-like hands on her shoulders. He looked at her sympathetically. ‘I’ll ask around, Samantha, see if I can find someone to take the stake off your hands. But don’t hold your breath, girl.’ He cuffed her gently under the chin. ‘You’ll be okay. Terry and you, you’re fighters.’
    Sam forced a smile and wished that she felt half as confident as Jacko sounded.
    ∗      ∗      ∗
     
    Sam’s high heels clicked purposefully on the tiled floor as she walked across the visiting room. Terry was sitting at a corner table, a red vest over his prison-issue denims, his hands clasped in front of him on the Formica table.
    Sam didn’t give him a chance to get to his feet. ‘You selfish, self-centred, arrogant bastard. You screwed up your own life, what the fuck makes you think you’ve got the right to screw up mine?’
    Terry smiled up at her. ‘Fine, thanks. The food’s a bit ropey, but what can you do?’
    Sam shook her head. ‘This isn’t funny, Terry. You fucked me over big time. Do you want me inside with you, is that it?’
    Terry couldn’t help chuckling at the thought of sharing a cell with his wife, but he stopped when he saw how upset she was. He stood up and put a hand on her arm. ‘I’m sorry, love. Honest.’
    A burly prison officer walked by. ‘Sit down, Greene,’ he barked. Terry did as he was told, and Sam sat down opposite him.
    ‘You walked out of my life, Terry,’ she said, keeping her voice low. The tables in the visiting room were so close to each other that it was hard not to hear neighbouring conversations. A young woman with a toddler was crying and her husband was trying to console her; another prisoner was accusing his wife of always being out of the house when he phoned; an elderly prisoner was asking about his racing pigeons. ‘You’ve no right to do this to me. You should have told me first. Talked to me.’
    Terry sat back in his orange plastic chair and fixed her with his pale blue eyes. He started counting on his fingers. ‘First of all, I didn’t walk out. You threw me out. Second of all, I didn’t think it’d go this far. Jury should never have convicted me. No motive, no weapon, and a slag for a witness. Case shouldn’t have even gone to court. Wouldn’t have either if it hadn’t been for Raquel. That bastard Welch has had it in for me for years.’ Terry put his hands back on the table and leaned forward. ‘Sam, love, if I’d thought for one minute that I was going to go down, I’d have got this better sorted.’
    Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘Fallback position, is that what I am? Fuck you, Terry Greene. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.’
    Terry smiled and raised his eyebrows archly. ‘Do you kiss our kids with that mouth?’
    Sam stood up quickly and heads jerked in her direction but she was too angry to care. ‘You can’t joke your way out of this one,’ she shouted, pointing an accusing finger at his face. ‘I’m not doing it. I’m not doing any of it. You can rot in here for all I care.’
    Sam gave him one final glare, then turned her back on him and walked out.
    Terry watched her go, nodding slowly to himself. He heard a soft chuckling sound to his right and he turned to see Chief Prison Officer Riggs revelling in his discomfort.
    ‘Bit of marital discord, Greene?’ said Riggs. ‘Never mind, you’ll be able to sort it out when you get home – in thirty years or so.’
    ∗      ∗      ∗
     
    ‘How’s the fish, Sam?’ Warwick Locke looked across the table and smiled like a BMW salesman.
    ‘It’s fine,