The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) Read Online Free

mounted on one wall. It flickered into life and he pointed the remote at a video recorder.
    Terry appeared on the screen, smoking a small cigar. He was wearing the same suit he’d had on in court, but no tie. He smiled at the camera and waved the cigar. ‘Hiya, love. Sorry about the cloak and dagger, but you’ll only be seeing this if things have taken a turn for the worse.’
    Sam looked at Asher and Patterson. Both men were watching the screen. She took a long pull on her cigarette.
    Terry was smiling apologetically. ‘What can I say? It’s going to be rough for you, but at least you’re not sitting in a cell stinking of stale piss and cabbage. Look, love, I’m going to need your help, big time. I’m sorry to drop this on you, but there’s no one else who can do what needs to be done. I can’t say too much in case this gets into the wrong hands, but Richard and Laurence will fill you in. You can trust them, okay? Oh yeah, look up Andy McKinley. He was my driver, he’ll be useful. He’s working for George Kay. And give my love to the kids. Tell them a visit would be nice.’
    Asher pressed the remote and the screen went blank.
    ‘That’s it?’ said Sam. Terry’s short speech had posed more questions than it had answered.
    ‘It’s by way of a reference,’ said Asher.
    ‘So that you’ll know that what we’re telling you has Terry’s blessing,’ added Patterson.
    ‘And what are you telling me?’ asked Sam.
    Asher took a deep breath as if steeling himself to break bad news. ‘Terry’s been a bit busy recently. Since you and he separated eighteen months ago . . .’
    ‘Fifteen,’ interrupted Sam. ‘We separated fifteen months ago.’
    ‘Fifteen. Okay.’ He took another deep breath. ‘Anyway, a lot’s happened over the past fifteen months.’
    ‘You’re telling me.’ She blew smoke at the ceiling. ‘How bad is it, Richard?’
    ‘Snapshot, it’s not too bad. Pretty much balances out. But without injections of outside capital . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished. He looked across at Patterson and nodded.
    Patterson walked over to Sam and gave her a cardboard file. ‘It’s like a juggler keeping four balls in the air,’ said Patterson. ‘As soon he stops moving . . .’ He shrugged and looked at her glumly.
    Sam stared at the two men in turn. They had the guilty looks of schoolboys called up in front of the headmistress, expecting a caning. ‘So you’re telling me that if Terry drops his balls, I’m out on the street?’
    ‘Not exactly out on the street,’ said Asher, picking up a glass paperweight and toying with it, ‘but I think it’s only fair to warn you that the mortgage on your house is actually paid from an account linked to one of Terry’s property companies. And if that were to go into receivership . . .’
    Sam opened the file. It contained several sheets of papers and computer print-outs. There were statements from a number of bank accounts, only two of which she recognised. And there were profit and loss statements from Terry’s business enterprises. His nightclubs. His model agency. His courier service. His stake in the local football club. The timeshare development in Spain. And there was a list of the family’s outgoings. The mortgage on the house. Car payments. Jamie’s university fees. The payments to Terry’s mother’s nursing home. Sam shook her head. There were too many numbers to cope with. ‘So we’re broke, is that it?’
    Asher looked pained. ‘Of course not, Samantha. But you realise that without Terry earning, there’s not going to be any cash coming in.’
    ‘I don’t understand this. Terry’s always been a big spender, but he’s been putting money away, too. Stocks. Shares. He’s even got Tessas and Isas and all that stuff.’
    Asher shook his head. ‘Terry’s borrowed against virtually all his assets. Effectively, they belong to the banks.’
    ‘Why would he do that?’
    ‘The property whatsit in Spain. Terry told you