The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) by Stephen Leather Read Free Book Online Page A

had her mother’s high cheekbones and fiery eyes and looked older than her fifteen years. Sam had been the same at Trisha’s age. Even in her mid-teens she’d been able to pass herself off as a twenty-something and had never had a problem getting into nightclubs and pubs. However, even Sam would never have thought of wearing pink glossy lipstick and eyeliner to school.
    ‘And the earrings are okay?’
    ‘So long as they don’t dangle. That’s the rule.’ Trisha could see from the look on her mother’s face that she didn’t believe her. ‘It’s true, Mum,’ she protested.
    ‘How is it, school?’ asked Sam, brushing a stray lock of Trisha’s hair over her ear.
    ‘School’s school.’
    ‘Did they give you any grief over Dad?’
    Trisha scowled. ‘No more than usual.’ She looked at her chunky fluorescent-green wristwatch. ‘I’ve got to go.’
    ‘What time are you getting home tonight?’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I’ve got to go out.’
    ‘Again? You didn’t get back until almost eleven last night.’
    ‘Business. I’m trying to tidy up your father’s affairs.’
    ‘Bit late for that, isn’t it?’
    ‘His financial affairs.’
    ‘Speaking of which . . .’ Trisha held out a hand. ‘Can I have a tenner?’
    ‘I gave you twenty last week,’ said Sam.
    ‘Exactly. Last week.’
    ‘What do you need it for?’
    Trisha sighed theatrically. ‘Tampons . . . actually.’
    ‘That’s what you said last week.’
    Trisha groaned. ‘Fine. Okay. Whatever.’
    Sam picked up her purse off the hall table and gave Trisha a twenty-pound note.
    ‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Trisha and kissed Sam on the cheek. ‘Any chance of a lift?’
    ‘Do you see a chauffeur’s cap on my head?’
    ‘Kidnappers and child molesters use the bus. You might never see me again.’
    Sam opened the front door. ‘Chance’d be a fine thing.’
    Trisha stuck her tongue out playfully, then tottered out of the door.
    ‘And those heels are too high,’ Sam called after her. Trisha waved without looking back.
    Sam closed the door and picked up the mail. There were several brown envelopes that were obviously bills. A letter from the Inland Revenue addressed to Terry. A letter from American Express that Sam hoped was junk mail and not a demand for payment. A padded envelope with her name on it, written in capital letters. Sam carried them through to the kitchen. She used a breadknife to slit open the padded envelope and put her hand inside. She screamed as she touched something cold and damp and she jerked her hand out.
    She turned the envelope over and shook it. A bloody chicken’s head dropped out and slapped on to the draining board. Sam put a hand over her mouth and stared at it in horror.
    ∗      ∗      ∗
     
    There were two dozen men lining up for breakfast, holding plastic trays and chatting as they waited for their turn. Terry grabbed a tray and walked to the head of the queue where a prison cook was slapping greasy bacon and blackened sausages on to a plate.
    A short man with pockmarked skin reached out for the plate, but Terry leaned across him and took it. The man protested, but fell silent when he saw that it was Terry. He nodded and Terry gave him a tight smile.
    ‘How about another sausage, yeah?’ Terry asked the cook.
    The cook nodded and used plastic tongs to hand Terry a sausage, then spooned a dollop of baked beans on to Terry’s plate.
    ‘Oi, there’s a fucking queue here!’ shouted a prisoner halfway down the line.
    Terry turned to look at him. He was a black guy in his twenties and he was looking around for support from the prisoners next to him. Most avoided meeting his gaze. One of the men leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. The man’s body language changed immediately: he seemed to sag at the waist and he swallowed nervously. He gave Terry a half wave, then looked at the floor. Terry continued to stare at the man for several seconds before turning away.
    He reached