Free The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) by Stephen Leather

telling me that we’re not going to appeal? Is that what you’re saying?’
    Patterson held out a hand as if trying to soothe a wayward horse. ‘What I’m saying is that we don’t yet have solid grounds with which to approach the Court of Appeal. We need evidence of a miscarriage of justice.’
    ‘Terry didn’t do it.’
    ‘Samantha, I’m on your side here. Look, the best way to get Terry out is to find out who did kill Preston Snow.’
    ‘And how do we do that?’ asked Sam.
    ‘Private investigators. Professionals. I can recommend people.’
    ‘Whatever I do, it’s going to cost, isn’t it?’
    Patterson gave her a pained look, then the merest hint of a nod. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
    ‘Pay peanuts, you get whatsits,’ said Asher.
    Sam stood up and paced up and down. She could feel herself being painted into a corner, and while she wanted to resist, she knew that she was clutching at straws.
    ‘Look, is there any way we can untangle Terry’s legitimate businesses from the dodgy ones? I could look after the property business and the courier firm. I’ve already arranged to sell the modelling company and I’m trying to find a buyer for Terry’s football shares. There must be some way of generating some cash legitimately.’
    Both men shook their heads.
    ‘They feed off each other, Samantha,’ said Patterson.
    ‘It’s symbiwhatsit,’ said Asher.
    ‘Symbiosis,’ said Sam.
    ‘That’s it.’
    ‘Shit,’ said Sam. She sat down again. ‘You know the situation I’m in, don’t you? I’m going to lose my house, Terry’s mother is going to be put in a council home, our son’s going to have to leave university. Unless I do what Terry wants.’
    ‘Like I said before, Samantha, it’s not really what Terry wants,’ said Patterson. ‘He’s no choice in the matter either.’
    ‘I had a thought on the way over. Why don’t I remortgage the house? It’s got to be worth three hundred grand, right? And the mortgage is what? A hundred and eighty?’
    ‘A hundred and ninety-five,’ said Asher.
    ‘So I can get a bigger mortgage. Another hundred grand maybe.’
    Asher shook his head. ‘Won’t work, Samantha. You’ve no income. The bank’s not going to give you more money without a guarantee that they’ll be getting it back.’
    ‘But they’ll have the house.’
    ‘Thing is, Samantha, they’ve got the house already. If you default on the mortgage, they’ll take it and sell it.’
    Samantha realised he was right. She looked at them in turn. They waited for her decision, their faces impassive. Sam swallowed, angry at the unfairness of it all. ‘Okay,’ she said eventually. ‘What do I do?’
    Asher leaned to the side and opened a desk drawer. He took out a clear plastic file containing several typed sheets of paper. ‘First we need you to sign a few papers,’ he said.
    Patterson appeared at her elbow, proffering a Mont Blanc fountain pen, its cap already removed. Sam took the pen and looked down at the first sheet of paper that Asher slid in front of her. ‘I feel as if I should be signing this in blood,’ she said bitterly as she scrawled her signature. Asher took the paper from her, dabbed it on his blotter, and gave her a second sheet. Sam didn’t bother reading the legalese. She knew there was no point. Signing was the only choice she had. Terry had got what she wanted, by signing she was taking control of his companies. His bank accounts. There were more than a dozen in all. His life.
    ‘Now what?’ she said.
    ‘Terry has a safe deposit box in South Kensington,’ said Patterson. ‘You’ll need to see what’s inside.’
    ‘Can we do that tomorrow, yeah?’ said Sam. ‘I’ve had all the excitement I can stand today.’
    ∗      ∗      ∗
     
    Trisha was in the kitchen devouring a pizza when Sam got home. ‘Did you buy that?’ asked Sam, nodding at the box the pizza came in.
    Trisha shook her head. ‘You did,’ she said. ‘I used your credit