Free The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) by Stephen Leather Page B

breath problem was. And he hated the taste of mint.
    Welch settled back in his seat and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. The light in the master bedroom had gone off half an hour earlier, and the daughter had switched her light off shortly afterwards. Welch knew Sam Greene had seen him: he’d deliberately flashed his hi-beams when she was in the bedroom. He wanted her to know that he was on the case, that he’d stay on the case until he’d closed down Terry Greene’s entire operation. It wasn’t as if Welch had anything better to do. There was no one waiting for him at home, and he’d already eaten, overcooked fish and chips in the staff canteen. All Frank Welch had planned was a few hours’ sleep and an early start.
    He rotated his neck, trying to ease the tension that was building up in the muscles there, then froze as he saw a figure standing by the side of his car. It was a second or two before he recognised the face. Andy McKinley, Terry Greene’s former driver.
    Welch wound down the window of the Rover. ‘What the fuck are you doing here, McKinley? I thought you were working for George Kay.’
    McKinley put a hand on the roof of the Rover and leaned down so that his head was level with Welch’s. He smiled, showing slab-like teeth. ‘Mrs Greene doesn’t want you sitting outside her house,’ he said in his broad Glaswegian accent. ‘I’m sure you can relate to that, right? A woman and a girl on their own, big house. See, if this was official, you’d be twos up, so I’m guessing that this isn’t official. There’s a thin line between surveillance and stalking and it seems to me that you’ve crossed it, Chief Inspector Welch.’
    Welch scowled at McKinley. ‘I can do you for obstruction, McKinley. Now get the hell away from . . .’
    Welch dried up as he saw the flickknife in McKinley’s hand. McKinley thumbed the silver button on the handle of the knife and a six-inch-long blade snapped out.
    ‘Don’t do anything stupid, McKinley.’
    McKinley looked at Welch with icy contempt, then bent down and stuck the knife into the front tyre. It hissed as McKinley pulled the knife out and retracted the blade.
    ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ hissed Welch. ‘I could arrest you for that.’
    McKinley shrugged indifferently. ‘So arrest me. Then we can go down to the station and talk to your boss about what you’re doing sitting outside Mrs Greene’s house in the middle of the night.’
    ∗      ∗      ∗
     
    The doorbell rang and Sam hurried to answer it, wrapping her silk dressing gown around her. It was Andy McKinley, wearing a large black overcoat with the collar turned up against the cold of the night. ‘All sorted, Mrs Greene. He won’t be bothering you again.’
    ‘Thanks, Andy,’ said Sam gratefully. ‘I didn’t know who else to call.’
    ‘That’s what I’m here for, Mrs Greene.’ He gave a mock salute. ‘Take care now, yeah?’ He turned to go.
    ‘Andy, the least I can do is give you a drink. Come on in.’
    McKinley hesitated and then turned and smiled. ‘Thanks, Mrs Greene. Never been known to turn down a dram.’
    As Sam closed the front door and showed McKinley into the sitting room, Trisha appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Who is it?’ she asked.
    ‘It’s business,’ said Sam.
    Trisha was only wearing a loose halter top and shorts, and Sam grinned as she saw how quickly McKinley averted his eyes. Trisha noticed, too, and she walked down a couple of stairs to get a closer look at the visitor.
    ‘Trisha, bed!’ warned Sam.
    Trisha pulled a face, then went back upstairs.
    ‘Come on, Andy, take off that coat.’ McKinley put his overcoat on the back of a chair as Sam poured them both whiskies. ‘You want anything in it, Andy?’
    ‘Splash of water, Mrs Greene. Anything else would be sacrilegious.’
    Sam added water to both glasses, then handed one to McKinley. She toasted him. ‘Thanks, Andy. My knight in shining armour.’
    ‘Aye,