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

through hell in the office, you have to make my life a misery at home as well.’
    Laura couldn’t contain the tears any longer and her body was wracked with deep, mournful sobs. Nichols pushed her to the ground and drew back his foot to kick her. Laura gasped in anticipation of the blow, and Nichols grinned at her, cruelly. ‘Now you’re sorry, aren’t you? Now you’re fucking sorry.’
    He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving Laura curled up on the floor in a foetal ball, the taste of whisky and blood in her mouth.
    ∗      ∗      ∗
     
    Sam tapped on Trisha’s bedroom door. ‘Trisha?’ There was no answer. Her daughter had gone straight up to her room as soon as she’d got back from school and had stayed there. Sam had heard her television go on and off a couple of times, and then she’d played CDs for a couple of hours. ‘Trish, do you want any supper?’
    ‘No, thanks.’
    Trisha’s voice was flat and emotionless, as if it had been generated by computer. Sam knew it was her daughter’s own special way of punishing her. And she also knew that the only way of dealing with it was to ride it out, to pretend that it didn’t worry her. ‘Are you sure? I’m going to do pasta.’
    ‘I had something after school.’
    ‘Okay. Good night, then.’
    ‘Good night.’
    Sam hesitated. Part of her wanted to push open the door and to confront her daughter, to try to talk through whatever it was that was upsetting her, but Sam knew there was no point, Trisha would simply retreat further into her shell. Besides, Sam already knew what the matter was – her father was serving a life sentence for murder, and there wasn’t anything she could say that was going to change that.
    She went downstairs and lit a cigarette. She’d lied about making pasta. She wasn’t in the least bit hungry, and the way she felt, she’d probably never eat again. It was starting to go dark outside, and swallows were making their final swoops of the evening, wheeling and diving for insects and calling to each other.
    Sam inhaled smoke deep into her lungs as she wondered how Terry was feeling. He’d been on remand for two months, but remand was one thing, the first night of a life sentence was something else. How would he be able to cope with that, with the days and nights stretching out ahead of him? He’d be an old man by the time he got out. Ten years older than Sam’s own father when he’d passed away, and he’d pretty much died of old age, a combination of liver failure, kidney trouble and several strokes. He hadn’t smoked, barely drank, and lived a relatively stress-free life. It was just old age that killed him. Sam shivered at the thought of what lay ahead of her. Of everyone. But at least she was free to make choices, to live her life as she wanted, and not kept behind bars being told what to do every minute of every day.
    The telephone rang and she jumped at the unexpected noise. She picked up the receiver from its holder by the fridge. ‘Hello?’ She wasn’t expecting anyone, and it was well past the time when prisoners were allowed to use the communal phones.
    ‘I know where you live, you fucking bitch!’
    Sam’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’
    ‘I said I know where you fucking live, you bitch, and you’re dead meat. You’re a lying whore and you’re gonna get what’s coming to you.’ Sam put the phone down and took another long pull on the cigarette.
    ‘Sticks and stones,’ she muttered to herself.
    Upstairs, Trisha opened her bedroom door. ‘Was that for me?’ she called down.
    Sam went into the hall. ‘No, love, it was for me.’ Trisha’s door slammed shut. ‘It was definitely for me,’ Sam said to herself as she went back into the kitchen.
    ∗      ∗      ∗
     
    Terry lay on his back staring up at the bunk above his head. It was occupied by a twenty-two-stone Liverpudlian called Charlie Hoyle who was doing seven years for GBH. Hoyle had got into an argument