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

neck. ‘You’re not going to like this, boss.’
    Welch looked up from the front page of the Mail.
    Duggan threw over a copy of the Mirror. ‘They spelt your name wrong.’
    ‘They did what?’ Welch grabbed the paper and read through the story.
    ‘Welsh, like the sheep-shaggers.’
    ‘For God’s sake, how could they fuck up my name?’
    Simpson laughed but stopped abruptly when he saw that Welch was serious.
    ‘I don’t know what you’re laughing at, Simpson. You’re not even mentioned.’ Welch tossed the newspaper on to his desk, but it knocked over his coffee and the hot brown liquid went everywhere. Welch cursed and mopped it up with the Mail. ‘Fuck you, Terry Greene,’ he muttered.
    He dropped the wet newspapers into his wastebin, then stood up and bellowed at the dozen or so detectives in the CID room. ‘Right, everyone listen to this, please. Just because we’ve put Terry Greene away doesn’t mean we’ve put a stop to his organisation. Someone’s going to take over from him, so let’s find out who, shall we? You know who his associates are, so let’s put them under the microscope, rattle a few cages, call in a few favours. Let’s keep up the pressure.’
    Heads nodded, but Welch sensed a distinct lack of enthusiasm. ‘Unless you’ve got anything better to do with your time? And maybe you should all remember that I’ll be signing expense sheets today.’
    Detectives started picking up phones and pecking away on computer keyboards, trying to give the semblance of productivity. Welch grinned and went back to his papers. At least the Mail had spelled his name right.
    ∗      ∗      ∗
     
    Sam found David Jackson on the touchline, shouting at twenty tracksuited footballers who were running around the pitch, breath feathering from their mouths in the cold morning air.
    ‘Can see you’ve had your Weetabix, Jacko,’ said Sam as she came up behind him. ‘I thought it was the manager’s job to do the shouting, and the chairman just pocketed the readies.’
    Jacko was genuinely surprised to see her and kissed her warmly on both cheeks. ‘Samantha, love. Great to see you.’ His smile vanished and his face was suddenly serious. ‘I’m so sorry about Terry, love. Damn shame.’
    ‘Thanks, Jacko.’
    ‘Anything I can do, Samantha. Anything. Just ask.’
    ‘That’s sort of why I’m here,’ said Sam. ‘Can you spare me a few minutes?’
    ‘Sure. Just let me get the boys started.’ Jacko cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled across the pitch to the footballers. ‘Three more laps, and if your arsehole of a coach hasn’t turned up by then, get a warm-up game started.’
    Jacko thrust his hands into his overcoat and walked with Sam towards the tunnel that led into the belly of the stadium.
    ‘The thing is, Jacko, Terry’s got financial problems.’
    ‘Who hasn’t?’
    ‘No, real problems. I’ve spent this morning wading through bills, and the bank manager’s been on the phone already asking about the mortgage payments. Like sharks smelling blood.’
    ‘I thought Terry was well set up.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Sam ruefully. ‘You and me both. His stake in the club’s got to be worth something, hasn’t it?’
    Jacko sucked air through his teeth. ‘We’re not up there with the big boys, Samantha. The money stays with them, there’s no bloody trickle-down economics here.’
    ‘You’re pulling in the crowds though, Jacko.’ She could hear the desperation in her voice and hated herself for it.
    ‘It’s not about bums on seats any more. It’s about TV. And who’s going to pay to tune in to see us when they can watch Man U? Look, you’re not the only one with a bank manager on her back – we owe our banks well over a million and a half He shrugged his broad shoulders inside the overcoat. ‘I’m sorry, love, that’s not what you wanted to hear, is it?’
    Sam sighed. ‘Not really. Terry’s accountant already warned me that Terry’s assets weren’t up to