Read Online The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) by Stephen Leather - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephen Leather
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accounts for some time. Obviously with your husband now being, how shall I put it, indisposed, we were wondering what you propose to do with regard to your financial situation.’
Sam frowned and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. ‘I don’t follow you.’
‘To put it bluntly, Mrs Greene, your income doesn’t come anywhere near covering your present outgoings. In fact, you don’t appear to have any income at all.’
‘Since when?’
Another one-fingered tap on the keyboard. ‘Since three months ago. That was the last time your husband transferred money into the accounts.’
Sam nodded hesitantly. That was about the time Terry was remanded. ‘My husband has a number of business interests, Mr Phillips. You know that. He owns several clubs, a courier business, property development.’
‘But we don’t handle your husband’s business accounts, Mrs Greene. Only his and your personal accounts. That’s what I have to be concerned with.’ He sat back in his chair and put his hands together like a child preparing to say his prayers. ‘Do you think it would be possible for your husband to arrange a transfer of funds in the near future, considering his current predicament?’
‘He’s in prison, Mr Phillips. He’s not dead.’
The manager’s smile hardened a little. ‘Even so . . .’
Sam remembered the accounts Laurence Patterson had showed her. There was nothing in them worth transferring to their joint accounts, and certainly not enough to cover the nursing home bills and Jamie’s tuition fees. If she admitted that to Phillips, though, he’d have to move to protect the bank’s position, and that would mean siezing the house. She tried to smile confidently, even though she could feel the bottom falling out of her world. ‘I’m going to see my husband in a couple of days, I’ll take the necessary papers with me.’
‘Glad to hear it, Mrs Greene. You and your husband have been with the bank a long time, we’d hate to lose your custom.’
Sam stood up and held out her hand. What she really wanted to do was to slap young Mr Phillips’ face, but she knew that she couldn’t afford to antagonise him. She smiled sweetly. ‘I’ll be in touch, Mr Phillips. And thank you for your understanding.’ She shook his hand across the desk.
∗ ∗ ∗
Sam called Laurence Patterson on her mobile phone and arranged to meet him and Richard Asher in Asher’s office. He didn’t ask why, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he didn’t need to and she hated him for that.
She stopped at a Starbucks on the way and had a double espresso and three Peter Stuyvesants, figuring that she’d need the caffeine and nicotine to get her through what lay ahead. ‘Damn you, Terry Greene,’ she muttered to herself as she sipped the rich brew at an outside table and blew smoke as she watched the city traffic crawl by.
Patterson and Asher were waiting for her. She sat on a leather and chrome chair opposite Asher’s desk and took a handful of bills from her bag. ‘I’m stuck between the devil and the deep blue, Richard, aren’t I?’
Asher nodded.
‘Terry’s got me stitched up like a kipper, the bastard.’
Patterson snorted softly. ‘I think given the choice, he’d rather not be in his current situation, Samantha. He’s not doing this by choice.’
Sam tossed the bills on Asher’s desk. ‘These are going to have to be paid, and soon. What about getting Terry out? Then he can take care of his own dirty work.’
‘It isn’t going to be easy, Samantha,’ said Patterson. ‘The judge’s summing up was fair, and I don’t see any reasons to appeal on a point of law.’
‘But they only had one witness and he was hardly credible.’
‘We can’t appeal just because the jury chose to believe a scumbag who sold drugs to schoolkids. There’s the forensics.’
‘They never found the gun.’
‘They don’t need to, not to get a conviction.’
‘So are you
Sam frowned and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. ‘I don’t follow you.’
‘To put it bluntly, Mrs Greene, your income doesn’t come anywhere near covering your present outgoings. In fact, you don’t appear to have any income at all.’
‘Since when?’
Another one-fingered tap on the keyboard. ‘Since three months ago. That was the last time your husband transferred money into the accounts.’
Sam nodded hesitantly. That was about the time Terry was remanded. ‘My husband has a number of business interests, Mr Phillips. You know that. He owns several clubs, a courier business, property development.’
‘But we don’t handle your husband’s business accounts, Mrs Greene. Only his and your personal accounts. That’s what I have to be concerned with.’ He sat back in his chair and put his hands together like a child preparing to say his prayers. ‘Do you think it would be possible for your husband to arrange a transfer of funds in the near future, considering his current predicament?’
‘He’s in prison, Mr Phillips. He’s not dead.’
The manager’s smile hardened a little. ‘Even so . . .’
Sam remembered the accounts Laurence Patterson had showed her. There was nothing in them worth transferring to their joint accounts, and certainly not enough to cover the nursing home bills and Jamie’s tuition fees. If she admitted that to Phillips, though, he’d have to move to protect the bank’s position, and that would mean siezing the house. She tried to smile confidently, even though she could feel the bottom falling out of her world. ‘I’m going to see my husband in a couple of days, I’ll take the necessary papers with me.’
‘Glad to hear it, Mrs Greene. You and your husband have been with the bank a long time, we’d hate to lose your custom.’
Sam stood up and held out her hand. What she really wanted to do was to slap young Mr Phillips’ face, but she knew that she couldn’t afford to antagonise him. She smiled sweetly. ‘I’ll be in touch, Mr Phillips. And thank you for your understanding.’ She shook his hand across the desk.
∗ ∗ ∗
Sam called Laurence Patterson on her mobile phone and arranged to meet him and Richard Asher in Asher’s office. He didn’t ask why, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he didn’t need to and she hated him for that.
She stopped at a Starbucks on the way and had a double espresso and three Peter Stuyvesants, figuring that she’d need the caffeine and nicotine to get her through what lay ahead. ‘Damn you, Terry Greene,’ she muttered to herself as she sipped the rich brew at an outside table and blew smoke as she watched the city traffic crawl by.
Patterson and Asher were waiting for her. She sat on a leather and chrome chair opposite Asher’s desk and took a handful of bills from her bag. ‘I’m stuck between the devil and the deep blue, Richard, aren’t I?’
Asher nodded.
‘Terry’s got me stitched up like a kipper, the bastard.’
Patterson snorted softly. ‘I think given the choice, he’d rather not be in his current situation, Samantha. He’s not doing this by choice.’
Sam tossed the bills on Asher’s desk. ‘These are going to have to be paid, and soon. What about getting Terry out? Then he can take care of his own dirty work.’
‘It isn’t going to be easy, Samantha,’ said Patterson. ‘The judge’s summing up was fair, and I don’t see any reasons to appeal on a point of law.’
‘But they only had one witness and he was hardly credible.’
‘We can’t appeal just because the jury chose to believe a scumbag who sold drugs to schoolkids. There’s the forensics.’
‘They never found the gun.’
‘They don’t need to, not to get a conviction.’
‘So are you
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