The driver nodded eagerly and smiled, revealing that his two front teeth were missing.
Blackie went over to the massive wrought-iron gates. They weren’t locked and he walked through and along the driveway. He went around the side of the villa, keeping close to the wall. He could hear splashing, and laughing.
As he turned the corner, he stopped dead as he was confronted by a large man. A large man who was smiling, with an amused look in his eyes. ‘Chief Superintendent Blackstock,’ said McKinley. ‘As I live and breathe.’
‘Where is she?’ asked Blackie.
McKinley gestured with his chin. ‘Poolside,’ he said.
Blackie nodded and headed towards the swimming pool. McKinley followed.
Sam was sitting by the side of the pool, reading a newspaper. On a table next to her was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. Laura was lying on a sun lounger, and Trisha was swimming in the pool. Sam saw Blackie and she stood up and waved. She popped the cork out of the champagne bottle and poured three glasses. She handed one to Blackie and one to McKinley, then raised her own glass to the detective. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you, Blackie,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
They clinked glasses, then McKinley toasted them both.
Blackie sipped his champagne and looked across at the villa. ‘Nice place,’ he said. ‘I hope you haven’t spent it all.’
Sam grinned and nodded at a briefcase by the side of her chair. Blackie picked it up and swung it on to the table, then clicked open the locks. It was full of cash. Fifty-pound notes. ‘These better not be moody notes, Sam,’ he said.
‘You know me better than that, Blackie,’ said Sam. She nodded at the money. ‘And they say crime doesn’t pay.’
‘I don’t think they do, actually. Not any more.’ Blackie shut the briefcase and drained his champagne glass. ‘You heard from Terry?’ he asked.
Sam shook her head. ‘How is he?’
‘Lying low,’ said Blackie. ‘Geoff Donovan’s after his blood.’
‘Terry can take care of himself,’ said Sam. ‘He’s a big boy.’
Blackie picked up the briefcase and left. Sam and McKinley watched him go.
‘The best police that money can buy,’ said McKinley. ‘That’s what they used to say about the Met.’
‘Yeah, but it can’t buy you happiness, can it, Andy?’
McKinley looked at her, concerned. ‘You okay, Mrs Greene?’
Sam sipped her champagne. ‘Yeah, I guess so. We’ll see how it works out, yeah?’
‘He never stopped loving you, you know that.’
‘Yeah. I know.’ She reached over and clinked glasses with him. ‘To crime, hey?’
McKinley grinned. ‘Yeah. To crime.’
The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) Page 35