Witch Hunt Read Online Free Page B

was a pleasure cruiser. You know, a sort of motorised yacht. I don’t know much about sailing but that’s what they tell me.’
    ‘So what were they doing out at that time of night?’
    ‘Nobody knows.’
    ‘Where had they been?’
    Greenleaf shook his head. ‘Crane’s widow didn’t even know he was taking the boat out. He told her he was going for a drive. He suffered from insomnia, she says. All Perch’s family know is that he was doing a job for Crane. The boat’s mooring is along the coast from Folkestone, a place called Sandgate.’
    ‘But the boat itself was nearer Folkestone when it went down?’
    ‘Other side of Folkestone from Sandgate.’
    Doyle tapped his fingers against the edge of the desk. His suit looked crumpled but comfortable. Greenleaf, on the other hand, felt as if he was wearing a restraint of some kind. Time to buy a new jacket or start a diet. ‘What did Crane do?’ Doyle asked.
    ‘Had his own building firm.’
    Doyle stopped tapping and reached into his jacket, scratching slowly. ‘Figures with a name like that. Do you know why the boat sank?’
    ‘They’re going to try to recover it this afternoon, for what it’s worth.’
    Doyle brought his hand out of his jacket. ‘I can tell you what they’ll find.’
    ‘What?’
    Doyle smiled and looked down at the sheets spread across the desk in front of him. Eventually he looked up. ‘They’re a bit quicker off the mark than us across the Channel. They haven’t quite got the boat up yet, but the post mortem’s been done. I spoke to the pathologiste this morning.’ He smiled again. Greenleaf hated him for the way he’d dropped the French pronunciation into his speech. ‘Docteur Lagarde had some interesting things to say. Incidentally, they reckon there were four on board the vessel. It was a fishing boat, registered in Calais.’
    ‘So what does the doctor say?’
    Doyle smiled at Greenleafs impatience. ‘Well, for a start the bodies suffered some puncture wounds.’
    ‘What sort?’
    ‘Splinters of wood, metal, glass. Lagarde took a nineincher out of some poor sod. Embedded itself in the stomach and punctured the heart.’
    ‘Meaning there was force behind it?’
    ‘Oh, yes, there was force all right. Upward force. And burn marks too. One of the bodies in particular was badly scorched.’
    ‘An explosion,’ Greenleaf commented.
    ‘Absolutely.’
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Only what they found floating around in the surface oil. Hundred-dollar bills. Fifteen of them, not in very good nick. They got a couple of serial numbers. The Americans are checking.’
    ‘Fifteen hundred dollars. What do you reckon, drugs?’
    ‘Drugs or arms, but probably drugs.’
    ‘You think the two boats met mid-Channel?’
    ‘It’s an idea. There’s only one way to tell for sure. We need the PM results from Folkestone. Want me to give you a lift?’
    ‘What?’
    Doyle leaned down behind his desk and raised a bulging holdall high. ‘I’m off to Calais on the evening ferry. Spending the night there, do a bit of sniffing tomorrow, then hit the hypermarché before heading back. I got the nod from Trilling an hour ago.’
    ‘The luck of the Irish.’
    Doyle’s face darkened a little. What had he said? Ah, Doyle was touchy about his name’s Irishness, was he? Got you, thought Greenleaf, got you!
    When Doyle spoke, he was still subdued. ‘I’ve got to alter my headlights, dip them the right way, but after that I’m ready to leave. So if you’re heading for Folkestone ...’
    ‘I’ll take my own car, thanks.’
    ‘Suit yourself,’ said Doyle. He seemed to be staring at Greenleaf’s straining suit as he said it.
     
    ‘I wish you’d come to me with this earlier, Michael.’
    It wasn’t quite the opening line Michael Barclay had expected from his boss. Joyce Parry sat there, invulnerable behind thick-rimmed spectacles, his report held up in front of her. Having glanced at it for effect, she laid it back down and slipped off her glasses.