Witch Hunt
Authors: Ian Rankin
Table of Contents
Witch Hunt
IAN RANKIN
Orion
www.orionbooks.co.uk
Praise for Ian Rankin
‘Rankin’s ability to create a credible character, delivering convincing dialogue to complement sinister and hard-hitting plots set against vividly detailed atmosphere, is simply awesome’
Time Out
‘Rankin writes laconic, sophisticated, well-paced thrillers’
The Scotsman
‘Ian Rankin bridges the gulf between the straight novel and the mystery with enviable ease’
Allan Massie
‘First-rate crime fiction with a fierce realism’
Sunday Telegraph
‘Rankin uses his laconic prose as a literary paint stripper, scouring away pretensions to reveal the unwholesome reality beneath’
Independent
‘His fiction buzzes with energy ... Essentially, he is a romantic storyteller in the tradition of Robert Louis Stevenson ... His prose is as vivid and terse as the next man’s, yet its flexibility and rhythm give it a potential for lyrical expression which is distinctively Rankin’s own’
Scotland on Sunday
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Inspector Rebus Series
Knots & Crosses
Hide & Seek
Tooth & Nail (previously published as
Wolfman)
A Good Hanging and Other Stories
Strip Jack
The Black Book
Mortal Causes
Let It Bleed
Black & Blue
The Hanging Garden
Dead Souls
Set in Darkness
Other Novels
The Flood
Watchman
Westwind
Writing as Jack Harvey
Witch Hunt
Bleeding Hearts
Blood Hunt
Born in the Kingdom of Fife in 1960, Ian Rankin graduated from the University of Edinburgh and has since been employed as grape-picker, swineherd, taxman, alcohol researcher, hi-fi journalist and punk musician. His first Rebus novel,
Knots &Crosses,
was published in 1987 and the Rebus books have now been translated into over a dozen languages and are increasingly popular in the USA. Ian Rankin has been elected a Hawthornden Fellow, and is a past winner of the prestigious Chandler-Fulbright Award, as well as two CWA short-story ‘Daggers’ and the 1997 CWA Macallan Gold Dagger for Fiction for
Black
&
Blue,
which was also shortlisted for the Mystery Writers of America ‘Edgar’ award for best novel. Both
Black & Blue
and
The Hanging Garden
have been televised on ITV, starring John Hannah as Inspector Rebus.
Dead Souls,
the eleventh novel in the series, was shortlisted for the CWA Gold Digger Award in 1999. An Alumnus of the Year at Edinburgh University, he has also been awarded two honorary doctorates, one from the University of Abertay Dundee in 1999, and another, more recently, from the University of St Andrews. He lives in Edinburgh with his wife and two sons.
An Orion paperback
First published in Great Britain in 1993
by Headline
This paperback edition published in 2000
by Orion Books Ltd,
Orion House, 5 Upper St Martin’s Lane,
London WC2H 9EA
Reissued 2006
11
Copyright © John Rebus Limited 1993
The right of Ian Rankin to be identified as the author of
this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in
any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
permission of the copyright owner.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library.
ISBN 978 1 4091 1082 8
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Clays Ltd, St Ives plc
The Orion Publishing Group’s policy is to use papers that
are natural, renewable and recyclable products and
made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging
and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to
the environmental regulations of the country of origin.
www.orionbooks.co.uk
For Peter Robinson
‘The female of the species is more deadly than the male’
—Rudyard Kipling,
The Female of the Species
‘If woman had no existence save in the fiction written by men, one would imagine her a person of the utmost importance; very various; heroic and mean; splendid and sordid; infinitely beautiful and hideous in the extreme; as great as a man, some think even greater’
—Virginia Woolf,
A Room of One’s Own
‘A woman’s desire for revenge outlasts all her other emotions’
—Cyril Connolly
Arrival
Monday 1 June
It was a pleasure boat.
At least, that’s how owner and skipper George Crane would have described it. It had been bought for pleasure back in the late-1980s when business was thriving, money both plentiful and cheap. He’d bought it to indulge himself. His wife had nagged about the waste of money, but then she suffered from chronic sea-sickness and wouldn’t set foot on it.
She
wouldn’t set foot on it, but there were plenty of women who would. Plenty of women for George Crane and his friends. There was Liza, for example, who liked to stand on deck clad only in her bikini bottom, waving at passing vessels. God, Liza, Siren of the South Coast. Where was she now? And all the others: Gail, Tracy, Debbie, Francesca ... He smiled at the memories: of routes to France, Portugal, Spain; of trips taken around the treacherous British Isles. Trips taken with women aboard, or with women picked up en route. Wine and good food and perhaps a few lines of coke at the end of the evening. Good days, good memories. Memories of the pleasure boat
Cassandra Christa.
But no pleasure tonight, the boat gliding across a calm British Channel. This was a business trip, the client below decks. Crane hadn’t caught much more than a glimpse of her as she’d clambered aboard with her rucksack. Brian had gone to help her, but she hadn’t needed any. She was tall, he was certain of that. Dark maybe, as in dark-haired, not dark-skinned. European? He couldn’t say. Brian hadn’t been able to add much either.
‘Just asked if she could go below. Better down there than up here getting in the way.’
‘She said that?’
Brian shook his head. ‘All she said was “I’m going below”. Not even a question, more like an order.’
‘Did she sound English?’
Brian shrugged. He was a good and honest soul, unburdened by intellect. Still, he would keep his mouth shut about tonight’s work. And he came cheap, since he was already one of George Crane’s employees, one of that dwindling band. The business had overextended itself, that was the problem. Too big a loan to push the business into new areas, areas drying up just as George Crane arrived. More loans to cover the earlier loan ... It was bad luck. Still, the business would weather it.
Cassandra Christa,
however, might not. He’d put word out that she was for sale, and an ad had been placed in a couple of newspapers: one quality Sunday, one daily. There had been just the one phone call so far but it was early days, besides which maybe he wouldn’t have to sell after all. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes short of three in the morning. Crane stifled a yawn.
‘Want me to check the cargo?’ Brian asked. Crane smiled.
‘You stay where you are, you randy little sod. The cargo can look after itself.’
Crane had been told - had been
ordered—
not to be interested, not to be nosy. No chit-chat, no questions. It was just a delivery, that was all. He didn’t know quite what he’d expected. Some chisel-chinned IRA bastard or ex-pat felon. He certainly hadn’t expected a young woman. Young? Well, she
moved
like a young woman. He had to admit he was intrigued, despite the warning. The worst part would be coming up soon: the landing on the coast. But she spoke English, so that shouldn’t pose any problem even if they were stopped. A midnight cruise, take the boat out, breathe in the ozone, that sort of thing. A nod and a wink to Customs or whoever. They understood these things. The pleasure of making love on the deck of a boat, sky above, water all around. He shivered slightly. It had been a long time. The good days seemed an awful long time ago. But maybe they’d return. A few more runs like this wouldn’t go amiss. Money for old rope. And to think he’d worried about it for weeks. Shame really that he was selling the boat. But if he did a good job, a smooth job of work, they might employ his talents again. Another job or two would save the
Cassandra Christa.
Another couple of jobs like this one and he’d be home and dry.
‘Shoreline, Skip.’
‘I told you I don’t like “Skip”. Skipper’s okay.’
‘Sorry, Skipper.’
Crane nodded. Brian’s attributes included sharp night vision. Yes, there it was now. The coastline. Hythe and Sandgate probably. Folkestone just a little to the east, their destination. Folkestone was the drop-off, the danger point. Then they’d turn the boat back towards Sandgate where it had its mooring. More instructions: after depositing the cargo, head back out to sea before making for final mooring. Do not hug the coastline as this would make them more likely to be spotted.
