Witch Hunt by Ian Rankin Read Free Book Online Page B

lunged for the receiver.
    ‘Yes? Greenleaf here.’
    ‘John? Terry Willard at CC.’
    ‘Morning, Terry.’ Good. Terry Willard was one of Counterfeit Currency’s best workers. ‘What can you do for me?’
    ‘You sound chirpy for a man who must’ve been in - where was it? - Folkestone? - till all hours last night. We’re not used to getting faxes after six.’
    Greenleaf laughed and relaxed into his chair. ‘Just conscientious, Terry. So you’ve got some news, have you?’
    ‘The notes aren’t counterfeit. I’m pretty sure of that.’
    ‘Oh.’ Greenleaf tried not to sound disappointed.
    ‘Better than that, really,’ said Willard. ‘I’ve already traced them.’
    ‘What?’ Greenleaf sat forward in his chair. ‘Terry, you’re a genius. Christ, it’s not even ten o’clock yet.’
    ‘To be honest, it wasn’t the hardest work I’ve done. The computer picked the numbers out inside a couple of minutes. Those notes are ancient history. You probably wouldn’t have noticed that last night, the state most of them must have been in, but take it from me they are old banknotes. And they’ve been out of circulation for some time. We were beginning to doubt we’d ever see them again.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I mean they’re marked. The serial numbers are on record. They’re part of a kidnap pay-off.’
    ‘A kidnap?’
    ‘Best part of five years ago. In Italy. A British businessman’s daughter was kidnapped by some gang ... It’s a bit of a long story. Want me to send you over what I’ve got?’
    ‘Christ, yes. A kidnap?’ Greenleaf’s head was reeling. ‘Yes, send me what you’ve got. And Terry ... ?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I owe you a beer.’
    ‘No sweat.’
     
    Commander Trilling showed no emotion as Greenleaf told his, or rather Willard’s, story. Greenleaf’s report was in front of Trilling, as was the file sent over from Willard, and he glanced at them from time to time as the Special Branch officer recapped.
    ‘The father’s name is Gibson, sir. At the time he was an executive with the Gironi chemicals company in Turin. The daughter, Christina, was in a private school near Genoa. She disappeared during a visit to an art gallery. She was missing two days before Mr Gibson received a telephone call from the kidnappers.
    ‘By that time the Italian police were already involved. They know that when a rich businessman’s daughter goes missing, there’s usually a ransom demand somewhere at the back of it. They’d set up telephone taps at the Gibson home and the Gironi headquarters before the first call came.’
    Trilling crunched down hard on a mint and nodded.
    ‘The problem was timing,’ Greenleaf went on. ‘The gang telephoned on four occasions that first day, but never for more than eight seconds, not long enough for any tracing system to work. The first call merely stated that Christina had been kidnapped, the second identified the terrorist gang responsible, the third stated how much of a ransom was required, and the fourth was a plea from Christina herself.
    ‘Another two days passed before the gang got in touch again.’
    Trilling interrupted. ‘Was the caller male or female?’
    ‘Male, sir.’ Greenleaf had studied the case file well over the previous hour. He knew that he was leaving just enough out so that the Commander would ask him questions. He already knew the answers to those questions. It was an old trick which made you look not-quite-perfect but not too far off it either.
    ‘And the gang?’
    ‘La Croix Jaune: Yellow Cross. Nothing much about them on the files. Probably a splinter group from one of the other terrorist organisations. The name may be some obscure joke to do with the Red Brigade. They came on the scene in ’85 and seemed to disappear again in ‘88. In fact, there are doubts they ever existed at all as a group. The name may just be a cover for two or three criminals working together. Two kidnaps and two armed bank robberies. They were never