Whiteout (26 page)

DAISY drained her cup of tea and filled it up again with whisky.

Kit felt unbearably tense. Nigel and Elton might be able to keep up the pretense of being innocent travelers accidentally stranded, but Daisy was hopeless. She looked like a gangster and acted like a hooligan.

When she put the bottle down on the kitchen table, Stanley picked it up. “Don't get drunk, there's a good girl,” he said mildly. He stoppered the bottle.

Daisy was not used to people telling her what to do. Mostly they were too frightened. She looked at Stanley as if she was ready to kill him. He was elegantly vulnerable in his gray pajamas and black robe. Kit waited for the explosion.

“A little whisky makes you feel better, but a lot makes you feel worse,” Stanley said. He put the bottle in a cupboard. “My father used to say that, and he was fond of whisky.”

Daisy was suppressing her rage. The effort was visible to Kit. He feared what might happen if she should lose it. Then the tension was broken by his sister Miranda, who came in wearing a pink nightgown with a flower pattern.

Stanley said, “Hello, my dear, you're up early.”

“I couldn't sleep. I've been on the sleepchair in Kit's old study. Don't ask why.” She looked at the strangers. “It's early for Christmas visitors.”

“This is my daughter Miranda,” Stanley said. “Mandy, meet Nigel, Elton, and Daisy.”

A few minutes ago, Kit had introduced them to his father and, before he realized his mistake, he had given their real names.

Miranda nodded to them. “Did Santa bring you?” she said brightly.

Kit explained. “Their car died on the main road near our turnoff. I picked them up, then my car gave out, too, and we walked the rest of the way here.” Would she believe it? And would she ask about the burgundy leather briefcase that stood on the kitchen table like a bomb?

She questioned a different aspect of the story. “I didn't know you'd left the house—where on earth did you go, in the middle of the night, in this weather?”

“Oh, you know.” Kit had thought about how he would respond to this question, and now he put on a sheepish grin. “Couldn't sleep, felt lonely, went to look up an old girlfriend in Inverburn.”

“Which one? Most of the young women in Inverburn are old girlfriends of yours.”

“I don't think you know her.” He thought of a name quickly. “Lisa Fremont.” He almost bit his tongue. She was a character in a Hitchcock movie.

Miranda did not react to the name. “Was she pleased to see you?”

“She wasn't in.”

Miranda turned away and picked up the coffeepot.

Kit wondered whether she believed him. The story he had made up was not really good enough. However, Miranda could not possibly guess
why
he was lying. She would assume he was involved with a woman he didn't want people to know about—probably someone's wife.

While Miranda was pouring coffee, Stanley addressed Nigel. “Where are you from? You don't sound Scots.” It seemed like small talk, but Kit knew his father was probing.

Nigel answered in the same relaxed tone. “I live in Surrey, work in London. My office is in Canary Wharf.”

“You're in the financial world.”

“I source high-tech systems for third-world countries, mainly the Middle East. A young oil sheik wants his own discotheque and doesn't know where to buy the gear, so he comes to me and I solve his problem.” It sounded pat.

Miranda brought her coffee to the table and sat opposite Daisy. “What nice gloves,” she said. Daisy was wearing expensive-looking light brown suede gloves that were soaking wet. “Why don't you dry them?”

Kit tensed. Any conversation with Daisy was hazardous.

Daisy gave a hostile look, but Miranda did not see it, and persisted. “You need to stuff them, so they'll keep their shape,” she said. She took a roll of paper towel from the counter. “Here, use this.”

“I'm fine,” Daisy muttered angrily.

Miranda raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Have I said something to offend you?”

Kit thought, Oh, God, here it comes.

Nigel stepped in. “Don't be daft, Daisy, you don't want to spoil your gloves.” There was an edge of insistence in his voice, making the words sound more like an order than a suggestion. He was as worried as Kit. “Do what the lady says, she's being nice to you.”

Once again, Kit waited for the explosion. But, to his surprise, Daisy took off her gloves. Kit was astonished to see that she had small, neat hands. He had never noticed that. The rest of her was brutish: the black eye makeup, the broken nose, the zippered jacket, the boots. But her hands were beautiful, and she obviously knew it, for they were well manicured, with clean nails and a pale pink nail varnish. Kit was bemused. Somewhere inside that monster there was an ordinary girl, he realized. What had happened to her? She had been brought up by Harry Mac, that was what.

Miranda helped her stuff the wet gloves with paper towel. “How are you three connected?” she asked Daisy. Her tone was conventionally polite, as if she were making conversation at a dinner party, but she was probing. Like Stanley, she had no idea how dangerous it was.

Daisy looked panicked. She made Kit think of a schoolgirl being questioned on homework she has forgotten to do. Kit wanted to fill the
awkward silence, but it would look odd if he answered for her. After a moment, Nigel spoke. “Daisy's father is an old friend of mine.”

That was fine, Kit thought, though Miranda would wonder why Daisy could not have said it herself.

Nigel added, “And Elton works for me.”

Miranda smiled at Elton. “Right-hand man?”

“Driver,” he replied brusquely. Kit reflected that it was a good thing Nigel was personable—he had to supply enough charm for the three of them.

Stanley said, “Well, I'm sorry the weather has turned out so poorly for your Christmas in Scotland.”

Nigel smiled. “If I'd wanted to sunbathe, I would have gone to Barbados.”

“You and Daisy's father must be good friends, to spend Christmas together.”

Nigel nodded. “We go way back.”

It seemed obvious to Kit that Nigel was lying. Was that because he knew the truth? Or was it apparent to Stanley and Miranda, too? Kit could not sit still any longer: the strain was unbearable. He jumped up. “I'm hungry,” he said. “Dad, is it okay if I scramble some eggs for everyone?”

“Of course.”

“I'll give you a hand,” Miranda said. She put sliced bread in the toaster.

Stanley said, “Anyway, I hope the weather improves soon. When were you planning to return to London?”

Kit got a pack of bacon out of the fridge. Was his father suspicious, or merely curious?

“Heading back on Boxing Day,” Nigel said.

“A short Christmas visit,” Stanley commented, still gently challenging the story.

Nigel shrugged. “Work to do, you know.”

“You may have to stay longer than you anticipated. I can't see them clearing the roads by tomorrow.”

The thought seemed to make Nigel anxious. He pushed up the sleeve of his pink sweater and looked at his watch.

Kit realized he needed to do something to show he was not in league with Nigel and the other two. As he began to make breakfast, he resolved not to defend or excuse the strangers. On the contrary, he should question Nigel skeptically, as if he mistrusted the story. He might deflect suspicion from himself by pretending that he, too, was dubious about the strangers.

Before he could put his resolution into practice, Elton suddenly became talkative. “How about your Christmas, Professor?” he said. Kit had introduced his father as Professor Oxenford. “Got your family all around you, it seems. What, two children?”

“Three.”

“With husbands and wives, of course.”

“My daughters have partners. Kit's single.”

“And grandchildren?”

“Yes.”

“How many? If you don't mind me asking.”

“I don't mind in the least. I have four grandchildren.”

“Are all the grandkids here?”

“Yes.”

“That's nice for you and Mrs. Oxenford.”

“My wife died eighteen months ago, sadly.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

What was this interrogation about? Kit asked himself. Elton was smiling and leaning forward, as if his questions were motivated by nothing more than friendly curiosity, but Kit could see that it was a charade, and he wondered anxiously whether that was just as obvious to his father.

Elton had not finished. “This must be a big house, to sleep, what, ten of you?”

“We have some outbuildings.”

“Oh, handy.” He looked out of the window, although the snow made it difficult to see anything. “Guest cottages, like.”

“There's a cottage and a barn.”

“Very useful. And staff quarters, I presume.”

“Our staff have a cottage a mile or so away. I doubt if we'll see them today.”

“Oh. Shame.” Elton lapsed into silence again—having carefully established exactly how many people were on the property.

Kit wondered if anyone else had noticed that.

THE snowplow was a Mercedes truck with a blade hooked to its front attachment plate. It had “Inverburn Plant Hire” on its side and flashing orange lights on its roof, but to Toni it looked like a winged chariot from heaven.

The blade was angled to push the snow to the side of the road. The plow quickly cleared the drive from the gatehouse to the main entrance of the Kremlin, its blade lifting automatically to clear speed bumps. By the time it stopped at the main entrance, Toni had her coat on, ready to go. It was four hours since the thieves had left—but if they had got stuck in the snow, they could still be caught.

The plow was followed by three police cars and an ambulance. The ambulance crew came in first. They took Susan out on a stretcher, though she said she could walk. Don refused to go. “If a Scotsman went to hospital every time he got a kick in the head, the doctors could never cope,” he said.

Frank came in wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and a tie. He had even found time to shave, probably in the car. Toni saw the grim expression on his face and realized with dismay that he was spoiling for a fight. No doubt he resented being forced by his superiors to do what Toni wanted. She told herself to be patient and avoid a showdown.

Toni's mother looked up from petting the puppy and said, “Hello, Frank! This is a surprise. Are you and Toni getting back together?”

“Not today,” he muttered.

“Shame.”

Frank was followed by two detectives carrying large briefcases—a crime-scene team, Toni presumed. Frank nodded to Toni and shook hands with Carl Osborne, but spoke to Steve. “You're the guard supervisor?”

“Aye. Steve Tremlett. You're Frank Hackett, I've met you before.”

“I gather four guards were assaulted.”

“Me and three others, aye.”

“Did all the assaults take place in the same location?”

What was Frank doing? Toni wondered impatiently. Why was he asking trivial questions when they needed to get going right away?

Steve answered, “Susan was attacked in the corridor. I was tripped up in about the same place. Don and Stu were held at gunpoint and tied up in the control room.”

“Show me both places, please.”

Toni was astonished. “We need to go after these people, Frank. Why don't you leave this to your team?”

“Don't tell me how to do the job,” he replied. He looked pleased that she had given him an opportunity to put her down. She groaned inwardly. This was not the time to rerun their marital conflicts. He turned back to Steve and said, “Lead the way.”

Toni suppressed a curse and followed along. So did Carl Osborne.

The detectives put crime-scene tape across the corridor where Steve had been tripped up and Susan had been blackjacked. Then they went to the control room, where Stu was watching the monitors. Frank taped the doorway.

Steve said, “All four of us were tied up and taken inside the BSL4 facility. Not the laboratory itself, just the lobby.”

“Which is where I found them,” Toni added. “But that was four hours ago—and the perpetrators are getting farther away every minute.”

“We'll take a look at that location.”

“No, you won't,” Toni said. “It's a restricted area. You can see it on monitor nineteen.”

“If it's not the actual laboratory, I presume there's no danger.”

He was right, but Toni was not going to let him waste more time. “No one is allowed past the door without biohazard training. That's the protocol.”

“Hell with your protocol, I'm in charge here.”

Toni realized she had inadvertently done what she had vowed to avoid: gone head-to-head with Frank. She tried to sidestep the issue. “I'll take you to the door.”

They went to the entrance. Frank looked at the card reader, then said to Steve, “I'm ordering you to give me your pass.”

Steve said, “I don't have a pass. Security guards aren't allowed in.”

Frank turned to Toni. “Do you have a pass?”

“I've done biohazard training.”

“Give me your pass.”

She handed it over. Frank waved it at the scanner then pushed the door. It remained locked. He pointed at the small screen on the wall. “What's that?”

“A fingerprint reader. The pass won't work without the correct fingerprint. It's a system we installed to prevent foolish people getting in with stolen cards.”

“It didn't stop the thieves tonight, did it?” Having scored a point, Frank turned on his heel.

Toni followed him. Back in the Great Hall there were two men in yellow high-visibility jackets and rubber boots, smoking. Toni thought at first that they were snowplow operators, but when Frank began to brief them she realized they were police officers. “You check every vehicle you pass,” he said. “Radio in the registration number, and we'll find out whether it's stolen or rented. Tell us if there's anyone in the cars. You know what we're looking for—three men and a woman. Whatever you do, don't approach the occupants. These laddies have guns, and you don't, so you're strictly reconnaissance. There's an armed response unit on its way. If we can locate the perpetrators, we'll send them in. Is that clear?”

The two men nodded.

“Go north and take the first turnoff. I think they headed east.”

Toni knew that was wrong. She was reluctant to confront Frank again,
but she could not let the reconnaissance team go the wrong way. He would be furious, but she had to do it. She said, “The thieves didn't head east.”

Frank ignored her. “That takes you to the main road for Glasgow.”

Toni said again, “The perpetrators didn't go that way.”

The two constables watched the exchange with interest, looking from Frank to Toni and back like spectators at a tennis match.

Frank reddened. “No one asked your opinion, Toni.”

“They didn't take that route,” she persisted. “They continued north.”

“I suppose you reached that conclusion by feminine intuition?”

One of the constables laughed.

Why do you lead with your chin? Toni thought. She said calmly, “The getaway vehicle is in the car park of the Dew Drop Inn, on this road five miles north.”

Frank turned redder, embarrassed because she knew something he did not. “And how did you acquire this information?”

“Detective work.” I was a better cop than you, and I still am, she thought; but she kept the thought to herself. “I phoned around. Better than intuition.” You asked for that, you bastard.

The constable laughed again, then smothered it when Frank glared at him.

Toni added, “The thieves might be at the motel, but more likely they switched cars there and drove on.”

Frank suppressed his fury. “Go to the motel,” he said to the two constables. “I'll give you further orders when you're on the road. On your way.”

They hurried out. At last, Toni thought.

Frank summoned a plainclothes detective from one of the cars and told him to follow the snowplow to the motel, check out the van, and find out whether anyone there had seen anything.

Toni turned her mind to the next step. She wanted to stay in close touch with the police operation. But she had no car. And Mother was still here.

She saw Carl Osborne talking quietly to Frank. Carl pointed at his Jaguar, still stuck halfway up the drive. Frank nodded, and said
something to a uniformed officer, who went outside and spoke to the snowplow driver. They were going to free Carl's car, Toni guessed.

Toni addressed Carl. “You're going with the snowplow.”

He looked smug. “It's a free country.”

“Don't forget to take the puppy.”

“I was planning to leave him with you.”

“I'm coming with you.”

“You're out of your mind.”

“I need to get to Stanley's house. It's on this road, five miles beyond the Dew Drop Inn. You can leave me and Mother there.” After she had briefed Stanley, she could borrow a car from him, leave Mother at Steepfall, and follow the snowplow.

“You want me to take your mother, too?” Carl said incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Forget it.”

Toni nodded. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

He frowned, suspicious of her ready acceptance of his refusal; but he said no more, and put on his coat.

Steve Tremlett opened his mouth to speak, but Toni discreetly flapped her hand at him in a “Keep quiet” gesture.

Carl went to the door.

Toni said, “Don't forget the puppy.”

He picked up the dog and went out to his car.

Toni watched through the windows as the convoy moved off. The snowplow cleared the pile in front of Carl's Jaguar, then climbed the slope to the gatehouse. One police car followed. Carl sat in his car for a moment, then got out again and returned to the Great Hall.

“Where are my keys?” he said angrily.

Toni smiled sweetly. “Have you changed your mind about taking me?”

Steve jingled the bunch of keys in his pocket.

Carl made a sour face. “Get in the damn car,” he said.