"It's been known."
"Perhaps you could join us tomorrow morning. We could mount you with no trouble."
"Ah, well there you have me," he said. "My uncle promised to take me deer stalking tomorrow. Have you ever tried it?"
"Deer stalking? That sounds absolutely wonderful." She turned. "Carl? I'd love to go."
"Not my style and I've business to take care of tomorrow."
Ferguson said amiably, "We'd be delighted to have you join us, my dear, that is if you have no objection, Morgan?"
"Why should I, an excellent idea."
"We'll pick you up," Ferguson said. "Nine-thirty." He raised his tweed hat. "Goodbye for now," and turned and led the way back to the Range Rover.
"Right, let's go," Morgan said, and Asta led the way to the parked station wagon.
Murdoch murmured, "A word, sir, I've an idea where Fergus might have gone."
"Is that so?" Morgan said. "All right, we'll take Miss Asta home and then you can show me."
At Ardmurchan Lodge Ferguson shrugged off his coat and went and stood with his back to the fire. "And what do you make of that?"
"The heavy blocking the door, sir, is his present minder, one Marco Russo," Hannah Bernstein said. "I checked with Immigration. He came in with Morgan. Information from the Italian police indicates he's a known Mafia enforcer and member of the Luca family."
"A thoroughly nasty bit of work if you ask me," Ferguson said and turned to Dillon. "What's all this deer stalking nonsense then?"
"You've never stalked deer, Brigadier?" Dillon shook his head. "You've never lived, and you a member of the upper classes."
"Of course I've stalked deer," Ferguson told him. "And kindly keep your fatuous comments to yourself. What I want to know is why are we taking the girl tomorrow? You obviously wanted it, which is why I asked her."
"I'm not sure," Dillon said. "I'd like to get to know her a little better. It might lead somewhere."
Hannah Bernstein said, "Dillon, get one thing straight, that is one tough, capable, and intelligent young lady. If you think she doesn't know exactly how Morgan makes his money you're fooling yourself. Observe them, use your eyes. They're a very intimate couple. I'd give you odds she knows exactly what they're doing up here."
Dillon said, "Which is exactly why I want to cultivate her."
"I agree," Ferguson said. "So we go as planned in the morning. Kim can be a gun bearer, you'll stay here and hold the fort, Chief Inspector."
"As you say, sir."
Ferguson turned to Dillon. "Anything else?"
"Yes, I've decided to pay a visit to the castle tonight. Check things out, see what's going on. Any objections?"
"Not at all. Come to think of it, it's rather a good idea." Ferguson smiled. "Strange, but Morgan's actually quite civilized when you meet him, don't you agree?"
"Not really, sir," Hannah Bernstein said. "As far as I'm concerned he's just another gangster in a good suit."
NINE
Fergussquatted on a truckle bed in the old hunting bothy at the west end of Loch Dhu and drank from a bottle of whiskey. He was no longer afraid now, the events at the pub behind him, but he was angry, particularly when he thought of Asta.
"You bitch," he said to himself. "All your fault." He drank some more whiskey. "Just wait. If I ever get my hands on you again."
There was a sudden creak, the door swung open, and Murdoch slipped in. "Here he is, sir," he said, and Morgan moved through the door behind him, a riding crop in his hand, Marco at his side.
"Now then, you piece of dirt," Morgan said.
Fergus was terrified. He got up, the bottle of whiskey in one hand. "Now look, there's no need for this, it was a mistake, I didn't know who she was."
"Mistake?" Morgan said. "Oh, yes, your mistake, you little swine." He turned. "Marco."
Marco was pulling on a pair of leather gloves. Fergus suddenly smashed the whiskey bottle, spraying the bed with its contents, and held up the jagged glass threateningly. "I'll do for you, I swear I will."
As Marco advanced, Fergus swung the bottle. The Sicilian blocked his arm to one side and punched him with sickening force under the ribs. Fergus dropped the bottle and staggered back on the bed.
Morgan said, "Leave him."
Marco stood back and Morgan went forward. "You put your filthy hands on my daughter."
He slashed Fergus across the face with his riding crop again and again, and Fergus, screaming, tried to protect himself with his raised arms. Morgan rained blow after blow, then stood back and Marco moved in again, punching Fergus in the face, sending him to the floor, kicking him with brutal efficiency.
"Enough." Marco stepped back and Fergus lay moaning on the floor. Morgan turned and found Murdoch in the doorway looking as frightened as Fergus had done. "Do you have a problem?" Morgan asked.
"No, Mr. Morgan."
"Good. Let's get going then."
He led the way outside and they got in the station wagon, Marco behind the wheel, and drove away.
It was some time later, evening falling, when Fergus appeared in the doorway. He looked dreadful, blood on his face. He stood there swaying a little and then staggered down the slope to the loch. He waded into the shallows and dropped to his knees, scooping water over his face and head. The pain in his head was terrible, the worst thing he'd ever known. It was really a merciful release when everything went dark and he fell forward into the water. • • • It was eleven o'clock and raining hard as Hannah Bernstein turned the Range Rover in beside the wall of Loch Dhu Castle. "My God," she said, "it's a miracle when it does stop raining here."
"That's bonny Scotland for you," Dillon said. He was all in black, sweater, jeans, running shoes, and now he pulled a black ski mask over his head, only his eyes and mouth showing.
"You certainly look the part," she said.
"That's the idea." He pulled on thin black leather gloves and took a Walther from the glove compartment and fitted the new short Harley silencer to it.
"For God's sake, Dillon, you aren't going to war."
"That's what you think, my lovely." He slipped the gun into his waistband and his teeth flashed in the opening of the ski mask as he smiled. "Here we go then, give me an hour," and he opened the door and was away.
The wall was only twelve feet high and simple enough to negotiate. A crumbling edge or two for footholds and he was over and dropping into damp grass. He moved through trees, came out into an area of open grass, and jogged toward the castle, finally halting in another clump of trees, looking across smooth lawn toward the lighted windows of the castle.
The rain fell relentlessly. He stood there sheltered slightly by a tree and the great oaken front door opened and Marco Russo appeared there, the Doberman at his side. Marco gave the dog a shove with his foot, obviously putting it out for the purposes of nature, then went inside. The dog stood there, sniffing the rain, then lifted a leg. Dillon gave the low, curious whistle he had used at the hunting lodge, the Doberman's ears went up, then it came bounding toward him.
He crouched, stroking its ears, allowing it to lick his hands. "Good boy," he said softly. "Now do as you're told and keep quiet."
He moved across the lawn and peered in through French windows and found Asta in the study reading a book by the fire. She made an appealing figure in a pair of black silk lounging pajamas. He moved away, the dog at his heels, looked in through a long narrow window and saw the empty hall.
He moved round to the far side and heard voices and noticed a French window standing ajar. Curtains were partly drawn, and when he peered cautiously inside, he saw Morgan and Murdoch in a large drawing room. There were several bookcases against the wall and Morgan was replacing books in one of them.
"I've been through every inch in this room, taken down every book, searched every drawer, every cupboard, and the same in the study. Not a bloody sign. What about the staff?"
"They've all got their instructions, sir, every one of them is eager to win the thousand-pound reward you promised, but nothing as yet."