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 arc 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 rhe 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.
5 AM
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.