Frozen in Crime

Chapter 10 Frozen in time

'How do you know about that?' said Christopher, staring at him.

He laughed. 'Ask your friend here.'

Amaryllis frowned. 'Alarms? Cameras? Both?'

'I happened to be watching the screens as you came along. I was curious to see what you'd do... I'd have done the same. Biscuit?'

He had reached into a cupboard and brought out an ancient-looking tin decorated with some sort of royal wedding picture. Did the fact that he could go straight to the biscuit tin mean he was less likely to be a burglar? Christopher wasn't sure. Mal could have checked out the cupboards before they arrived. In the intervals between watching the security screens and doing whatever else he was doing.

There were ordinary-looking mugs with stripes, and a non-matching plate for the biscuits. The coffee was instant. Unless this really was the servants' quarters, the owner of this big house didn't live in the lap of luxury. But then, just keeping up this kind of place must take a lot of resources. There probably wasn't any money left over for interior design, coffee machines or fine china.

As Mal measured out the coffee, poured on the hot water and got milk out of the fridge, Christopher noticed Amaryllis studying the maps on the table. Apparently absent-mindedly, she got out her phone and took some pictures of them before Mal turned round again. Smartphones must be a godsend to spies, Christopher mused. They didn't even make much of a sound when they took photographs.

'I'll get these out of the way,' said Mal a moment later, folding them together quickly and moving them to one end of the table to make room for the mugs and the biscuit tin.

Christopher sipped at his coffee, although it was too hot to drink. He had an almost irresistible urge to jump up and get out of the place as soon as he could, but without arousing suspicion on Mal's part, of course. Amaryllis, on the other hand, seemed completely relaxed. She made idle conversation about the house.

'So, are all the rooms habitable?'

'What do you think? It isn't a ruin. People have fought very hard over the centuries to keep it standing.'

'How many rooms altogether?'

'Oh, I don't know. I've lost count. There are fifteen bedrooms, for a start. Then there are reception rooms downstairs - some of them are parlours, some are small sitting-rooms. A dining-room big enough to hold a banquet, of course. A small ball-room...'

'Is it open to the public at all?' said Amaryllis casually.

Christopher decided her questions weren't idle at all, but were definitely leading somewhere. Was she trying to establish whether Mal belonged here or not? He certainly seemed to know his way around, unless he was making up all his answers, which was always a possibility.

'Not really,' said Mal. 'The owner likes his privacy. But the gardens are famous for their snowdrops, so they open a few times in early spring. Mid-January, February, that kind of time.'

Christopher desperately wanted to ask Mal what he was doing in the house, but he was slightly wary of this former soldier with his grand plans and his inspiring past. He could probably kill with one blow, and there was no telling which side Amaryllis might be on in a fight. Well, he hoped she would rally round to protect him, of course, but he was conscious of a lingering doubt about that in some remote corner of his mind.

'Another biscuit?' said Mal, waving the tin in front of Christopher with a smile that was either warm and friendly or devious and sinister, depending on how you looked at it.

'And what about the rest of the grounds?' Amaryllis enquired. 'Is there a swimming-pool? Or a croquet lawn? A deer park?'

Mal laughed and held up his hand to stop her. 'Enough! Yes, there's a small deer park. Stables, round the back. No swimming-pool - did you seriously expect one in this climate?'

There was a pause in which Christopher drank the rest of his coffee very quickly, and hoped Amaryllis would do the same so that they could leave.

'Any more questions?' said Mal. 'More coffee? Or do you want to get on your way?'

'Is there a reasonable mobile signal up here?' said Amaryllis. 'We'll need to phone someone for help with the car.'

'It should be ok,' said Mal.

He showed no sign of wanting to keep them there, and he seemed to be trying not to give the impression of hustling them out the door, but Christopher sensed that he did want rid of them. Of course, if he was a burglar - and that was still possible if he had hurriedly memorized the number of bedrooms and the list of outdoor amenities - he must be waiting to leave too, with his swag. There should be some way of challenging him about that without either committing a major social faux pas or running into danger, but Christopher couldn't immediately think of it.

'We'd better get on, then,' said Amaryllis. 'If you do see Dave anywhere about - he's big and elderly, but don't tell him I said that - please could you let the police know? In Pitkirtly?'

'I certainly could,' said Mal. 'But I doubt if he'd be able to get on to the estate. Not without wire cutters.'

He smiled as if to indicate that there were no hard feelings, and showed them out.

After they had gone down the front steps, taking their time because there was a layer of ice everywhere, Christopher breathed out at last.

'What was he doing there?'

'He seemed very much at home,' said Amaryllis in a neutral tone.

'You don't sound too sure of that.'

'I'm reserving judgement,' she said.

'Do you want to break in round at the back? See if you can find out any more?'

'Don't be silly. He isn't up to anything. If we'd asked, we would probably have found he's the gamekeeper's son and he's house-sitting for the laird or something. What else could it be, with his history?'

'What, his history of swanning around Afghanistan with a rifle, you mean?' said Christopher.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Well, you know - maybe he needs the excitement. Maybe he misses the adrenalin rush of being in danger. He could easily have broken into the house - for kicks or because he needed the money.'

'Look! - there's a deer!' said Amaryllis, ignoring him and pointing over to the left. He peered into the night. A shadow moved in the distance. It could have been a deer, a fox, a rabbit, a tiger, anything.

'Why did you photograph the maps?' asked Christopher.

She shrugged. 'Because they were there.'

It wasn't much of an answer; there must be more to it than that. He resolved to follow it up later – if he remembered, what with Christmas and the weather and everything.

They plodded back towards the gates. There were two men just outside, standing patiently at the far side as if they were waiting for a bus.

'Oh, great, that's all we need,' said Amaryllis crossly.

As they got closer, Christopher saw that the men were Charlie Smith and the young constable he had had with him at the Queen of Scots. They were swathed in layers of police clothing and looked about twice the size they had done earlier.

'Have you found Dave yet?' he asked hopefully.

They shook their heads in unison, the snow on their hats causing a minor blizzard.

'What are you doing here?' said Amaryllis.

'Oh, we wanted to see Lord Murray. But he isn't answering his phone,' said Chief Inspector Smith.

'He isn't there,' said Amaryllis. 'It's just one of the gamekeeper's sons. House-sitting.'

qx>;