‘For God’s sake. This is not dinner with the Borgias.’
‘No, but I’ve invited my friends over from Glasgow and I don’t want them seeing my son flopping about trying not to puke over his shoes.’
‘You would think I was sixteen again, not a thirty-two-year-old man with a family,’ Oliver said.
‘Some people never rise up to the Wolf mantle. I’m afraid to say, my son is one of them,’ Murdo said. He turned to face Boxer again. ‘Unlike this fine young man. He was out in the blowing snow, getting us wood. That’s a real man. Good job there, my friend.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘There will be a hefty bonus for Christmas.’
‘There’s no need, sir,’ Boxer said, standing up.
‘Of course there is. You work for me. That makes you family.’ Murdo smiled at his son, but there was only malice there. He had made the comment to Boxer just to rile his son.
‘Come on, let’s get along to the hotel.’ He turned to Boxer again. ‘Bring the family, Crail. I’d like to see your wife again. And those little boys of yours. How old are they now?’
‘Just turned five months, sir.’
‘Bring them along, have some dinner with us. There’s going to be a lot of people there.’
‘I think the wife is going to be putting the babies to bed shortly.’
‘Okay then, my friend. But you bring them around here any time. You’re always welcome here.’
‘I will, sir, thank you.’
‘Right,’ Murdo said to Oliver, and he threw back the remains of the whisky in his glass. ‘Let’s get moving. This is going to be one night you’re not going to forget.’
The car was waiting outside. Murdo’s wife had been dead for two years and he felt it at this time of year. Birthdays too, but that was more personal.. Christmas was a family thing, and he felt her absence more with each passing year.
The hotel was down a snow-covered road. Boxer was driving the lead car. He was a driver for the family, amongst other things. The wheels slipped but Boxer kept control.
‘See that lad? Keeping it together,’ Murdo said.
Oliver and Deal were sitting in the back of the big car.
‘It’s not a long drive,’ Oliver replied.
‘And? You would have had us through a fucking hedge. Boxer there is the main man. Eh, son?’ Murdo smiled at Boxer, who didn’t reply but kept his eyes on the road ahead.
They turned into the big car park at the front of the hotel. Christmas lights were on a tree at the front window and strung across the façade.
‘Beautiful. I love this place. There’s nowhere else like it on this earth,’ Murdo said to no one in particular.
They got out of the warmth into the falling snow. Whoever had ploughed the front had done a good job, but the snow was coming down faster than anybody could keep it clear.
‘Right, let’s get inside. And remember, Oliver: try to keep it together, son.’
Oliver and Deal followed the old man into the hotel. Boxer parked the car and followed them in. They shook off the little bit of snow that had fallen on them.
‘Now, then, where’re my friends?’ Murdo said as the hotel manager came across to greet them.
‘This way, sir. In the ballroom.’
The room was filled with people, while a band played at one end. The drinks were flowing, there was a buffet set up and the guests were all having a good time, with Murdo footing the bill.
They were pleased to see him.
‘Drunken old sod,’ Oliver said.
‘Don’t take it to heart, old friend,’ said Deal. ‘You know what your father is like. Besides, he’s not had that much to drink.’
‘Enough to make his mouth rattle.’
‘Come on, I think I see a couple of women we know. Let’s have a dance and something to eat. I’m going to enjoy myself.’
While Oliver and Deal went to talk to their friends, Murdo was pulled aside by the hotel manager.
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but two of your guests can’t make it. The ferry was cancelled and they’re stuck in Oban.’
‘What?’ Murdo said, his voice just a little too loud. ‘Who is it?’
‘Major Deacon and his wife, and Mark Ferrier.’
‘Deac and Ferret? Jesus, no. That’s not acceptable.’
‘What is it, Dad?’ Oliver said, coming across to his father, thinking that he had received bad news.
‘Nothing. Just a couple of friends of mine can’t make it.’
Oliver saw it was nothing important and went back to dancing.
Murdo strode out of the room and nobody gave him a second glance.
He was fuming, just like he always was when he didn’t get his own way.
He left, walking into the snow.
‘What happened next?’ Dunbar asked as Thomas Deal seemed to have stalled in his story.
He looked at the two detectives. Then seemed to sense he was back in the here and now. ‘What? Oh. Yes, well, there was a lull in the music when we all heard the small plane fly overhead. It was so low, I thought it was going to crash into the roof of the hotel.’
‘How did you find out it was Murdo flying the plane?’
‘We went out, Oliver and I, and saw the car we had come in sitting at the end of the airstrip with its lights on. God knows how he had done it, but he’d got that plane lifted off the airstrip in heavy snow. I didn’t even know how the wheels managed to get through, but then somebody told us that Murdo insisted that the airstrip was kept clear of snow all the time. It hadn’t long been ploughed.’
‘You were sure it was Murdo in the plane?’ Harry asked.
‘Oh, yes. He asked the control tower over at the airport for permission to take off. It was granted, then off he went. The plane was only on radar for a few minutes before disappearing. It was at first light
