"Your idea of teamwork is everyone doing what you say."

She laughed. "Fair enough. What do you think should be our next move?"

"I'll inform the health board. They're the lead agency, according to the protocol. Once they've tracked down their designated biohazard consultant, he'll want to convene a meeting here first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, we should start contacting everyone who might have seen Michael Ross. I'll get a couple of detectives phoning every number in that address book. I suggest you question every employee at the Kremlin. It would be useful to have that done by the time we meet with the health board."

"All right." Toni hesitated. She had something she had to ask Frank. His best friend was Carl Osborne, a local television reporter who valued sensation more than accuracy. If Carl got hold of this story, he would start a riot.

She knew that the way to get something from Frank was to be matter-of-fact, not appearing either assertive or needy. "There's a paragraph in the protocol I've got to mention," she began. "It says that no statements should be made to the press without first being discussed by the main interested parties, including the police, the health board, and the company."

"No problem."

"The reason I mention it is that this doesn't need to become a major public scare. The chances are that no one is in danger."

"Good."

"We don't want to hold anything back, but the publicity should be calm and measured. No one needs to panic."

Frank grinned. "You're frightened of tabloid stories about killer hamsters roaming the highlands."

"You owe me, Frank. I hope you remember."

His face darkened. "I owe you?"

She lowered her voice, although there was no one nearby. "You remember Farmer Johnny Kirk." Kirk had been a big-time cocaine importer. Born in the rough Glasgow neighborhood of Garscube Road, he had never seen a farm in his life, but got the nickname from the oversize green rubber boots he wore to ease the pain of the corns on his feet.