Hamish Macbeth 13 (1997) - Death of a Dentist (8 page)

In despair, he phoned the doctor’s number and when Angela had stopped laughing, she said she would drop in and see what she could do.

Hamish glanced anxiously at the clock. He had spent a long time getting ready and it was now a quarter to eight When Angela knocked at the kitchen door, he called, “Come in!” and went to meet her. She giggled at the sight of Hamish still glued to the sole of the shoe. “What am I to do?” demanded Hamish, exasperated.

“Sit down and don’t panic,” said Angela soothingly. She guided him to a kitchen chair. “Nail varnish remover should do the trick.”

She fished in a capacious handbag and brought out a bottle of nail varnish remover and a packet of cotton balls. She soaked one of the balls in the remover and worked busily until Hamish found his hand free.

“Angela, you’re a wonder. I’d better just put my boots on.”

“Your police boots, Hamish? I hope it’s not a heavy date. Oh, I know, it’s that pretty girl who’s staying up at the Tommel Castle Hotel.”

“How did you know that?”

“Willie told everyone.”

“Willie would,” said Hamish bitterly. “No one will notice my boots. I’m meeting her at the restaurant. My feet will be under the table.”

“How’s that murder case?”

“I wouldnae know, Angela. They say, go and interview Miss or Mrs. so-and-so and I go and type up my report, but I never see the other statements.”

“Gilchrist was having an affair with Maggie Bane.”

“How did you find that out?”

“Highland gossip.”

“Not very reliable. Good-looking woman. Always gossip.”

“I cannot reveal my source, copper, but it’s a pretty reliable one. Red-hot passion which seemed to be cooling off recently. They had a noisy scene in a pub down in Inverness about two months ago. Maggie was weeping and he was looking irritated.”

“And someone from Lochdubh happened to be in the pub at the time?”

Angela nodded.

“But Maggie Bane! I would have thought it a coldblooded murder by a pretty powerful man or men. That’s it! It might have been more than one person.”

Angela looked around the kitchen. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes and the table was covered with dirty coffee cups.

“I hope you aren’t planning on bringing her back here, Hamish. The place looks like a slum.”

Hamish coloured. “I haff had my mind on the other things.”

“I’d help you, but I have to get back and put dinner on the table.”

Hamish looked at his watch and let out a squawk of alarm. “Thanks, Angela. I’ll need to hurry or I’ll be late.”

Soon he was heading along the waterfront in the direction of the restaurant, feeling his regulation boots getting bigger and clumsier by the minute.

Sarah was already there and seated at the table by the window. She was wearing a scarlet wool dress and an expensive pair of ruby and gold earrings.

Hamish, struck afresh by her beauty, felt suddenly shy.

“I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late,” he said, sitting down opposite her. “I was on this murder case.”

“Oh, how’s that going?”

Willie came up with menus. They both ordered, and when Willie had left, Hamish said ruefully, “I’m not doing very well. Och, I may as well tell you. My one pair of good shoes had the sole hanging loose on one of them and I tried to stick it with Stickfast Glue and got stuck to the damn thing and had to wait for the doctor’s wife to come and free me.”

Sarah laughed. “I did notice the big boots when you came in the door and thought you’d forgotten to change them.”

“I don’t often dress up,” said Hamish. A picture of Priscilla came into his mind and he looked out the window. In that moment, she felt so near to him that he half expected to see her walking along outside.

Sarah looked at his sad face curiously and then said, “This case is getting you down.”

“You could say that. It’s the first time I’ve felt so frustrated at being an ordinary copper who’s kept out of things. Before I’ve found out the pathologist’s report by phoning tip and pretending to be Detective Chief Inspector Blair. I’ve found out about statements by plying another detective with whisky, but somehow I can’t be bothered pulling any of those tricks again.”

She studied him for a few moments and then asked, “Do you have a computer at the police station?”

“Yes, we’re all computerised now.”

“Did I tell you my job with the consultancy firm?”

“No, I thought you advised people on finances.”

“I’m a systems analyst. That’s how I met Priscilla. I was giving lectures on computers a few years ago at a business college.”

Willie brought their food. He hovered around the table after he had served it, obviously hoping to be included in their conversation, but the restaurant was busy that night, and so he soon moved off.

“How is Priscilla?” asked Hamish.

“Very well as far as I could gamer. Lots of social life.”

“Got a steady boyfriend?”

“She’s been seen around with a stockbroker.”

Hamish picked at his food.

“Was there something between you and Priscilla?” she asked gently, after studying his downcast face.

“No, no,” he lied. He suddenly wanted to forget about Priscilla. Her ghost was ruining the evening.

She wound a piece of tagliatelle neatly round her fork. “I might be able to help you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just suppose I could hack into the main computer at police headquarters, would you think that was illegal?”

Hamish’s face brightened. “Och, no. I mean I am a policeman. I’m on this case in a way. It would save me a lot of bother. Could you do that?”

“I don’t know. I could try.”

“That would be grand.” Hamish suddenly remembered the mess his home was in, but he thought that if he put her off and left it until the following day, she might change her mind.

“What is your superior officer like and what is his name?” asked Sarah.

“That’s Detective Chief Inspector Blair, a Glaswegian, thick neck, trouble with booze, nasty. Wants me to solve cases for him but disnae want to give me any information unless he has to. I don’t want to spoil this nice evening talking about him. Do you have a steady boyfriend?” he asked.

“No.” That no was abrupt and the shutters were down over her eyes.

He said quickly, “Have you been this far north before?”

“Do you know, this is the first time I’ve ever been in Scotland, let alone this far north. It’s another world, isn’t it? I’ve walked in parts of Sutherland where you can look right and left and see nothing made by man. It’s a scary feeling, like being on another planet. And the wind up here frightens me. You’re walking along on a still day, then there’s a little breeze and then without warning, a full gale hurtles out of nowhere, shouting and yelling and racing across the heavens. You walk forward against it at an angle while it tears at you like a live thing. And then it suddenly dies as abruptly as it had sprung up.”

“When do you plan to move on?”

“In a few days’ time. I must confess it’s wonderful to have comfort again. But all the walking has done me good. It’s a relief to get away from everything.”

They ate in companionable silence for a while and then she asked, “Why do people kill people?”

“If it’s Strathbane, then ten to one it’s because of drink or drugs. Mostly domestic. Husband gets drunk and comes home and beats his wife and doesn’t know when to stop. But when it’s a murder in a small town, then it’s usually passion or money.”

“And what do you think it is in this case?”

“I don’t know enough. It turns out that the dentist’s receptionist, Maggie Bane, might have been having an affair with him. But she couldn’t have committed the murder because she went out to do some errands between ten and eleven o’clock.”

“Could the murder have been done before then?”

He shook his head. “Gilchrist had a patient, a Mrs. Harrison, just before Maggie Bane went out. He was alive and well at ten o’clock.”

“I would like to get started,” she said. “You can give me coffee at the police station.”

Curious Highland eyes watched them leave. Willie sprang to open the restaurant door and then leaned out and watched the couple as they walked along the waterfront and turned in at the police station.

“She’s gone home with him,” he announced to the assembled diners. The locals grinned, except for a visitor, a heavyset man who was dining with a girl who was not his wife, who felt uneasy at this sign of village gossip.

Hamish switched on the light in the kitchen. “This is cosy,” said Sarah, taking off her jacket.

The kitchen was gleaming and the wood stove was burning merrily. All the dishes had been washed. A note lay on the table. Hamish picked it up and read it. “Have fun, Angela.” He crumpled it quickly in his hand and stuffed it into his pocket.

“I’ll make us some coffee and then take you through to the computer. Milk and sugar?”

“Just black, please.”

He made two mugs of coffee and then led her through to the police office. She sat down in front of the computer. “I think you’d better go away and read a book or something, Hamish. This might take some time.”

“There’s nothing I can do?”

“Nothing but wait and pray.”

Hamish went through to his living room. Angela had cleared all the dead ash out of the fireplace and set it ready to light. He put a match to it and sat down in front of the crackling blaze. He then rose and switched on the television set. An alternative comedian was telling bad jokes. Alternative in Hamish’s mind meant humourless. He switched the channel. On BBC2 was a wildlife programme and he knew some creature was going to rend and destroy some other creature before the end of it. He switched again. There was a Victorian drama running which he knew would probably mean explicit sex under the corsets. There must have been a good few families in Victorian times who led blameless lives, but not according to television. The last channel available was showing a buddy-buddy, black cop, white cop bonding movie. Hamish settled back happily to watch fictional mayhem in the streets of Los Angeles.

Gradually his eyes began to close and then he plunged down into a deep, dark dream where he was in the dentist’s chair and Gilchrist was leaning over him brandishing the drill. “This won’t hurt,” said Gilchrist, shaking his shoulder.

Hamish awoke with a start to find that it was Sarah who was shaking him by the shoulder, holding a sheaf of paper.

“Success!” she said. “I just printed out everything I thought you might want.”

Hamish rubbed his eyes and sat up straight. “This is marvellous,” he said, blinking at the sheaf of papers.

“The pathologist’s report is on top,” said Sarah proudly.

Hamish rose and switched off the television and then looked in amazement at the clock. “I am sorry, lassie. It’s gone two in the morning.”

“I can sleep late tomorrow. Read the pathologist’s report first.”

Hamish sat down again and began to read carefully. “There iss the thing,” he said at last. “Nicotine poisoning, and the man didn’t smoke. He was hoisted into the chair and his teeth drilled after death. My! I don’t know a thing about nicotine poisoning.”

“I believe you can get enough nicotine out of three cigars if you have the right equipment,” said Sarah, sinking into an armchair. “I remember we did an experiment in the lab at school. The teacher wanted us to see how much gunk came out of a single cigarette.”

“Maggie Bane was a physics student.”

“Doesn’t mean she was a chemistry student.”

“But surely it’s the same sort of thing.”

“Not really,” said Sarah. “I had a friend who was brilliant at physics at school but who nearly failed his chemistry exams.”

“It would need to be someone then with access to lab equipment.”

“I don’t know if it would be that difficult. Any school lab equipment would do. Something like a still would do as well.”

“A still! I’m sure there’s plenty o’ illegal stills about the Highlands. In fact, I’ve an idea how I can find out where one is. Can I run you back to the hotel and then I’ll sit up and go through these. How did you get to the restaurant?”

“I walked.”

Hamish looked at her high heels. “It’s quite a way. I should have collected you. I wasnae thinking straight. How did you manage to break into the main police computer?”

She grinned. “Trade secret.”

He grinned back, liking her immensely, but too excited about the papers in his hand to indulge in any more carnal thoughts.

He drove her back through the night to the Tommel Castle Hotel.

“He’s at it again,” said Nessie Currie to her sister as she let the curtain fall back into place.

“Who? Who?” demanded her sister, Jessie, from the darkness of the double bed.

“You sound like an owl,” said Nessie. “That Hamish Macbeth, that’s who it was, driving that lassie who’s staying at the Tommel Castle.”

“Priscilla was too good for him, too good for him. He’s a philanderer. Poor Priscilla, poor Priscilla.”

Sarah got down from the police Land Rover, went round to the driver’s side and standing on tiptoe, kissed Hamish on the cheek through the open window.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be out and about on my rounds,” said Hamish. “I’d like to talk to you about what I’ve read. I’ll call you around lunchtime.”

He waved and drove back to the police station and then settled down to read all the statements.

Jeannie Gilchrist, the dentist’s ex-wife, had told the CID pretty much what she had told him. Mrs. Harrison’s statement seemed even madder than anything she had said to him. Now to Maggie Bane. His eyes widened. There was nothing in her statement to say that she ever had any relationship with Gilchrist. Surely she knew that in the Highlands very little could be kept secret. And if the police found out she had actually been having an affair with Gilchrist, they would suspect her even more. Mrs. Albert, the woman who had come with her small son, Jamie, just after Hamish had found the body, stated that she had never been to Gilchrist before. She’d heard some stories that he’d ‘mucked-up’ people’s teeth, but she hadn’t the time or money to go traipsing to Strathbane or Inverness and Gilchrist was cheap.

Other patients interviewed said pretty much the same thing. They had been suddenly hit, like Hamish, with blinding toothache and all they could think of was getting to the nearest and cheapest dentist. People sometimes said, “I wonder what Britain was like in the thirties or forties?” Try the Highlands of Scotland, thought Hamish. Bad teeth, stodgy food and the last corner of Britain where’s women’s lib had not found a foothold. He remembered the wife of a crofter who rose early to clean the rooms at a hotel and then to serve the breakfasts. When she returned to the croft, she had to help with the lambing. In the evening she returned to the hotel to serve the dinners, and one night when she returned home at midnight, she had said to her husband, who was lying on the hearth rug in front of the fire, “I think I’d better see the doctor, Angus. I’m that tired these days.”