Death of a Dentist

by Beaton, M. C.

  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 up 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 computerized 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 gather. 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 heavy-set 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 rep
ort 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.’ ‘Och, woman,’ said Angus, ‘I’ll tell ye what’s up with ye. Ye’re chust damn lazy.’ And the crofter’s wife had laughed with pride and admiration, saying, ‘That’s men for you.’

  He flipped over the pages. Ah, here it was. One of the townspeople, a Mrs Reekie. ‘Mr Gilchrist was romancing that Maggie Bane. I seen them with my own eyes, going into her house, night after night and not driving off till the morning either.’

  That statement had been taken by Detective Harry MacNab, not long after Hamish had seen Maggie Bane. Blair would read that and have the receptionist picked up again and taken to Strathbane for another grilling.

  But what was missing from all the statements, from townspeople, from patients, was the necessary hatred. Had it not been that a great deal of strength had been required, then Maggie Bane would certainly be the number one suspect in his book. Unless she had an accomplice. There was that mysterious hour she had taken off to go shopping. There was surely something she had not been telling the police apart from her affair with Gilchrist. Or if she had nothing to do with the murder, had Gilchrist been expecting someone, someone he had not wanted her to see or hear?

  He returned to the pathologist’s report. The nicotine had been put in the coffee. The pathologist seemed sure of that. Again back to Maggie Bane.

  He picked up her statement. She had made him a cup of coffee as usual and taken it in. He had not drunk it when she was present. She had put it over on the desk by the window and then had left. But she knew, thought Hamish, about all that sugar Gilchrist took in his coffee, sugar that would kill the taste of any poison.

  Back to the other statements. Mrs Macbean. The woman’s bad temper seemed to leap off the page. She had been going to Gilchrist for two years now. She had always had trouble with her teeth. Better to get them out.

  The day before the murder had been her daughter, Darleen’s, first visit. No, she had never met Gilchrist outside the surgery.

  Hamish rubbed his hand wearily over his eyes. His elation at getting his hands on the pathologist’s report and the other statements was waning fast. He seemed to be in more of a muddle than ever. One thing at a time, he thought, putting the paper aside. A night’s sleep and then start to ask about stills.

  In the morning, he decided to take a walk up the hill to visit the seer, Angus Macdonald. Whether old Angus actually had the gift of the second sight, Hamish doubted very much. But Angus maintained his reputation by picking up every bit of gossip in the Highlands that he could.

  There was an arctic wind blowing in from the east. The tops of the mountains were covered with snow and a metallic smell on the wind heralded more snow to come. The seer’s cottage was on top of a hill with a path winding up to the front door. It looked rather like the illustration in a children’s book.

  Angus opened the door as Hamish approached. Angus looked more like one of the minor prophets than ever with his long grey hair and long grey beard.

  ‘I knew you would be needing my help,’ he said simply. ‘Come ben.’

  His light eyes raked Hamish up and down, looking for the expected present, before he turned away. People usually brought the seer something, a bottle of whisky or a homemade cake. Only Hamish Macbeth did not usually bother.

  ‘Well, Hamish, sit yourself down,’ said the seer, swinging the blackened kettle on its chain over the peat fire.

  ‘Now, then,’ he went on, a flicker of malice in his eyes, ‘romance hass come back into the life of our Hamish Macbeth. But I see no hope, no hope at all, laddie.’

  ‘I am not int
erested in my love life at the moment, Angus,’ said Hamish stiffly. ‘Thon dentist was murdered with a dose of nicotine poison. Now the nicotine could have been extracted from cigarettes or probably cigars in a still. Who’s running a still around Braikie?’

  ‘Aye, we’ll have our tea first. I am a poor man, Hamish, and that farm salmon I get in the supermarket iss not a patch on the wild ones. It seems this age since I’ve had a salmon out of the river.’

  ‘You old moocher,’ said Hamish crossly.

  ‘Och, it takes one to know one.’

  ‘All right. I’ll get you a salmon.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This night. I’ll bring it along tomorrow.’

  ‘Good lad.’ Angus swung the now boiling kettle off the fire. He filled a teapot, then two mugs.

  ‘Let me see,’ he crooned, settling back in his chair. ‘You want to know about an illegal still. I would not want the honest to be arrested.’

  ‘Running a still is dishonest and you know it, Angus. Chust tell me who it is and I’ll ask a few questions and if they’re not involved in the murder, I won’t be taking the matter further.’ Unless they’re producing stuff that might turn the population blind, thought Hamish.

  Angus closed his eyes. ‘I will chust be consulting the spirit world.’

  Hamish suppressed an exclamation of impatience.

  ‘Aye, I see twa men. There’s a wee white house which looks like the Smiley brothers’ croft.’

  ‘Stourie and Pete Smiley?’ demanded Hamish sharply.

  Angus opened his eyes and gazed at Hamish reproachfully. ‘You’ve frightened the spirits away.’

  ‘Oh, really, were they illegal spirits?’

  ‘The spirits do not like levity. Och, well, I shouldnae be too hard on you, Hamish. Thon pretty lassie at the Tommel Castle Hotel iss going to cause you the pain and grief.’

  ‘You know what I think,’ said Hamish. ‘I think you forecast doom and gloom and that’s all people remember about your predictions and if you go on forecasting doom and gloom the whole damn time, then some of it iss bound to come true.’