Hamish Macbeth 13 (1997) - Death of a Dentist (9 page)

“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 interested 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.”

“You’re chust cross because you know you’ve got to keep your promise and get me that salmon.”

Hamish drained his mug and walked to the door. He nodded to the seer, who grinned maliciously at him from his chair by the fire.

“All your predictions are based on gossip, Angus. What have you heard about the girl at Tommel Castle Hotel?”

“I only hear the voices in my head, Hamish, and they tell me she’s not for you.”

Hamish made an exclamation of disgust and strode out and walked down the hill. Forget Sarah. He had what he wanted. An illegal still at Braikie. Now if he told Blair, the equivalent of a SWAT team would descend on the Smiley brothers and take their croft apart. But they would arrive with such noise and fuss that before they even got there, the Highland tom-toms would have been beating and by the time they arrived, there would be no trace of a still.

He was also anxious to confront Maggie Bane, but he had heard she was back at police headquarters.

He walked back to the police station to collect the Land Rover.

Jimmy Anderson was lounging outside.

“How are the investigations going, Hamish?”

“As well as a local policeman can investigate while being kept in the dark about everything.”

“Well, there’s a fuss at Strathbane. Last night some hacker broke into the police computer records.”

“And why aren’t you somewhere looking for the hacker?”

Jimmy grinned evilly.

He put an arm around Hamish’s shoulders. “Shall we be having a wee look inside? Yes, I’m looking for the hacker. Why do you think I’m here?”

It requires a surgical operation to get a joke well into a Scotch understanding.

 

—
Rev. Sydney Smith

Hamish’s mind worked furiously. How could they have found out? If only he knew more about computers other than the basic word processing necessary for filing reports.

“Can I use your toilet afore I take ye apart?” said Jimmy.

“Aye, go ahead, the bathroom’s through there.”

Jimmy went into the bathroom, Hamish ran into the police office, seized up the pile of printouts and stuffed them up under his dark blue uniform sweater. The phone rang.

“Hamish?” said Sarah’s voice.

The flush went in the bathroom.

“Sarah,” said Hamish urgently. “They’ve found out they’ve been hacked into and suspect me.”

“They can’t know exactly.”

“Why? How? What do I do?”

“Stick to your guns and look innocent.”

Jimmy walked into the police office.

“I will be looking into that matter right away, madam,” said Hamish.

“Call me later,” Sarah said and hung up.

Hamish turned to face Jimmy. “I’m flattered you think I should have enough expertise to hack into any computer.”

“You’re a clever bastard, Hamish. Someone hacked into Blair’s records during the night and it wisnae Blair.”

“Look around for a computer buff, Jimmy, but don’t come bothering me. Blair’s off his trolley. You know what he’s like. One sniff of trouble and he decides it must be coming from me.”

Jimmy sat down behind the desk and opened the bottom drawer. “Where’s the whisky?”

“I don’t think I should tell you,” said Hamish crossly. “You chust go back and tell Blair to spend his time looking for criminals instead of bothering innocent policemen.”

“Don’t be so sour. It was a way of getting away from the big grump.”

“All right. You can have a dram and then off with you.”

Hamish went through to the kitchen and found a bottle in the cupboard with the groceries. He collected a glass and then walked back through to join Jimmy.

“Great, man, pour it out.”

“You’ll be getting as much o’ a problem wi’ the booze as Blair,” commented Hamish, pouring a measure of whisky into the glass.

“Not me. I can take it or leave it. The only problem I’ve got wi’ booze these days is that I don’t get nearly enough o’ it.”

“So what’s Blair doing about this mysterious hacker apart from wasting time sending you over here to annoy me and drink my Scotch?”

“He says someone found out his password and he never told anyone what it was.”

“Probably told someone in a bar at the top of his voice. What was the password? I assume he’s changed it.”

“Crap.”

“No, seriously, Jimmy, what was the password?”

“I’m telling you. Clean your ears. The password was CRAP.”

And how did a nicely brought up lady like Sarah think of that, marvelled Hamish.

“So what’s new?” he asked aloud.

“Maggie Bane was having an affair wi’ Gilchrist and so when she said she wasn’t, she was lying in her teeth, so it stands to reason that she was lying about everything else. She says she didn’t want to lose her good name. Can you believe it? Like a Victorian novel. But, by God, she sticks to everything else and Blair howled and howled, but he couldnae move her.”

“So who else is there? And what did Gilchrist die of?”

“Nicotine poison.”

“Now there’s a thing. And the man didnae smoke.”

“How did you know that?”

“There were no cigarettes or ashtrays anywhere and a big NO SMOKING sign on the surgery wall.”

“Come on, Hamish. Every doctor and dentist has a NO SMOKING sign up these days.”

“But he had two posters in the reception about the evils of smoking. A smoker wouldn’t have put them up.”

“Far-fetched to me. Maggie Bane could have put them up.”

“But she didn’t. She smokes herself.”

“So she says. Oh, well, nobody saw Gilchrist puff a cigarette and anyway, even if he had, it wouldn’t have given him nicotine poisoning enough to kill him like that.”

“So who’s the favourite suspect apart from Maggie?”

“Blessed if I know.”

“And what about thon burglary?”

“Johnny King had done time for two counts of drunken driving.”

“Time?” Hamish looked puzzled. “I thought they would just take his license away.”

“The second time was when he drove into the front of a police station. Peter Sampson has no record. Family boy. Clean living.”

“And what of Macbean?”

“Now let me think. Any more whisky?”

Hamish sighed and pushed the bottle across to him.

Jimmy poured a generous measure, sat back in his chair and put his feet on the desk.

“Macbean’s never been in trouble. I mean, he’s never been arrested. He was running a hotel in Selkirk for a long time and then suddenly got fired. Owners just say that the profits were going down and down but they admitted that they could not pin anything on Macbean.”

“And Mrs. Macbean?”

“Nothing there. Born Agnes Macwhirter. Born in Leith. Married Macbean twenty-five years ago. Nasty bit of work. Always in a temper about something.”

“Any reports of her husband beating her up?”

“No, but I hope he does and regularly. If I was married to that one, I’d beat her up myself.”

“I heard on the grapevine that Gilchrist and Maggie Bane had a bit o’ a scene in a pub in Inverness. If they broke up, it stands to reason that there might be a new woman on the scene.”

“If there was,” said Jimmy, “something’ll come up sooner or later.”

“Then there’s the ex,” said Hamish, thinking aloud. “She was married to him. She seems a nice woman but you can never tell from the outside, can you? She might have hated him like poison.”

“She’s got clear of him so she had nae reason to bump him off.”

Hamish picked up the whisky bottle and replaced the top. “I don’t want to keep you, Jimmy. I’ve got the work to do.”

“Oh, aye, forgot to feed the hens, did you?”

When Hamish had finally seen a reluctant Jimmy on his way, he ran into the police office, seized the phone and dialled the Tommel Castle Hotel and asked for Sarah.

When she came on the line, he asked, “How did you guess Blair’s password?”

Her voice sounded amused. “I maintain there are about twenty variations on passwords. From what you told me about Blair, I was sure it would be some sort of swear word. Is everything all right? They will know someone used Blair’s password, but if he has trouble with drink, then he’ll begin to wonder who he actually told and he won’t be able to remember. I wouldn’t worry about it. What are you doing now?”

“I’m going to interview a couple of people. Do you feel like doing some amateur investigation?”

“You want me to come with you?”

“No, I wondered if you would like to go over to The Scotsman Hotel today and listen to what’s going on. They won’t talk if they see me, but they might not guard their mouths in front of a tourist.”