“Because I’m a policeman. May we go inside?”
“No, we may not. I have my reputation to think of.”
Frost glittered on the branches of the rowan tree beside the door. Rowan trees were planted to keep the witches and fairies away, thought Hamish. Hadn’t done its job with this house.
“Then you will need to accompany me to the station,” he said severely. “You should not be obstructing the police in their enquiries.”
“I’m too old to be cavorting about the countryside at this time o’ night. You can come in.”
He followed her into a living room cum kitchen. A peat fire burned in a black old–fashioned range along one wall. There was a table in the middle of the floor covered with a plastic cloth. Four hard upright chairs surrounded it. An oak sideboard stood against the wall opposite the fire containing photographs in silver frames. A picture of Billy Graham hung over the sideboard. There was no carpet on the stone-flagged floor.
He took off his peaked cap and placed it on the table and took out his notebook.
“Now, Mrs. Harrison,” he began, “may I have your full name?”
“Mrs. Mabel Harrison.”
“Age?”
“None of your business, young man.”
“I need your age.”
“I don’t see why. Oh, well, fifty.”
Probably nearer seventy, thought Hamish. Let it go for the moment.
“You went to see Mr. Gilchrist this morning and had a tooth drawn. Why did you go to Mr. Gilchrist? I believe you complained at one time that you suspected he had sexually assaulted you.”
She gave him a coy look. “He didn’t actually assault me. But he fancied me something bad.”
“He made overtures to you?”
“There was the time I knew he was about to ask me out, but she came in and sat there and she wouldn’t go away.”
“Maggie Bane?”
“Calls herself a nurse and she’s nothing more than a receptionist. She’s jealous of me.”
Why did I take this job, thought Hamish wearily. Why am I sitting in this cold kitchen listening to a madwoman?
“What was Mr. Gilchrist’s manner like?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he seem worried, frightened, hurried, anything like that?”
“No, he was the same.”
“I do not think I can understand either you or the dentist,” said Hamish. “You did put about stories that he had molested you because they were all over Lochdubh. He must have heard them. Why did you go, and why did he continue to treat you?”
“Can’t you understand plain English?” she demanded nastily. “I’ve told you already. He fancied me.”
“Suppose that to be the case, you did not notice anything odd in his manner?”
“No, he was the same and herself just sat there, reading a magazine.”
“In the surgery?”
“Yes, the whole time I was there. Jealous bitch!”
“And did Maggie Bane say anything to Mr. Gilchrist or did Mr. Gilchrist say anything to Maggie Bane?”
“No…Wait a bit. He was just finished and he said to her, “You can take yourself off when you see Mrs. Harrison out.””
“And that was all?”
“Apart from the usual stuff, open wider, that sort of thing.”
Hamish closed his notebook. “There will probably be a detective along to take another statement. Do not leave the country.”
“Why did you say that, do not leave the country?”
“I always wanted to,” mumbled Hamish, wondering in that moment whether he were not sometimes as deranged as Mrs. Harrison.
“Just drop back if there’s anything else you want to know.” She flashed a smile at him and he backed towards the door. Most of her teeth were missing. Had she needed all those teeth pulled or had the besotted old harridan used tooth pulling as a way to keep seeing a rapacious and I greedy dentist? Extractions were less work than fillings and dentists could claim more from the National Health for them.
He turned in the doorway. “Just one more thing. You are a widow?”
“My Bill died twenty years ago almost to the day.”
She walked to the sideboard and picked up a photograph. “That’s me and Bill on holiday at Button’s in Ayr.”
A handsome young man with a pretty girl on his arm stared out of the frame. It was hard to believe that Mrs. Harrison had ever been as attractive as the girl in the picture. “What did your husband die of?” he asked, handing it back.
“A heart attack.”
“Aye, well, I’d best be on my way.”
He went back to the door and touched his cap and escaped out into the night where he stood for a moment at the gate and took in a deep breath of cold fresh air. The one curious thing about Mrs. Harrison’s statement was the dentist telling Maggie she could go. Innocent enough, of course, if she had asked permission. Still…
He drove thoughtfully back to Lochdubh and parked outside the police station and then went down to the harbour where the fishing boats were preparing to set sail. Archie Macleod was possibly, because of his terrifying wife, the only fisherman ever to go to sea with a tight suit and a collar and tie under his overalls.
“It’s yersel, Hamish,” he said gloomily. “I thought you’d be along. It’s about thon dentist?”
“Aye, why did you cancel, Archie?”
“Och, the pain wasnae that bad after all.”
“Why Gilchrist, Archie? I mean, it seems the man doesn’t have that much of a reputation.”
“He’s cheap,” said the fisherman. “Man, the prices they charge these days. I can ‘member getting the lot of the National Health.”
Hamish took out his notebook and took down details of where Archie had been at the time of the murder. Archie, it transpired, had been in the Lochdubh bar with about fifty other locals to bear witness to the fact.
“They say someone drilled all o’ his teeth,” said Archie.
“How did you hear that? Was it on the news?”
“No, but Nessie Currie told Mrs. Wellington who was over shopping in Braikie and someone had told her.” The Highland tom-toms had been beating, thought Hamish.
“Had you been to Gilchrist before?”
“No, never had trouble for years. As I say, someone told me he was cheap.”
“Off you go, Archie. One more thing.”
“Aye?”
“Do you wear that collar and tie and suit all the time you’re out there?”
Archie grinned. “Take the damp things off as soon as I’m out o’ sight o’ the wife’s binoculars.”
Hamish grinned back and walked towards the police station. He was suddenly ravenously hungry. There was nothing in the police station larder but a few tins of things like salmon and beans. He decided to go to the Italian restaurant in the village, now managed by his once policeman, Willie Lament. When Hamish had been briefly promoted to sergeant, Willie had worked for him. Willie had married a relative of the owner and settled happily into the restaurant business. He was a fanatical cleaner and although the Napoli, as the restaurant was called, had excellent food, the restaurant was always permeated by a strong smell of disinfectant.
Hamish entered and took a table by the window, the table where he usually sat with Priscilla when they went out for dinner together. There were few customers. He felt that stab of loneliness again.
Willie came up. “What’s your pleasure, Hamish?”
“Just spaghetti and a salad, Willie. How’s Lucia?” Lucia was Willie’s beautiful wife.
“Doing just fine.”
