Hamish took a deep breath. “Were you at any time romantically involved with Mr. Gilchrist?”
She flushed angrily. “No, I was not!”
“I’m bound to hear if you were,” said Hamish gently. “You know what it’s like up here.”
“We went out for dinner once or twice. You know how it is. Some days were very busy and it seemed natural for both of us to have a bite to eat before we went home.”
Hamish made a mental note that there had probably been something going on. Gossip would already have been running rife all over the Highlands. At first people would be discreet because the man was so recently dead, but within a few more days tongues would begin to wag.
“Have you any idea why someone would hate him so much to kill him?”
She shook her head. “I think it was just some maniac who came up when I was out.”
“Ah, about your going out. You have probably been questioned about that, but I must ask you again – why so long and why on that particular day?”
“I’m sick of this!” she said, her ugly voice rasping across the neat impersonality of her living room. “It was a quiet day. It was a chance to do my shopping. That’s all.”
“Are your parents alive, Miss Bane?”
“Yes.”
“And where are they?”
“Dingwall.”
“They must be concerned about you. Have they been to see you?”
“I haven’t had much to do with them since I left university.”
Hamish looked surprised. “Which university?”
“St. Andrews. I got a scholarship.”
“Did you stay the full course? Did you get a degree?”
“Yes, I studied maths and physics.”
Hamish leaned back in his chair and studied her thoughtfully. “And you worked for Gilchrist for five years! That must ha’ been about your first job. Why should an attractive and highly educated young woman go to work for a dentist in a small town in Sutherland?”
“There are not many jobs around and just because one has a degree, a good job doesn’t automatically follow.”
“Yes, but…”
“Constable Macbeth,” said Maggie firmly, getting to her feet, “I do not think you realise how tired and upset I am. I am in no fit condition to answer any more questions today.”
Hamish rose as well. He looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ll be back.”
When he left, he half turned at the garden gate. So many questions unanswered. The main question was why she had buried herself in a dull town like Braikie, working as receptionist to a dentist with a bad reputation.
For the first time, he felt like giving up and letting Strathbane get on with it. What could one Highland constable do who did not have access to all the information, all the statements? He did not even know how Gilchrist had been killed.
? Death of a Dentist ?
4
I regard you with an indifference closely bordering on aversion.
—
Hamish parked the car at the police station, locked his hens away for the night, checked on his sheep, and then went for a walk along the waterfront in the watery greenish light of the Highland gloaming. The little waves of the sea loch, calmer now that the wind had moderated, slapped at the pebbled shore. A phone box by the harbour seemed shockingly scarlet in the soft gloom and muted colours of its surroundings. There were smells, of tar and fish, and diesel mixing with smells of cooking and strong tea as the villagers prepared their evening meals.
The lights of television sets flickered behind cottage windows, bringing the outside world to Lochdubh where villagers probably studied the latest fighting in Somalia with indifferent eyes while they talked about more interesting death close at hand.
“Hamish!” The voice was loud and peremptory. Mrs. Wellington, the minister’s wife, marched towards him. She was armoured in tweed, as usual, and on her head was a green felt hat with a pheasant’s feather stuck in the hatband.
He looked wildly around, seeking some avenue of escape, but he was in full view of her.
She came up to him, her bulldog face heavy with accusation.
“What are you doing about this dreadful murder?”
“I’m doing the little a Highland policeman can. If you have any complaints, you should talk to the superintendent, Mr. Peter Daviot.”
“It’s on your beat. You’ve solved cases before.”
Hamish touched his cap. “I am doing what I can,” he said, and then he walked quickly away.
And then he felt a little surge of gladness beginning somewhere deep inside him and realised he had that dinner date with Sarah. Time to put murder and mayhem out of his mind.
He went back to the police station, had a bath and dressed carefully in an elegant suit he had bought in a thrift shop, a striped shirt and a silk tie Priscilla had bought him. It was then he realised that his one pair of good shoes were in need of repair and he had forgotten all about it. The sole of the left one was hanging loose. He swore under his breath and got a tube of Stickfast Glue to effect an amateur repair. But the glue stuck to his fingers and his fingers stuck to the dangling sole of the shoe and there was no way he could get his fingers loose without tearing off skin.
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?”
