“In the office,” said Hamish, and then turned away as he heard cars driving up outside.
He went out to meet the contingent from Strathbane.
Detective Jimmy Anderson’s foxy features lit up in a grin when he saw Hamish.
“If it isnae Mr. Death hisself,” he said cheerfully. “Where’s the body? Wi’ the great Hamish Macbeth on the scene, there’s bound to be a body.”
“No body. The safe’s been broken into like I told you. I figure someone from the hotel did it.”
“Aye, maybe, Hamish. But what makes you think that?”
“I chust have this feeling.”
“The seer of Lochdubh,” jeered Jimmy. “Man, I could murder a dram. Any chance of them opening up that bar?”
“You shouldnae be thinking o’ drinking on duty,” said Hamish primly.
“Och, Hamish, it’s only on the TV that they say things like that.”
“And in police regulations.”
“If you paid any attention to police regulations, you would smarten up that horrible uniform. Your trousers are so shiny I can see ma face in them.”
“Are we going to investigate this,” snapped Hamish, “or are we going to stand here all day trading insults?”
“Where’s the body, then?” said Jimmy with a sigh.
“If you mean the safe, it’s in the office. Afore you go in, Jimmy, is there any gossip about Macbean?”
“Not that I’ve heard. Somat Enterprises, a Glasgow company who owns this place, employed him two years ago. The food’s rotten and the drinks are suspect, but they come for the bingo and the dancing. You know how it is, Hamish, it’s not as if Sutherland is a swinging place. No competition. Oh, well, lead the way.”
Macbean was standing outside the office in the entrance hall. Through the open office door, the white-coated forensic team were busy dusting everything for fingerprints.
“Damn,” muttered Hamish. “Two of the men turned the safe around. Their fingerprints will be on it.”
“I’ll tell them,” said Jimmy.
“You stupid fool,” Mrs. Macbean suddenly shouted in her husband’s face. One pink roller shaken loose by her rage fell onto the carpet. “I tellt ye that safe was silly. But you had tae go and dae things on the cheap.”
“Shut your face,” growled Macbean, “and go and do something to yourself. You look a right fright with them curlers in.”
Hamish’s tooth gave a sinister twinge. “Wait a bit, Mrs. Macbean,” he said, “you went to the dentist in Braikie.”
“Aye.”
“What’s Gilchrist like?”
She looked at him in amazement. “It wisnae me. It was Darleen that had the toothache.”
Hamish turned questioningly to Darleen, who was slumped against the wall, studying her long purple fingernails.
“Darleen?”
She suddenly opened her mouth and pointed to the bottom front row of her teeth where there was a gap.
“He pulled your tooth?”
“Too right.”
“Couldn’t he have saved it?”
“Whit fur?”
“Because teeth can be saved these days.”
Darleen stifled a yawn. “No shit, Sherlock.”
“Whit the hell are you asking questions about some poxy dentist when you’re supposed to be finding out who burgled my safe?” howled Macbean.
“I’m working on something else,” said Hamish.
Jimmy Anderson came out of the office. “Okay, I’ll take you one at a time. There’s no need for you any mair, Hamish. You can get back to your sheep dip papers or whatever exciting things you usually do in Lochdubh.”
Hamish went reluctantly. There was an odd smell of villainy about the hotel. “I’ll type up my notes for you,” he said stiffly to Jimmy.
“I wouldnae bother,” said Jimmy cheerfully. “When does that bar open?”
Hamish left. He drove back to Lochdubh but instead of going to the station, he stopped at the Tommel Castle Hotel just outside the village. The hotel was owned by Colonel Halburton-Smythe, Priscilla’s father, a landowner who, on Hamish’s suggestion, had turned his family home into a hotel when he was in danger of going bankrupt. The hotel had prospered, first through the efforts of Priscilla and then under the efficient management of Mr. Johnson, the manager. He went through to the hotel office where Mr. Johnson was rattling the keys of a computer. Hamish pulled up a chair to the desk and sat down opposite the manager. “Help yourself to coffee, Hamish,” said the manager, jerking his head in the direction of a coffee machine in the corner.
Hamish rose and helped himself to a mugful of coffee and sat down again. “That’s that,” said Mr. Johnson with a sigh. “I miss Priscilla. She’s a dab hand at the accounts. What brings you, Hamish, or are you just chasing a free cup of coffee?”
“There’s been a burglary over at The Scotsman.”
“Druggies from Inverness?”
“No, the safe was robbed. The bingo prize money. Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
“Did they blow it?”
“No, Macbean got the safe on the cheap at an auction in Inverness. It had a wooden back.”
“I mind that safe. I was at that auction myself. That safe was made by a company nobody had ever heard of. I couldn’t believe that wooden back.”
“So what’s the gossip about Macbean?”
“Sour man with a slag of a wife and a drip of a daughter. Came here about two years ago. Somat Enterprises seem to have given him a free hand. It’s run by some Scottish Greek. Got lots of sleazy restaurants and dreary hotels. As far as I can gather, as long as The Scotsman showed a profit, he didn’t interfere. Macbean may have been creaming some of the profits, but he’d need to be smarter than I think he is, because Somat has a team of ferocious auditors who regularly check the books. Macbean thought up the bingo night and it’s been a big success. Do you know the colonel even had the stupidity to suggest we do the same thing? People come here for the fishing and shooting and the country house life, they don’t want a lot of peasants cluttering up the place.”
“What about the staff?”
“Don’t know. You know what it’s like trying to get staff up here, Hamish. No one’s anxious to check out references too closely.”
“Well it’s got nothing to do with me now.” Hamish sipped his coffee and winced as the hot liquid washed around his bad tooth. “Jimmy Anderson’s taken over. It’ll be a long slog – checking out Macbean’s past, checking out the staff’s past, checking out Macbean’s bankbook.”
“It’s more Blair’s line to keep you off a case, Hamish.”
“Aye, well, there been talk about Blair’s liver being a wee bit damaged and Jimmy Anderson aye goes through a personality change when he sniffs promotion.” He winced again.
“Toothache?”
“I’ve got an abscess. Dr. Brodie gave me a shot of antibiotic. I was going over to see Gilchrist. Oh, I forgot to say I wouldn’t be going.”
“I wouldn’t go near that butcher, Hamish. There was a bit of a scandal. Jock Mackay over at Braikie got a tooth pulled and Gilchrist broke his jaw. Jock had impacted roots and the tooth should have been sawn in half and then taken out a bit at a time. Turned out Gilchrist hadn’t even X-rayed him first. Folks told him to sue, but you know what it’s like. A lot of them are brought up to think that doctors, lawyers and dentists are little gods. They never seem to think that they’re just like the butcher or the baker. You get bad meat from the butcher, you find another butcher, but they’ll stick with a bad doctor or a bad dentist until the end of time.”
“Can I use your phone? I might go over myself tomorrow, now that I’ve got the excuse. What does Gilchrist look like?”
