Death of a Dentist

He arrived at Tommel Castle Hotel and went into reception. “Hullo, Hamish,” said Mr. Johnson. “Bad business, mis murder of the old man.”

“Yes, I’ve just come from Braikie. Miss Hudson in?”

“Didn’t you know? She’s left.”

“Gone?”

“Aye, she went up to see auld Angus and then she comes back, all pinched and strained and asks for her bill. She phoned from reception. I listened, of course.”

“Of course,” echoed Hamish in a hollow voice.

“She said, “It’s me, Sarah. Oh, darling, I’ve missed you so much. I’m sorry I ran away. It’s all been a terrible mistake. I’ll try to get the evening flight from Inverness. Can you meet me at Heathrow?” Whatever he said, I don’t know because I could only hear her side of the conversation. Then she said, “You will? Oh, thank you, darling. I’ll phone you from Inverness and confirm I’m on the plane. Love you, too.””

“Wass it her husband?”

“I got an idea it was.”

“Funny Priscilla didn’t mention she was married. And,” said Hamish, growing angry, “it’s even funnier that she didn’t say a blind word to me.”

“Well, that’s women for you.”

Hamish slouched off. He felt truly miserable and rejected. Perhaps she had left a note for him at the police station. But when he got there, there was only an electricity bill lying on the doormat.

He sat down at his desk in the police office and buried his face in his hands. He shouldn’t feel this bad. It had only been one night and she had backed away from him ever since.

He suddenly knew he could not sit in the police station on his own. He locked up and headed back to Braikie. He would investigate something, anything – anything to keep his mind off Sarah. Where to start, he wondered as the orange sodium lights of the town stained the nighttime Highland sky.

What about that squash club? Might pick up something about Maggie Bane that he did not already know.

He told the owner, Mr. Dempster, that he just wanted to watch the matches and was taken up to a long gallery above the squash courts. Maggie Bane was in one, smashing balls with great energy, her black hair flying. She was playing with a thin, grey-haired muscular woman. In the next court a small round man was playing a tall well-built fellow. Hamish was about to turn away, when he suddenly turned back and focused on the small round man. It was the pharmacist, Mr. Charles Cody. Hamish watched in amazement the speed and power the little man put into his game.

He went slowly down the stairs and let himself outside. A cold wind had sprung up, coming in from the west, bringing with it the smell of the sea.

Now here, thought Hamish, with a fast beating heart, was a man who would know how to make nicotine poison, a man with enough strength to heave the body of a dead dentist up into the chair.

But why? What reason?

Fred Sutherland had found out something about Kylie. Hamish, like everyone else, had assumed the something was about Kylie and Gilchrist. But just suppose that something had been about Kylie and her boss.

What sort of man was Cody really? He had strength. He certainly played a ruthless game of squash.

Wait a bit. His wife had said he had been out walking the dog.

But now he thought of it, that had been a very frightened dog.

There had been dog urine on the stairs leading up past the surgery to Fred’s flat. Could forensic tell one dog’s urine from another? Bound to.

But why? Why murder Gilchrist and then Fred?

Surely it might mean that Cody had been having an affair with Kylie. The dentist had been revenge and poor Fred because somehow the old man had let slip that he was going to tell what he knew.

He could go back into the club and question him. But he suddenly wanted the right scenario, the right setting to make the man crack.

And then he thought of the formidable Mrs. Cody. He would go to Cody’s home and wait for his return.

? Death of a Dentist ?

10

Life is the art of drawing sufficient conclusions from insufficient premises.

—Samuel Butler

As he stopped outside the Codys’ house, he hesitated before climbing down from the Land Rover. He should really contact Strathbane and tell them about his suspicions, about the dog urine. But would they listen? It was all so slight. And then would forensic be able to get anything from that urine? It would have dried by now. Better go ahead with it and see what he could find.

He rang the doorbell. Again Mrs. Cody opened the door. Her heavy face was truculent when she saw him. “What is it, officer? We have already made a statement to detectives today.”

“I just wanted a wee word with Mr. Cody.”

“He’s not here.”

“When will he be back?”

She sighed and squinted at her watch. “Any minute now. He’s playing squash.”

“May I please come in and wait for him?” Hamish smiled at her winningly.

“No,” she said and slammed the door in his face.

Aye, I’ve got bags o’ charm when it comes to dealing with the ladies, thought Hamish sourly.

He got back into the Land Rover and waited.

The door opened and Mrs. Cody approached. Hamish rolled down the window. “That police vehicle is lowering the tone of the place,” she snapped.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” said Hamish amiably. “I could just drive it round the corner and come back and wait indoors for Mr. Cody.”

She gave him a baffled look and said, “Oh, very well.”

Hamish parked his vehicle carefully out of sight of the house, not so much as to please Mrs. Cody as not to forewarn Mr. Cody that he was waiting for him.

He went back and she ushered him into what she called the ‘lounge.’ Mrs. Cody was watching a game show on television. She paid no further attention to Hamish. Suky, the little dog, trotted up to Hamish and jumped on his lap. He patted the dog’s rough coat.

At last he heard a car approaching. The dog gave a sharp bark and jumped down from Hamish’s lap and ran to the front door.

“I’m home,” called Mr. Cody. Mrs. Cody did not reply. Someone was about to win a car or a packet of safety pins, depending on luck.

Hamish stood up as Mr. Cody walked into the room. “What’s this?” he demanded angrily.

“I wondered if I might have a word with you in private,” said Hamish.

“There is nothing that cannot be said in front of my wife.”

“Very well,” said Hamish, watching him closely. “On the night Fred Sutherland was murdered, you said you were walking the dog. Now there was a stain of dog urine on the stairs leading up to Fred Sutherland’s flat. Forensic will be able to identify the dog from the urine.”

“Are you implying I murdered that old man?” he demanded.

“She’s won the safety pins,” commented Mrs. Cody. “She chose the wrong box. I knew it.”

“If you want to play it the hard way,” said Hamish, “we’ll wait for the results.”

“Then do that,” he said coldly, “and take yourself out of my house before I call my lawyer.”

Hamish began to waver in his conviction. There seemed to be nothing about the guilty man in the cold eyes facing him.

“Then we’ll check,” he said, “and I’ll be back.”