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him.
    “Was there blood anywhere else? The bathroom for instance?” Dr. MacBeth stared at me. “I didna look. This isna Chicago, lass. It’s no a gangland shooting. This man was a patient of mine and he died from natural causes.”
    He was being so preposterous, I didn’t have much recourse. I was a visitor after all, and getting all huffy and challenging the man wasn’t going to get me very far.
    “When did you last see him, Doctor?” Gillies got in smoothly.
    “About a month ago.”
    “What was the state of his health then?”
    MacBeth wasn’t budging an inch. “Bad. The only thing that was going to save him was a new liver, and you know how unlikely that was.”
    I couldn’t tell if the doctor was so prehistoric he’d never heard of transplants or if he was referring to MacAulay’s eligibility.
    Gillies continued, which made things easier. “I take it there was no sign of trauma, Sir?”
    “None.”
    “Will there be an autopsy?” I butted in.
    Another scowl from the doctor. “There is no need to waste good taxpayers’ money when the death is not unexpected.”
    “But it was sudden, wasn’t it?”
    I assumed the Scottish criminal code was the same as the Canadian, in which any unexpected or sudden death must be reported to the coroner.
    I could see on his face that MacBeth was having a little war within. He couldn’t bear to concede my point, but he was still a physician.
    “I suppose you could say that. Although, I repeat, given his condition, this was always a possibility.” He turned back to Gillies, dismissing me. “I’ll sign the death certificate when I go downstairs. And unless the immediate family requests it, his mortal remains will be undisturbed and he will be buried intact.”
    So there, foreign lassie.
    “Have the ambulance bring him to the morgue. Andy will be making funeral arrangements.”
    Again Gillies did something utterly wonderful.
    “While I have you, Sir, I wonder if I might ask you a question on another matter. You just finished the post mortem on the accident victim, Mrs. Sarah MacDonald, didn’t you?”
    “Aye. All done with.”
    “I haven’t had an opportunity to read your report yet. What were your conclusions?”
    MacBeth snorted derisively. “What do you expect? Drunkness killed her. Sarah MacDonald was an alcoholic for years. She was, in common parlance, ‘staggering drunk’ — or ‘completely pissed’ as they say in America. Apparently she picked up some drinking companion at the hotel and they got hickey together.”
    “Did Mrs. MacDonald die from alcohol poisoning?” I asked.
    “Of course not. The direct cause of death was the severance of the second cervical vertebrae when her car went over a cliff andsmashed itself on the rocks. She was a foolish woman.”
    “Is that a description in common parlance or a medical opinion, Dr. MacBeth?”
    “Eh?”
    “Miss Morris is from Canada, Dr. MacBeth,” interjected the sergeant. “She has a different kind of experience from us. I’ve told her, in this part of the world everybody knows everybody else.”
    “Quite so.”
    I couldn’t resist the opportunity to push.
    “I suppose there’s no doubt that Mrs. MacDonald was the driver of the car? Given the nature of her injuries, I wonder if that is something you could determine”
    He frowned. “That’s more a question for the sergeant here than for me. All I know is she broke her bloody neck when she was flung out of the car.” He addressed Gillies. “Have you found the other woman yet?”
    “No, we haven’t.”
    “If you ask me she’s at the bottom of the sea. She’ll wash up at the Butt one of these days. They usually do.”
    Of course he had no inkling of who I actually was, but the brutality of his words were like an assault. Gillies couldn’t let it go any further.
    “Actually, doctor, Miss Morris is here because the missing woman is her mother.”
    “What? I thought you said she was a police officer.”
    “I am. Both. The daughter of