Chapter Thirty-two

Saturday, 9th November

The following morning was a hot one. Even the cicadas, normally quiet at this hour, buzzed loudly in anticipation as Jack stood at the front door of his father’s house, waiting for Don to come around with his car to drive him to town. According to Don, Tony was ‘unavailable’. He didn’t elaborate, but when Jack pushed him, Don said he’d asked Tony to oil the deck around the pool. Jack was surprised – it was going to be too hot a day for that kind of work, and the deck didn’t appear to need it.

Unlike Tony’s trips, where they drove with the windows down and their elbows on the sills while some of Jack’s favourite music blared out from the cassette player, in Don’s car the windows were closed, the air conditioner on full blast, and Richard Clayderman tormented him from a CD.

Don wasn’t very talkative today, which was unusual. He’d worked for his father for thirty years, but Jack had never really been as close to him as he had been to Tony during his childhood. Don was more formal, even aloof. Perhaps it was his military training. But he ran a tight operation while at the same time being considerate to the staff. Jack glanced at Don. He looked weary and, behind the wheel, he even seemed to be slumping slightly in contrast to his normal upright posture. Jack asked to be let out near a café, and Don drove off with a curt, ‘Bye.’

Jack bought two coffees, hoping he could use one to bribe his way into a meeting with the author of some of the more intimidating threats Jack had found in Patrick’s box of doom.

There was no mistaking the building he was looking for – a huge sign out the front announced, ‘Lars Nielsen Holistic Dentistry’. Every letter ‘i’ had been painted as a tooth.

In the carpark, a little blue Nissan Leaf with personalised ‘MO LARS’ number plates was plugged into a charger.

Jack took the stairs two at a time, then entered a disarmingly all-white waiting room. A bowl of shiny red apples provided the only relief from white walls, white furniture, white floor tiles and even a vase of white roses. The blonde receptionist gave an impossibly broad smile, revealing a pristine row of large teeth perfectly matched to the colour of her over-starched white uniform. ‘Welcome to Lars Nielsen Holistic Dentistry, how may I help you?’

‘Jack Harris for Lars Nielsen.’

She checked through the bookings and drew a blank.

‘It’s a personal matter,’ said Jack, before leaning forward conspiratorially and lowering his voice, ‘very personal.’

‘Ahm, why don’t you take a seat and I’ll tell Dr Lars you’re here, but he is very busy this morning.’

Jack felt stiffness in his muscles as he sank into a white leather lounge. He’d swum eighty very irregular laps the previous night as he wondered what had precipitated Caitlin’s over-reaction to the smashed coffee cup. He could only conclude that she was finding it difficult to cope with everything at the moment. There weren’t many life stressors missing from the mountain of seriously shitty things she was trying to deal with – the death and possible murder of her father, potentially being struck off as a lawyer and losing her job, a court case on drug charges, perhaps even going to prison. Jack would be throwing coffee mugs, not dropping them. This morning he’d received a brief text from her – the council archivist had agreed to meet them – but Caitlin was otherwise incommunicado. He reached for his phone and tried calling her again. No answer.

Jack read the notice board, its messages pinned in perfect alignment, like a row of molars. Payment was to be made in advance. No drugs were kept on the premises (which meant there were). A meeting to discuss the ‘harmful health effects of 5G’ was to be held that night in the Byron Community Centre.

As Jack photographed the 5G notice, he heard a cough behind him and turned to see a tall man in a crisp uniform, its blinding whiteness broken only by ‘Lars’ emblazoned in blue over a pocket. The man’s hands were behind his back, and he didn’t look too pleased at being disturbed. He might even have been seriously frowning if not for an abundance of botox. The wrinkle-free visage made it difficult to determine his age, possibly early fifties, but he looked fit, tanned and muscular. He was solid enough to have passed for a bouncer if he ditched the white suit.

‘You must be Lars Nielsen.’

‘Do we know each other?’

‘We do now, I’m Jack Harris.’ He anticipated the crushing handshake and beat Nielsen to it. ‘I have some questions about the anti-vax movement.’

‘And you’re asking because you’re interested or for another reason?’

‘I’m a reporter at The Beacon.’

Nielsen looked as if he was going to pick up Jack and throw him out, but still not a wrinkle in sight.

Jack continued. ‘We’re running a feature on holistic healing in a couple of weeks. I’ve a few questions.’

‘I’m a busy man, you’ve ten minutes.’

Jack was led into an examination room. There was only one seat, and it wasn’t offered to Jack, instead Nielsen motioned to the dental chair.

Nielsen accepted the coffee from Jack without thanks, then walked to a sink and poured it out. ‘We holistic dentists oppose fluoride.’

‘But Byron doesn’t add fluoride to its drinking water.’

‘So the council says. I don’t take chances.’

‘What’s holistic dentistry?’

Lars depressed a button on the chair and Jack’s head suddenly reclined.

‘Open,’ ordered Nielsen. The dentist’s face hovered uncom­fortably close and emitted increasing groans of disapproval as he examined Jack’s teeth. ‘Do you feel lethargic?’

‘No,’ said Jack.

‘Do you sometimes have trouble concentrating?’

‘No.’

Nielsen looked annoyed. Jack was starting to enjoy himself.

The dentist stared at Jack, menace in his eyes, then slowly selected a pick from the tray and stabbed it painfully into Jack’s gum.

‘Do you sometimes have trouble sleeping?’

Only if I’m partying and don’t go to bed, thought Jack. But there was already enough blood in his mouth. Jack swallowed. ‘All the time.’

‘Your fillings are killing you. They’re amalgam. The mercury in them leaches out. You need to have them removed as soon as possible, before your hair falls out, you can’t get erections and dementia sets in.’

Nielsen deftly swapped the pick for the drill, and its shrill whining filled the room. Nielsen yanked Jack’s jaw open wider and Jack felt as if it would be ripped out of its sockets.

He swung up a hand and clamped it over his mouth. He spoke between his fingers. ‘Perhaps I should make an appointment when we both have more time.’

Nielsen continued to glare, the drill buzzing loudly, until eventually he gave a reluctant nod and holstered the weapon.

Jack removed his protective hand. His forehead was covered in sweat. When he spoke, his voice was weak. ‘And that’s holistic dentistry?’

‘Just the start. We also fix problems elsewhere in the body that arise from the teeth, and from bite imbalance.’

‘Are you also anti-vaccine and anti-5G?’

‘We have a holistic approach to health. We try to stop doctors harming us with vaccinations, and the government trying to control us with 5G. Why don’t you come to the meeting tonight, and find out the truth?’

‘Patrick O’Shaughnessy was very critical of you and the anti-5G crowd. You can’t have liked him.’

Nielsen cleared his throat. ‘Quite the contrary, I was very sorry to hear of his little run in with the, um, shark.’

‘Then why did you send him this?’ Jack removed Nielsen’s letter from his pocket and held it up. ‘You threatened him. You said if he published anything against the anti-vax movement you couldn’t guarantee his safety from your so-called “disciples”.’

Jack could smell peppermint, and feel the dentist’s breath against his cheek as the man leaned in close and spoke. ‘O’Shaughnessy was a denier. He ignored the science and blindly believed the lies peddled by global business interests; toothpaste manufacturers poisoning us with fluoride, and vaccine companies giving our children autism. He got what he deserved.’ The dentist stabbed at a button and the chair whirred back upright.

‘Do you know who threw a brick through our window at The Beacon?’ asked Jack.

Nielsen smiled for the first time, but not enough to reveal any snow-white teeth. ‘Like the letter says, some of my followers are passionate.’ The smile disappeared. Furrows tried to form on his brow, battling the botox. ‘So be very, very careful, Mr Harris. I can’t control them. They’ll stop at nothing.’ He held Jack’s gaze, trying to look fierce, but the botox prevented that too.