It’s Shetland, season 9, episode 4: Swede it and weep

Here come the weepy Swedes! Oh yes, the Ingmar Bergman influence is writ large in this epic concerning the desperate search for dental care in an island community largely deprived thereof.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here, and it’s time for yet another flashback, this time to the childhood of dead Fergus, the Nice Son of Jealous John Harris, who whom he’s had a bit of a spat, involving smashing his skull in with a miniature anchor. But in the sledgehammer symbolism of this script, ‘spat’ is also the word for  baby mussels, which grow into big mussels, which John and sons harvest for sale to Top London Restaurants and Belgians. 

Someday , son, all this will be yours, says Jealous John, many years ago. Even AI hasn’t managed to un-age Vincent Friel the merest smidgin in this particular piece of retrovision. Except it won’t be. Ferg’s deid, baby. You can tell. His hands have turned bright blue. Those mussels’ll have to get to Brussels without him. Anyway, the remaining Harrises are in a state and this allows ruthless Ruth to provoke Bad and Stupid  Son into spilling the moules mariniere: yes he burgled the cottage where Annie and Anton were found shot. No he didn’t shoot them. He’s deep in dept to JJ of the Golden Dragon (Chinatown reference, Jake) where the dim son has spent far too much on dodgy dim sum, or poker, or both. 

Wait a minute, they’ve got Jealous John in at the cop shop to do some decorating. Anyway he’s dressed in a white boiler suit and looks as if he’d be handy with roller. He’s certainly  feeling a lot of emulsion. Get him a cup of tea, says Tosh to Billy, the Oldest Policeman in the Known World.

The sinister Swedes turnip, I mean turn up (sorry about that) and Astrid the sick daughter is missing. Quick, to Kilbirnie or somewhere in Inverclyde, with a drone. Stefan, full of anguish, Surströmming (not so much a red herring as a very stinky one) and Gamel Dansk, drives past her but doesn’t stop because she’s got her hood up and is unrecognisable. Don’t Look Now! Meanwhile Dutch enviro-pensioner Angus Van Motorhome has recovered the powers of speech and insists that he was assaulted by at least a team of ten in Dr Mohawk’s Mysterious Marine Lab. Turns out he and Lisa of the Wandering Accent were tipped off about nefarious Nesting from the infamous online gossip and dating  site Shetland Confidential. (typical advert: wanted, woman for croft. Must have good teeth, or at least own. Ferguson tractor and Toyota HiLux repair skills helpful).

So it’s grab a search warrant from Harry the all-powerful Procurator Fiscal (Sutherland’s Law clearly a big influence) and off go Ruthless Ruth and Storm-tossed Tosh in full Scooby Doo mode to the sinister Marine Lab. “There used to be a door there!” shouts Psychic Ruth. “And now…it’s a cupboard.”  Sure enough, a secret stairway emerges and at last the full horror of what’s been going on emerges. If it wasn’t for you meddling detective inspectors!

“What do we think the big creepy chair is for”, says Tosh. “Get Cora, the oldest GP with special forensic science interests north of Southampton, she’ll know.” But it’s obvious. This is the only private dental practice in Shetland  accepting new patients And Astrid doesn’t have respiratory problems: she’s been getting root canal treatment using a new-fangled vaccine made from limpets. And questionable orthodontics, including unnecessary veneers. It’s abscess all areas!

Wait a minute, Professor Quirrell is visiting Wee Noah, who’s back at dodgy dad’s house. It’s going a bit all Eastenders-meets-Star Wars, isn’t it? He’s not your father! I’m your father. But Professor Quirrell, secret Squirrel, just mutters something about Annie, twists Ian’s arm and heads off into the bog, moodily. We haven’t seen the last of him.

Astrid turns up at the Infamous Golden Dragon, only to find that the butterfly prawns are well and truly off; but Nathan’s there, lover of her former carer Anton, and she has to get off the island, urgently, away from the weepy parental Swedes and  off to her maw in Estonia for proper subsidised dentistry. Implants! She effortlessly sends the entire Shetland police force and her dad on a wild bonxie chase to Sumburgh Airport where she’s booked on a flight to Edinburgh. It’s a ruse, dopes! Only two ways off Shetland, air or sea, so next minute Nathan’s smuggling her into a container that’s being loaded onto the Hjaltland or the Hrossey. Or with luck the freight boat, which isn’t stabilised but where even stowaways get a free three-course dinner.

“That’s at least 12 hours overnight to Aberdeen,” I shout at the screen, “take a couple of Stugeron or you’re not going to have a good time, though at least a container will be more comfortable  than a Northlink pod. Contain yourself!”  Astrid’s there for five minutes before realising she should at least have tried to book a cabin. Amazingly, though she falls asleep (must have taken 25mg of Phenergan ) before the ferry has even left the berth.

Which gives the increasingly agitated Tosh and Ruth time to bang on every blue container on the car deck, retrieve Astrid and send her to the Gilbert Bain Hospital for caffeine, cuddles and recriminations.

Did Astrid’s dad the very weepy Swede kill Anton and Annie? No, he was busy crying in his car, he says. Prove it, shouts Ruth. “Weeping in an  SUV? Not much of an alibi”. If only it had been a hybrid saloon. Wait a minute, I forgot to say – RUTH IS WEARING A HAT. A WOOLLY ONE. Very fetching and a belated nod to Shetland weather conditions at last. The bunnet done it.

The Weeping Swede’s alibi is confirmed by the car’s GPS system – thank you Mr Volvo – and there follows a weirdly complicated sequence with Tosh finding out that Tara was having a miscarriage and can therefore prove that Annie met Anton at the hospital one night when Astrid was there. Tosh then faces domestic strife from her bidey-in Dopey Donnie, who’s not happy that she’s a nose-poking polis. And keeps upsetting people. “People have secrets” says Tosh, darkly. Donnie? Yer tea is oot, pal. Hide the stash!

Finally Ruth is on the phone to her former main squeeze, who works for Mi5, obviously, and he warns her that Professor Quirrell is NOT ALL HE SEEMS. Nor is he a good spy, as he previously implied. It appears he is a bad man with evil mathematical intentions; he must be detained immediately  and forthwith.

And here he is at the Viking Bus Station picking up an automatic pistol. He is clearly a rogue mathematical dentist determined to preserve what few patients he has left, and is bent on a filling spree starting with Dr Mohawk. This is not a drill. That’s why he’s always looked so down in the mouth.