Dead in the Dog

‘We’ve given him nikethamide and coramine, just for form’s sake,’ murmured Lynette. ‘But he was gone before he came through the door. No pulse nor heart sounds, no respirations – and his pupils were fixed and dilated.’

The pathologist had not been away from clinical medicine long enough to forget these signs of death – nor to remember that an experienced nursing sister knew more about dire medical emergencies than he did. He bent to peer more closely at the drying blood on the front of Robertson’s chest and could see a small circular mark partly obscured by a blood-clot on the left side, just above his nipple.

‘Shall I clean it up for you to see, sir?’ asked the QA corporal, the first time she had spoken. She was a solid-looking blonde with a square jaw and in spite of the unexpected drama, seemed quite cool and collected.

Tom shook his head urgently. ‘No, for God’s sake don’t touch anything! He’s a civilian, this will have to be a police matter from now on.’

He stepped back from the couch and pushed his cap back on his head.

‘Do we know what happened?’

‘Not really, Captain Howden,’ answered the sister, now primly formal in the presence of Other Ranks. ‘That car raced up to the gate and Daniel from the club, yelled for it to be opened. I was in Matron’s Office and ran across as he drove in. Mr Robertson was slumped in the passenger seat, bleeding. We got him on to a trolley and brought him in, but as I say, he was already dead.’

‘Has Daniel told you what happened before that?

Lynette Chambers shook her head. ‘It was hardly five or six minutes ago – we’ve been too busy since then, just in case there was a spark of life left.’

‘I’ll have a word with him now. Can we get him a cup of tea or something? He looks a bit shocked.’

As the corporal hurried off to the nearest ward for tea, Tom took the tubby manager by the arm and gently sat him in a chair at the duty desk. He perched himself on the top and looked down at Daniel, who looked pathetically incongruous, still wearing his bow tie above a bloodstained white shirt.

‘I’m Captain Howden, a new man at the club. Can you tell me what happened?’

The steward passed a hand shakily across his high forehead.

‘All members had left, sir, it was just after midnight,’ he explained in his sing-song voice. ‘The boys were clearing up after the dance and I was totting takings behind bar. Suddenly I heard a car outside and then there was a crash!’

He rolled his eyes dramatically and waved a hand in the air. ‘I ran outside and saw Mr Robertson’s old Buick had run into the back of the Ford pick-up belonging to the club. Not badly, but enough to have made that noise.’

Tom waited patiently, as Daniel seemed to have run out of emotional steam.

‘Then what?’ he prompted gently.

‘I ran across to car, captain, and saw him slumped across wheel. I thought he had either hit his head in the crash – or was a bit worse the wear for drink.’ He lowered his voice at the end, as if embarrassed to mention the possibility of James being ‘one over the eight’.

‘I called to him. He didn’t answer, so I opened the door – and he fell out against me!’ These last words came out in a rush, as the mild little man recalled his moment of horror. ‘There was blood all over his front – that’s when this rubbed off on me.’ He picked agitatedly at his own soiled shirt.

‘Did you think he was dead then?’ asked Lynette, who had come across to stand at Tom’s side.

Daniel shrugged and turned up his hands. ‘I didn’t even think about it, I just wanted to get help. One of the mess boys had come out to see what was going on and between us we pulled Mister Robertson across bench-seat to the passenger side. I jumped in, the engine was still running and I drove as fast as hell down here, five minutes away.’

‘Did he move or show any signs of life during the journey?’

Daniel shook his head vehemently. ‘Nothing at all, sir, he just lay against the side door, his head on his chest. As I left, I yelled at Nadin, the mess boy, to telephone hospital to say we were coming.’

The QA corporal confirmed that, as she brought mugs of tea.

‘The guardroom switchboard put him through here, I took the call. But the car arrived almost as soon as I put the phone down.’

The club manager had nothing more to tell them about the incident and as he gratefully sipped the sweet tea, Tom wondered what to do next – or at least, in which order of priority he should raise the alarm?

‘What about his wife? Any idea where she might be?’ he asked, thinking that perhaps Diane should be top of the notification list. Daniel looked as abashed as when he ventured the possibility of the dead man being drunk.

‘Missus Robertson went home earlier – or at least, she left earlier.’ He corrected himself with an almost visible squirm. ‘They seemed to be having disagreement in the empty dining room after the buffet. I just happened to walk in, but I left damn quickly when I heard them arguing.’