Dead in the Dog

‘What time was that?’ As he said it, Tom wondered why he asked such an irrelevant question, but Daniel answered it without hesitation.

‘Just before eleven o’clock, sir. Then she went out and they drove off in her Austin. Mr Robertson left a few minutes later.’

‘They? Who were “they”?’ He seemed stuck in a Sherlock Holmes mode.

The steward gave another embarrassed wriggle. ‘An officer from the garrison, I can’t quite recollect his name,’ he added evasively.

Tom sensed that the night sister was looking at him rather impatiently and pulled himself together.

‘Right, you sit there quietly and have your tea. I’m sure other people will want to talk to you before long. I’d better get on the phone now.’

He backed off and took Lynette’s arm to guide her across the room.

‘Better not let anyone in here, unless we get another casualty. Keep the curtains drawn around the body and don’t let anyone touch him. I’m going over to the guardroom to phone, it’s a bit public in here.’

Leaving Casualty in her capable hands, he strode outside and found the orderly sergeant waiting by the armour-plated Buick, both its front doors wide open.

‘Best leave one of the chaps here, Sarge. Tell them no one must as much as breathe on it until the police come.’

The pharmacist nodded and yelled for the soldier on sentry duty at the gate to come across. Tom passed him in the other direction and went into the hut alongside the red-and-white striped barrier inside the outer gate. Here he found a corporal sitting behind a bare table, a small switchboard on the wall to one side. The soldier jumped up as he came in.

‘You logged the time of that call from the club just now?’

‘Yessir . . . twelve-oh-seven, sir.’

The pathologist threw his hat on to the table and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. Of all the bloody nights to be stuck with OMO duty, he thought!

‘Right, I’ve got to make some calls – and quick. I’d better tell the CO first.’

As the corporal swung around to his old-fashioned switchboard, Tom added under his breath, ‘I don’t want to risk a bollocking from old Death’s Head for not telling him first.’

The corporal pulled up a couple of cords and plugged them into the board, then cranked a handle vigorously. Tom waited impatiently, but nothing happened and the soldier wound his bell generator energetically a couple more times, holding one half of a pair of headphones to his ear.

‘No reply from the colonel’s quarters, sir. Shall I try someone else?’

‘Shit! Now what?’ muttered the pathologist. Aloud he said ‘Ring the Officers’ Mess, get whoever answers to call Major Morris and tell him it’s vitally urgent to get down to Casualty. Then ring the guardroom in garrison HQ and tell them that I want to speak to the most senior officer who happens to be on duty, OK?’

He was moving back to the door as he spoke, suddenly feeling like a real army officer, confidently giving orders.

‘I’ll be in the RSM’s office, with the orderly sergeant, so put it through there – and don’t take any messing from the other end, this is pretty desperate!’

He went off at a trot across the car park, heading for the light streaming from the room where Staff-Sergeant Crosby was lodging. The pharmacist met him at the door, waiting anxiously for orders.

‘I’ve sent for the Admin Officer and I’ve got a call going through to garrison,’ snapped Tom. ‘If this is another terrorist shooting, then I expect they’ll want to get troops up to Gunong Besar at the double.’

As he spoke, the phone rang on the RSM’s desk and he pushed past the sergeant to grab it. On the other end was a captain from the First Battalion Royal Australian Regiment, who was that night’s Orderly Officer for the Brigade. In a few words, Tom Howden explained what had happened and with a laconic Aussie acknowledgement, the infantryman rang off, leaving the doctor ticking off his mental list of things to do.

‘Will he tell the police, sir?’ asked Crosby, as a gentle reminder.

‘He didn’t say as much, so we’d better make sure.’ He rattled the receiver-rest of the heavy black instrument and told the guardroom operator to get through to the Police Circle. ‘Get Superintendent Blackwell if you can – if not, the most senior copper.’

As the pair waited for the phone to ring again, there was the sound of a car engine coming fast around the perimeter road and Alf Morris’s Hillman pulled up with a jerk. He was wearing a hastily donned plaid shirt and flannel trousers and from the look of his tousled hair, had just got out of bed.

‘What’s going on? The guardroom made it sound as if Chin Peng was banging on the gate!’

‘Not all that far wrong, Major!’ Tom rapidly explained what had happened. ‘I’ve tried to get the CO, but there’s no answer at his house. I’ve notified Brigade and I’m just waiting for a call from the police.’

As if on cue, the phone rang again and the Staff Sergeant picked it up and held it towards Tom, who shook his head and motioned it towards Alf Morris.

‘I think you should take over now, as senior officer.’