Dead in the Dog

‘I like all these little bits on the side,’ he said, after blowing through his lips that were burning from a shred of red chilli. He pointed to the tray in the centre of the table that held small dishes filled with shredded coconut, banana, mango chutney, cashew nuts and other unidentifiable substances.

‘What are these things?’

‘That’s Bombay duck,’ answered Eddie Rosen. ‘Little dried fish, actually.’

Tom shook his head in wonderment at the strange ways of the East, as he accepted some more rice, the Indian coming around the table with a tureen filled with the fluffy white grains. When the curry was finished and they were waiting for their dessert, the conversation inevitably turned to the dramatic events of the weekend.

‘The CO’s in an unusually benign mood,’ announced Alf Morris. ‘He’s said that anyone whose duties allow, should attend James Robertson’s funeral tomorrow. We should try to get there to give some support to Diane, as she’ll have no family there at all.’

There was a murmur of agreement around the table.

‘Is our dear colonel going himself?’ asked Percy Loosemore, managing as usual to inject sarcasm into his voice.

‘No, he says he’s too busy, with the ADMS coming up from Singapore next week – though I can’t see what that’s got to do with it,’ added Alf, with a rare hint of disloyalty to his senior officer. Tom had already added ‘Assistant Director of Medical Services’ to his compendium of acronyms.

‘We’d better work out a travel plan,’ suggested David Meredith. ‘No point in everyone taking a car to Taiping.’

‘Especially those who don’t have one,’ said Eddie. ‘Tom and I will need a lift from somebody.’

‘I can’t go, I’m afraid,’ said Peter Bright, stonily. ‘I’m on call and Roger Lane says he can’t stand in for me tomorrow.’ Most of his colleagues around the table assumed that this was a tactful gesture to avoid seeing off the man they suspected he had been cuckolding.

‘Is this going to be a funeral procession all the way?’ grunted the sardonic Percy. ‘Who’s taking the corpse – and how? On a gun carriage or in the back of a three-tonner?’

Alec Watson made a noise suspiciously like a giggle, but the Admin Officer glared at Percy.

‘He was a civilian, remember?’ said Alf. ‘A hearse is coming up from Ipoh in the morning. The only Western-style undertaker in Perak. We’re all to meet up with him in Taiping at three thirty.’

‘And that’s at the Anglican church, not the military cemetery!’ added Clarence Bottomley sternly. Montmorency had little sense of humour and Percy’s waspish tongue got up his long aristocratic nose.

‘Everyone in civvies, not uniform,’ commanded Alfred. ‘The colonel was insistent on that.’

Vellatum came in with a tray of glass dishes containing gula malacca, the traditional dessert served after a curry. Tom found he liked this as well, a sweet, sticky mound of sago swimming in palm sugar and coconut milk. After they had all ingested this antidote to the cook-boy’s culinary dynamite, the talk went back to tomorrow’s excursion.

‘Is it a men-only affair or are the ladies attending?’ asked Clarence.

‘As the widow is the only official mourner, the Matron suggested that it might show some feminine solidarity if a few of the QA officers went along as well,’ said Alfred Morris. ‘Maybe someone could give them a ring later and see if any want transport, as only a couple have cars.’

Tom’s thoughts immediately fell to hoping that Lynette might be going, especially if she could come in the same car and resolved to hint to Alf that he offer them space in his Hillman.

Coffee was next on the agenda before everyone crept off to their pits to sleep off the meal, but in the anteroom next door, the disgruntled anaesthetist brought up the murder once again.

‘Has the local Gestapo been around you all yet?’ Meredith asked sourly. ‘Steve Blackwell was almost rattling his handcuffs when he came to see me yesterday.’

All except Peter Bright denied being interrogated, giving Percy the chance to tactlessly claim that obviously the surgeon and his gasman were the prime suspects.

‘The superintendent told me that he would be around later today and again in the morning,’ announced Alfred, whose ‘Admin’ job made him the official contact with the outside world, which included the police. There was a groan from several of them and Eddie rattled his cup back into its saucer and stood up.

‘In that case, I’m off to my scratcher now, to get a bit of kip before the constabulary come to beat the truth out of me.’

As he stumbled across the coarse grass towards his room, he was followed by a straggle of bloated and sleepy medical officers.

It was early evening before Steven Blackwell arrived at the hospital and most of the residents were dragging themselves from under their mosquito nets to wash and dress ready for dinner. A few were sitting writing letters home or having a beer on chairs dragged out on to the concrete verandah, where they could enjoy the glorious sunset.