Dead in the Dog

‘Dunno, I kept well clear!’ replied Alec. ‘But his obsession with the armoury has got worse since these shootings.’

The debate about the foibles of their chief was interrupted by the arrival of the surgeon and his anaesthetist who both dropped wearily into chairs and called for beers. As he took their orders, Number One asked solicitously if they wanted him to find them a late meal.

‘No thanks, night sister rustled up sandwiches for us in theatre,’ answered Peter Bright. ‘We had a late start because Sherlock Holmes came again with a list of questions.’

‘Which one of you confessed?’ demanded the irrepressible Percy.

Dave Meredith ignored him, but had a gripe of his own.

‘Damned cheek. Steve Blackwell wanted to know all about my ability as a marksman. How the hell would he know that, I haven’t so much as touched a rifle since I joined the army!’ He omitted to say that the police superintendent had also asked some pointed questions about his relationship with Lena Franklin, Robertson’s latest paramour.

‘He must have had sight of our Service records,’ complained Peter. ‘Some of the things he was asking me, not even you nosy devils know anything about.’

He failed to elaborate on this, but most of his colleagues had a fair idea that Diane Robertson’s name would have featured in Blackwell’s questions.

The Mess seemed to slide into gloomy silence after this, until their Admin Officer made a suggestion intended to raise the mood a little.

‘I’ve been looking at the duty rosters for next weekend, chaps,’ said Alf earnestly. ‘Quite a few of you are free, so why don’t we organize a trip to Pangkor? I know the colonel’s going down to Kinrara to meet the ADMS, so we could get away early on Saturday morning and come back on Sunday.’

There was a stir of interest, except from those who were tied to the hospital that weekend.

‘Be a nice change, we could see if a few of the QAs wanted to join us,’ said Alec, always with an eye to female company. During the buzz of discussion that followed, a mystified Tom Howden asked Alec what this was all about.

‘Pangkor? It’s a tropical island just off the coast. Smashing place, only about fifty miles away. We leave the cars at Lumut, then get a small ferry across. The accommodation’s a bit primitive, just a row of wooden chalets above the beach, but it’s better than this place. You must come, Tom, it’s great! Swimming, boozing, flirting!’

Alf winked across at the pathologist. ‘See if you can get that nice Lynette to come, Tom. Swaying palm trees under a tropical moon, do your love life no end of good!’

It seemed that several other officers had the same idea, as when they got around to discussing which cars to take, David Meredith announced that his passenger seat would doubtless be occupied by Lena Franklin. Then Peter Bright effectively stopped the chatter by rather gruffly indicating that he intended asking Diane Robertson if she would like to join the party.

‘She needs something to take her mind off things, poor woman!’ he said defiantly, making it clear that he was personally intending to provide that something. He got a few knowing looks from his fellow officers and a leer from Percy, but no one pursued the matter and the conversation drifted on to details of the trip, Alf volunteering to contact the beach hotel and make the bookings.

Outside, the storm finished as abruptly as it had begun and gradually the crowd in the Mess began to drift away. Some of those not on duty went out to the cinema or visit other messes in the garrison, while a few sloped off to their rooms to write letters, read or listen to their record players.

An hour later Tom was left alone in the anteroom, apart from Eddie Rosen, who was snoring peacefully in one of the chairs.

The pathologist browsed through his thick dog-eared copy of Muir’s Pathology, but his attention span was limited, even though he told himself that he must keep bashing the books, as he intended taking the Diploma when he got back home. Too many diverting thoughts marched through his mind, from puzzling about Jimmy Robertson’s gunshot wound to the sounds and aromas of a tropical night that wafted through the doors. A recurring diversion was the face and figure of Lynette Chambers. He knew that she was not on duty tonight, but the promised weekend with her on this fabled island was a tantalizing prospect, with which Professor Muir’s book had no chance of competing. He gave up the attempt at study and earlier than needs be, grabbed his hat and belt and went off down to the hospital to do his rounds.