Dead in the Dog

It was hardly accurate to call the Rest House a ‘local bar’, of which there were several in Tanah Timah. The Rest Houses were a chain of rather austere hostels originally meant for government officials to stay in when they were travelling on official business, but anyone could book in if there was a vacancy, and they were usually open for food and drink. However, the SIB man’s question was still valid.

‘I asked him that myself,’ replied Steven. ‘He was a little reluctant to be precise, but said that he got fed up with The Dog and felt like a change.’

He smoothed his bald head thoughtfully. ‘I think we all know a little about his personal attachments and it seems probable that these were at the root of it,’ he added delicately.

‘And he says he was alone, not with a woman?’ demanded Preston.

Blackwell nodded. ‘I suspect the woman he would have liked to have been with was otherwise engaged. Anyway, he’s got no alibi for the crucial hour.’

‘The Rest House servants – do they confirm he was there?’ asked the SIB sergeant.

‘There was only one Indian boy on duty at that time of night. He said that a tall man with yellow hair was there, but was hopelessly vague about times.’

‘What do we know about Major Bright that’s relevant?’ grunted Enderby, pointing a finger towards the files.

Steven Blackwell looked across at Alfred Morris. ‘You must know everything that’s in here, being the Admin Officer at BMH.’

Alf nodded. ‘An exemplary military record. He’s a Regular Officer, a Senior Specialist in Surgery, in line to be pushed up to half-colonel when he finishes this tour in Malaya. Upper-class chap, his father’s also a doctor, I understand. Hunting, shooting and fishing types.’

‘What about personal character?’ enquired Enderby.

‘Divorced a couple of years ago when he was in Germany. No children. Don’t know what else to say about him,’ ended Alf loyally.

Steven nervously tapped a pencil on the desk. ‘Let’s not beat about the bush, chaps. It’s common knowledge that Peter Bright was more than a little friendly with Diane Robertson.’

Alfred Morris bridled a little at this. ‘A small place like Tanah Timah is naturally a hotbed for gossip. But we don’t actually know that there was anything between them.’

Major Enderby snorted. ‘Come off it, Alf! I’m not even in BMH, but even I know that Peter had the hots for the lovely blonde.’

‘You’re not suggesting that he shot her husband just to make her available?’ said Morris indignantly.

‘Stranger things have happened,’ grunted the more cynical SIB man. ‘A few drinks inside a fellow and a sense of grievance, anything can happen.’

‘And a little bird told me that Diane might have been playing away lately,’ added Preston, mischievously.

‘I don’t believe it for a moment,’ huffed Alf Morris. ‘Peter Bright is a real gentleman, murder would never enter his head!’

The police superintendent shrugged and turned to another sheet from the file on his desk.

‘Captain David Meredith, your anaesthetist. What about him?’

Alf shook his head. ‘A complete non-starter, I’d say. Having designs on Diane Robertson was the last thing he was interested in – he was dead keen on one of the QAs, Lena Franklin.’

Steven regarded Alf steadily. ‘But we know that that affair had cooled off a bit, according to my sources. And it was very likely Jimmy Robertson who did the cooling.’

‘You’ve been listened to Percy Loosemore, our garrison gossip,’ retorted Morris accusingly. ‘His tongue will get him into trouble one of these days.’

‘This Captain Meredith, isn’t he the one who’s a crack shot?’ growled Markham. ‘Bisley and all that?’

‘Oh, come on, sergeant! There’s the better part of a thousand soldiers in the Brigade, all taught to shoot well enough to hit a bungalow or a chap across a narrow road! You don’t need to be an Olympic hopeful for that.’

‘Anything in his Confidential Report that’s relevant?’ asked the Intelligence Officer.

‘Not very bloody confidential any more,’ muttered Morris, but no one seemed to hear him.

The superintendent rustled some more paper. ‘Short Service Officer, originally Welsh, but his family now live in Wiltshire. Twenty-eight, unmarried – nothing else to say about him, really.’

‘And where was he at the material time?’ asked Major Enderby.

‘Says he left The Dog early, at about half ten and went back to the Mess in BMH. Went to bed, knew nothing of all the drama until breakfast.’

‘Can he prove that?’ asked the ever-suspicious SIB man.

Steven looked at Morris. ‘No one saw him at the Mess, as far as I can make out. Alf, you were called out when James was brought into Casualty, did you see any sign of him?’