Dead in the Dog

‘With respect, Colonel O’Neill seems a rather strange person. Several of the more junior witnesses I interviewed, claimed that he is insane.’

Blackwell nodded resignedly. ‘His wife has left him, though there was some innocent excuse put about. He seems to have been obsessed with Mrs Robertson lately, though he has been rumoured to have been pestering several other ladies in and around the garrison.’

He thought back to the strange behaviour of the hospital commandant at the funeral, when he almost hijacked Diane and drove off with her in his car.

‘What about the other medical officers from the hospital, sir?’ prompted Tan. ‘Several would seem to have some sort of a motive.’

‘Motives for anger and perhaps jealousy,’ agreed Blackwell. ‘But sufficient for murder?’

‘Captain Meredith, the anaesthetist, appeared incensed and affronted at the fact that James Robertson stole the affections of the nursing sister Franklin,’ said Tan, using the pedantically perfect English that he had learned in a good school and from reading many classical novels.

‘He’s the one with the Olympic standard shooting skills,’ mused the superintendent. ‘Though blasting a chap in the chest at a few yards’ range doesn’t take much marksmanship!’

‘Major Bright was also used to firearms in civilian life,’ said the inspector. ‘There seems little doubt that he was extremely keen on Mrs Robertson and wanted her to get a divorce, according to rumours I’ve heard from these witnesses.’

Blackwell nodded. ‘But surely, it would have made more sense for James to have shot him, if Bright was trying to steal his wife, rather than the other way around?’

It was Tan’s turn to shrug now. ‘If Major Bright couldn’t have a divorcee, maybe he thought he could have a widow?’

Coming from the inscrutable inspector, this almost amounted to a witticism, thought Steven! He reached over and pulled his pad towards him, running his finger down the list of entries.

‘We’re running out of suspects, Tan. Unless there’s someone out there we know nothing about.’

‘You didn’t specifically mention Mrs Mackay, sir. If she had been seduced by James Robertson, perhaps she was scorned when he turned his attentions elsewhere. Or perhaps he had threatened to tell her husband?’

Blackwell pulled at the blackened, damp patches under his armpits, envying his inspector, whose khaki uniform was always pristine however hot the conditions. ‘Rosa Mackay? Apart from living next door and on the same bit of road where he was killed, I don’t fancy that little mouse as a killer, somehow. But we must keep all our options open!’

The weekend at Pangkor was a mixed success. For some, including Tom Howden and Lynnette, it was an idyllic couple of days, but the tensions introduced by several of the couples made for some uneasy moments. Neither could the fact of James’s death hanging over them be ignored and some furtive glances suggested their awareness that his killer might be amongst them.

A cavalcade of cars set off from BMH immediately after breakfast, a mixed bunch of vehicles ranging from the Matron’s Typhoon to Alec’s shaky Morgan. The absence of the Commanding Officer gave an almost palpable sense of relief as they loaded up their sun hats, flippers and snorkels, together with a smuggled supply of Anchor and Tiger beer, the bottles wrapped in newspaper to conceal them and reduce the rattle. It was forbidden to carry any food outside the garrison, as part of the military regime to defeat the CTs was to deprive them of all support from the civilian population. The villages near the jungle were fenced off and strict control exercised over the movement of food or any other supplies that could aid the terrorists. Though it was unlikely that a few sandwiches from BMH Tanah Timah would significantly aid the Communist campaign, the principle was firmly enforced, but a few bottles of beer at NAAFI prices was hardly likely to lead to a court martial.

The dozen or so weekenders were arrayed in their off-duty civvies, the men in shirts and shorts, the women in summer dresses or halter tops. With Albert Morris’s Hillman in the lead, they set off through the gates, leaving an envious skeleton staff to deal with emergencies until the next evening. The three-hour journey took them back down to Sungei Siput, then along the main north–south road through Ipoh, the capital of Perak State. The route then wandered westward through Batu Gajah and Bruas, eventually reaching the coast at Lumut, a small town on a wide creek coming in from the sea. They had coffee in the nearby Rest House while waiting for the ferry to Pangkor Island, which lay a mile or two offshore.