Dead in the Dog

‘I went down with Robbie Burns to the Gunners’ Mess in the garrison the other night. After he’d filled himself up with Johnnie Walker, he started babbling and reckoned that O’Neill was threatening to have him court-martialled over him fiddling the stores. Robbie got very aggressive and began ranting that he’d swing for the bastard one of these days! I had to drag him home before he said something too outrageous.’

Alfred Morris, already with too many problems on his plate, looked even more worried at this. ‘I hope to God that Robbie doesn’t do anything stupid,’ he muttered. ‘With a grudge like that and a few whiskies inside him, he’s not a chap to meet on a dark night!’

ELEVEN

Steven Blackwell was another worried man, as he sat alone in his office early on Monday morning. A Telex had come in over the weekend from the Police Headquarters in Kuala Lumpur, carrying an enquiry from the Assistant Commissioner wanting an update about progress in the Robertson investigation. Usually, the superintendent in Tanah Timah was given a fairly free hand, KL rarely breathing down his neck about cases, but it seemed that this death had come to the ears of the High Commissioner in Government House.

Though Steven had already assured his superiors that this was not a terrorist shooting, the murder of a British planter was being taken seriously by the representatives of Whitehall. The political set-up in Malaya was complicated and was likely to become more so as pressure for independence grew with the run-down of colonialism. The ‘Federation of Malaya’ consisted of nine separate states, though Singapore, Malacca and Penang remained British Crown Colonies. Each state had a Sultan, a nominal head, who took it in turns to be overall ‘king’, but the real administration and the efficient infrastructure was run by the British. Independence was being pushed hard by the Malay population, even though the numerous Chinese and Indians dominated the commercial and professional life. The problem was that many Chinese who, with British help had fought a three-year guerrilla war against the Japanese, now wanted a Communist state and had returned to the jungle to fight for it, with open assistance from Red China.

The superintendent sighed and mopped his sweating brow as he earnestly hoped that he could continue to convince KL that this incident was purely a local affair and not some renewed outbreak of insurgency. The best way to settle the matter would be to discover and arrest the perpetrator, but that seemed as far away as on the day of James Robertson’s death.

He spent the next hour on routine matters, including a fruitless review of the bank robbery investigation, then decided to go out. His dark blue Land Rover took him and Inspector Tan once more past ‘The Dog’ and up the Kerbau road to Gunong Besar estate, as he had decided that Diane Robertson had had long enough now to be ready for a formal interview. Half afraid that she might still be in her pyjamas at ten in the morning, he was relieved to see her leaning over the verandah dressed in a cream blouse and fawn slacks. For once, there was no glass in her hand, just a cigarette which she waved in welcome as they drove up the slope from the road.

‘I’m afraid this has to be rather official, Diane,’ said Blackwell as they entered her wide lounge. ‘We’ve taken statements from almost everyone else, but I left you until you settled down.’

‘No problem, Steven, I know you have to go through the motions!’

She said this almost gaily, as if he’d come to enquire about the theft of a bicycle, rather than the murder of her husband. Blackwell sat in one of the big rattan chairs and Tan slid unobtrusively into a corner with his notebook at the ready, as Diane went through the ritual of offering drinks and settling for fresh limes all round. After Siva had brought them and then silently vanished, the senior officer got down to business. He went yet again through the movements of Diane and her husband on that fateful night, getting a repetition of what she had said before, with no more definite timing as to when they had both left the club.

‘You took a long time getting back here, Diane?’ probed Steven gently. ‘You said you gave an officer a lift back to the garrison, but surely that would only add another ten minutes?’

The blonde coloured slightly. ‘We stopped for a chat on the way. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

The policeman shook his head. ‘None at all. We had a word with Lieutenant Crosby, he says he thinks you dropped him off at about twenty to midnight. Would that be about right?’

The widow lifted her shoulders in a gesture of indifference.

‘I suppose it was, if Gerry says so. I didn’t know you were going to interrogate him?’ she added sharply.

‘Just tying up loose ends, Diane. Quite a long chat, though?’