Dead in the Dog

‘The bugger’s flipped completely,’ muttered Percy Loosemore, whose idea of exercise was walking from the car park of The Dog as far as the bar. Appeals to the Admin Officer brought no relief, as Alf Morris confessed that he could do nothing with the CO when he was in this mood. After leaving O’Neill’s office, the others clustered around the notice board at the bottom of the main corridor and read Part One Orders, a typed sheet of paper pinned up every morning which gave details of duty rosters and events for the day. Sure enough, there was the command to appear fully kitted at the crack of dawn, an order which had the Other Ranks smirking all day at the discomfiture of their officers.

‘Funny business, sir!’ grinned Lewis Cropper, as he brought Tom his pallid mug of mid-morning tea. ‘If you can’t find all your kit, let me know and I’ll scrounge some for you.’

The day after the pathologist’s arrival at BMH, the quartermaster sergeant had dumped a collection of pouches, green webbing and a water-bottle on Tom, together with a steel helmet. He had stuffed them into the bottom of his wardrobe and hoped that they were still there.

At the Mess before lunch, more disgruntled discussion took place, with the physician John Martin being pressured to get the Commanding Officer certified before he could wreak any more havoc. This plea fell on deaf ears, especially as the major had a cast-iron excuse to avoid the threatened parade, as he had to be in BMH Kamunting the next morning to hold a special clinic.

As it happened, the object of their disquiet was at that moment himself being interrogated. Steven Blackwell had telephoned for an appointment and Desmond O’Neill had grudgingly agreed, for the superintendent had made a point of reminding him that the garrison commander, Brigadier Forsyth, had sanctioned the questioning of all military personnel. The colonel did it with ill grace and sat stiffly behind his desk, glowering at the police officer.

‘This is highly irregular, Blackwell,’ he snapped. ‘The civil police have no jurisdiction over Her Majesty’s Forces, you know.’

Experienced copper that he was, Steven knew when to come on as a hard man and when to tread lightly.

‘Indeed, sir, I’m sure that if any serviceman was charged with this offence, he would be tried and sentenced by the Army. But as this is a civilian death and your SIB are collaborating fully with us, then the actual investigation is well within the ambit of the Federation Police.’

O’Neill snorted, but he had no valid argument against something sanctioned by the Brigade Commander. ‘What d’you want to know, then?’ he grunted sourly.

‘I have to record the movements of everyone, even those only peripherally involved, sir,’ Steven began diplomatically. ‘I gather that the first you knew of this death was when you arrived back here, some time after James Robertson had been certified as dead?’

‘The place was like a madhouse, people milling about the front of my hospital as if it was a fairground. I soon cleared them out, they had no business bringing a civilian corpse here, anyway!’

‘With respect, it wasn’t known that he was dead, until your doctors had confirmed that. But what time did you arrive, sir?’

‘About twenty to one, I believe – not that it can matter in the slightest! I found a messenger at my quarter, telling me what had happened, so I drove down here.’

‘They failed to contact you earlier by telephone at your house, I believe. Could you tell me where you had been, colonel?’

Desmond O’Neill scowled at the superintendent. ‘What the devil has that got to do with anything?’

‘All part of the routine, sir. You may have seen something or someone which might complement the rest of our evidence.’

The skull-like face looked balefully at Blackwell. ‘I had been to the AKC cinema in the garrison, if you must know. They were showing The Way Ahead, a wartime favourite of mine, if you need to check on my alibi!’ he added sarcastically.

‘The AKC show always finishes by ten thirty, colonel. May I ask where you were between then and the time you arrived at your quarter?’

O’Neill’s sallow face developed a slight flush. ‘I consider that question impertinent, Blackwell. I didn’t rush off from my billet as soon as I had the message, you know.’

Steven remained polite and impassive. ‘But the attempts to phone you there were not made until after midnight, sir. You couldn’t have been home by that time.’

The CO jumped from his chair and stood ramrod straight, glaring at the police officer. ‘Dammit, are you accusing me of anything?’

‘I just want answers about timing, colonel, that’s all. It’s essential to know where everyone was, and at what time that night.’

O’Neill subsided into his chair. ‘I drove around for a while to get some air, if you must know. The cigarette smoke in that damned cinema was so thick you could hardly see the screen. I had a headache and smarting eyes, so I went and sat in the car up on the Sungie Siput road for a while and looked at the valley in the moonlight.’