Dead in the Dog (24 page)

Major Enderby gave a loud sniff, but he seemed to accept the point.

‘Sure, but we're getting ahead of ourselves, talking of an arrest. None of us have a clue at the moment.'

The captain from Intelligence looked uneasy.

‘What happens if it does turn out to be someone from the Forces?' asked Preston.

Blackwell shrugged. ‘That'll be up to the lawyers. The magistrates or even the Malayan judiciary would have to refer the matter to your Army Legal Branch and then sort it out between themselves. Thank God, that won't be my problem, all I want to do is arrest the man who did this.'

‘Or woman,' growled Sergeant Markham.

The other heads swivelled towards him.

‘Woman? Are you serious?' brayed Preston.

‘As I said earlier, sir, anybody can do anything. Doesn't take much strength to pull a trigger, even on a Lee-Enfield.'

Enderby tapped the table impatiently.

‘Let's get back to brass tacks,' he demanded. ‘As it's possible that military personnel might be involved, I've had a word with the Adjutant and he's spoken to the Brigadier. It's agreed that we can divulge any Service records and even Confidential Reports to the police, on a strictly “need-to-know” basis.'

He slapped his hairy hand on to a pile of folders lying on the desk.

‘I've had the records pulled of everyone who had anything to do with the Robertsons – and quite a few others besides.'

Steven's eyebrows climbed up his sun-reddened forehead. The provost marshal's office had certainly been busy.

‘Does that include people from BMH?' he asked.

‘Include? They're the main customers, Steven!'

That night, Tom Howden was again Orderly Medical Officer and sat abstemiously in the Mess after dinner, drinking grapefruit soda while his fellow officers replenished their body fluids with Anchor or Tiger.

A violent thunderstorm was going on outside and rain lashed down like the proverbial stair rods. As Tom looked out through the open doors of the anteroom, he could see a row of regularly spaced cascades pouring vertically from the edges of the corrugated roof into the deep monsoon drains at the edge of the verandah. One of the frequent flashes of lightning showed a figure dashing from an Austin K2 ambulance for the shelter of the covered way. A moment later, Eddie Rosen came in, the shoulders of his green uniform shirt black with rain.

He called to Number One to rustle up some food, as he had missed the regular evening meal, then dropped into a chair.

‘Been assisting the Great Surgeon with a compound fracture, an Aussie who lost an argument with a three-tonner,' he announced. ‘Peter's still down in theatre with the gasman. We started late, as Blackwell of the Yard turned up to give the third degree again to the other two fellows.'

Percy Loosemore leered across from the depths of his chair, where he had been studying an old copy of
Men Only
.

‘They must be the prime suspects, then. Wonder which one of them did it?'

Alfred Morris put down his airmail copy of the
Daily Telegraph
and frowned at the speaker. ‘That warped sense of humour will get you into trouble one day, Percy,' he said severely.

‘I wasn't trying to be funny, Alf! Did you lot know that Dave Meredith was a crack shot? When he was a student, he was in the University of Liverpool's Small-bore Rifle team and competed in Bisley.'

No one asked him how he came by this nugget of information, but neither did anyone challenge his news. However, Robbie Burns couldn't resist some sarcasm. ‘And I suppose you'll tell us that Peter Bright was an Olympic gold medallist with the Bren gun!'

The pox doctor sniggered, determined to get the last word.

‘No, but Posh Pete was a dab hand with a shotgun. I heard him bragging once about how often he went murdering pheasants in Sussex with his father and his fancy Tory pals.'

The Admin Officer rattled his newspaper irritably.

‘That's enough, fellers! This affair isn't something to joke about, so let's drop it.'

The somewhat awkward silence was broken by Eddie Rosen.

‘Tom, if you're OMO, keep your eyes peeled for the CO. He's been acting strangely lately.'

‘Nothing new about that! When was he ever normal?' The quartermaster's nasal Scouse tones sounded bitter, as he suffered more than most from the colonel's eccentricities.

‘No, I mean really odd,' said Rosen. ‘I was OMO last night and on the way to the arms kote, I saw him prowling around the hospital with a flashlight. Later, I caught a glimpse of him shining the torch into the windows of one of the barrack blocks . . . and I think it was where the QA Other Ranks sleep.'

A few eyebrows were raised at this – the antics of their Commanding Officer were always fertile ground for gossip.

‘Dirty old bugger!' said Percy Loosemore. ‘That's what comes of his wife buzzing off back to Blighty – he's gone randy.'

With a sigh, Alfred Morris put down his newspaper and came to the rescue of his colonel's reputation. ‘If you must know, he's been concerned about security lately, especially since the murder and the attack on Gunong Besar. Now there's been this bank hold-up in town, and he's got into his head that we should all be more security conscious.'

‘Funny place to start, the QA's dormitory,' grunted the quartermaster.

‘He's been trying doors and windows, to see if they've been locked at night, that's all,' said Alf defensively.

‘What, is he afraid that Chin Peng is going to nick the ashtrays from the Sergeants' Mess?' asked Alec Watson. ‘I saw him snooping around there after midnight when I was duty officer last week. Then he went up to the armoury and started yelling at the poor little Malay corporal through the door.'

‘What was that about?' asked Alfred, curious in spite of his ingrained loyalties.

‘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.

Checking first with the orderly sergeant down at the front, he began working his way back up the corridor, stopping at each ward in turn. At Ward Five, his path crossed that of the night sister and they stopped for a cup of coffee in the office. Tonight QA Captain Joan Parnell was in charge and sitting in close proximity in the small room, he was aware of what an attractive woman she was. Glossy auburn hair peeped from beneath her white linen head-cloth and her smooth features always seemed to hold a slightly mischievous expression.

‘You've made quite a hit with young Lynette, Captain Howden,' she said archly. ‘Fast workers, you Geordies!'

Tom grinned sheepishly. She was an easy woman to talk to as they had no flirtatious hang-up to contend with. He had his eye firmly on Lynette and Joan was intent on prising Peter Bright away from the new widow woman.

‘There's a plan afoot to make up a party for this Pangkor place next weekend,' he observed. ‘Will you be able to come?'

‘Is Peter going, d'you know?' she asked. ‘Maybe we could drive down together.'

Tom felt that he was treading on sensitive ground here, but he could hardly avoid a direct question. ‘He said that he was, but I think he's giving a lift to Mrs Robertson.'

Joan's luscious lips tightened at this.

‘Then I'm definitely damned well going!' she exclaimed. ‘I'm not letting her have him all to herself for a whole weekend.'

Tom wisely avoided any comment and tried to change the subject.

‘Eddie Rosen and Alec both said the CO had been acting strangely the past few nights. Have you seen anything of him?'

Joan Parnell pulled her mind away from the prospect of their surgeon cavorting with a blonde on a tropical island and nodded.

‘It's the talk of the Sisters' Mess this week. Matron said she's going to have a word with him, as he's been poking about the buildings until God knows what hour – including the QA's Other Ranks billet. The man's mad!'

‘Have you seen him tonight?'

‘I caught a glimpse of him in the distance about an hour ago, going up the corridor towards the armoury. I'm sure it was him, you can tell by that funny up-and-down walk of his.'

The pathologist drained the last of his Nescafé from a mug advertising a new lotion for treating scabies. ‘Let's hope I can keep clear of him tonight. He seems to have taken an instant dislike to me.'

Joan gave him a glowing smile and reached out to touch his hand.

‘Don't take it personally, Tom. He's like that with everyone, unless they've got boobs and long legs! The latest one to hate him even more than usual is Robbie Burns.'

‘I've heard they don't get along, to put it mildly,' said Tom. ‘But is this something new?'

‘The colonel gives all the QM people a hard time, but now he's threatened to arrest Robbie and have him court-martialled,' explained Joan.

‘This place is nothing like Newcastle's RVI, where I worked,' said Tom ruefully. ‘What's he supposed to have done?'

Joan shrugged her slim shoulders indifferently.

‘Some fuss over a fiddled Board of Survey, they say. Nothing out of the ordinary.'

Tom Howden had already been instructed in the art of handling Boards of Survey by Lance Corporal Cropper. Every department had to have its inventory of equipment checked every so often by an officer and a member of the QM staff. Any deficiencies had to be paid for out of the pocket of the officer-in-charge. Where the lab was concerned, the crafty Cropper informed Tom that all his predecessors had wangled their way out of debt by calling a ‘Board of Survey' to condemn items allegedly worn or unserviceable. These were supposed to be destroyed immediately, but in fact, after replacements were obtained, the old ones were quietly brought back to replace anything missing from the inventory.