Dead in the Dog (19 page)

‘There were a lot of police and army vehicles up and down here last night, sir,' said the inspector. ‘No chance of distinguishing Robertson's Buick tyres – anyway, he drives up and down here every day.'

‘I'm not concerned with his car, there's no way we could tell if it was stopped here. But that blood – if it is blood – is all we've got.'

He looked up at the tops of the two bluffs, one on each side of the narrow road. They were partly covered in coarse grass, but due to the rocky nature of the outcrops, they were well clear of the trees.

‘Tan, get some men up here to search along a couple of hundred yards on each side,' he ordered. ‘Tell them to look out for cartridge cases. And we'd better take some of those stained weeds to check if it's blood – and if it is, whose blood!'

There were some cellophane exhibit bags in the Land Rover and between them, they carefully picked off every leaf and blade that showed some of the brown splattering, and placed them in the bags.

‘I'll see if that young pathologist can do a quick test, though the stuff will still have to go down to KL with the rest of the samples,' said Steven.

As they were so near Gunong Besar, he decided to make a quick call on Diane Robertson to check on her welfare, as he suspected that her nonchalant manner at the mortuary was a cover for a later breakdown, but again he was proved wrong.

When they arrived, Inspector Tan went off to interrogate the servants who lived behind both bungalows and Blackwell climbed up to Diane's verandah, half expecting to find her either in a state of sobbing collapse or half drunk. She was neither, though she had the inevitable glass in her hand as she sat on the settee talking to Douglas Mackay, who sat opposite, primly upright on one of the armchairs grasping a tumbler of orange squash.

Refusing the offer of an early gin and tonic, the superintendent put his cap and stick on another chair and stood looking down at the pair.

‘I just called to see how you are, Diane,' he began uneasily, for far from being a distraught new widow, the blonde looked her usual glamorous self, as she had done in the mortuary.

‘I'm fine, Steve! Douglas and I were just discussing the future of the estate. He says there's no problem in his carrying on, at least until it's decided what's going to be done with the place.'

The gangling Scotsman nodded agreement. ‘Production can carry on as usual, it's a pretty routine operation. I'm more worried about Mrs Robertson herself.'

‘In what way, Douglas?' asked Blackwell.

‘She insists on staying here alone. She could come over to our place – or Rosa could keep her company here, but she won't hear of it.'

He looked across almost reproachfully at Diane, but she tossed her head so that the mane of golden hair swirled about her neck.

‘I'm quite alright where I am, thank you, Doug. I've got my servants here and you're within shouting distance. I expect I'll be going back to the UK very soon, though perhaps I'll take a few days in Penang first. Until then, I'm sitting tight, as long as those damned CTs don't come calling again!'

The police officer shook his head.

‘I'm sure this awful thing isn't down to them. It's not their style to pick off one man like that.'

The manager frowned his disagreement. ‘What about the assassination of Sir Henry Gurney? He was ambushed and killed on the road at Fraser's Hill a couple of years ago?'

‘With all due respect to James, he wasn't the British High Commissioner,' responded Steven. ‘In fact, last night's tragedy makes me even more confident that the shoot-up here last week wasn't a terrorist attack. I'm sure the two things are linked in some way.'

Mackay continued to look doubtful, but said nothing. He was always a man of few words, thought Blackwell. They talked for a few more minutes, Diane remaining adamant that she was staying put at Gunong Besar. She had a phone call booked to James's brother, an auctioneer in Norwich and expected the international operator to get back to her any time now.

‘There's no way any of the family can get out here for the funeral,' she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘His father's dead, my mother-in-law's got bad arthritis and his brother George will never get a flight in time, even if he wanted to come.'

There was an unspoken understanding between them that in the Malayan climate, burial was necessary within a very few days. Civilian air travel to the Far East was not easy and the propeller-driven planes of BOAC took several days to get to Singapore, even if a vacant seat could be found at such short notice. Further discussion established that the lawyer who handled the estate and presumably also James Robertson's personal affairs, was the same solicitor in Ipoh who acted as part-time coroner.

‘That'll make it easier when it comes to releasing the body for the funeral and in sorting out the will,' observed Blackwell, emboldened by Diane's resilience into being direct about these practical matters. ‘I'm told this padre chap is back tomorrow. Alf Morris has left him a message to contact you as soon as possible.'

‘He's a good man, I know he'll do all he can to make the arrangements go smoothly,' added Mackay in his soft Scots accent. A regular churchgoer, the manager was familiar with the local religious figures.

Steven picked up his hat and stick and moved towards the verandah.

‘I'll be up to check again tomorrow. Diane, you've got my number if you need anything.' He turned to the estate manager. ‘Could I have a quick word outside, Douglas?'

At the bottom of the outside steps, they stood between two tropical lilies, their large red blooms standing shoulder-high between spiky leaves. Somewhere nearby, a monkey yelled shrilly in a tree and the ever-present twitter of cicadas formed a background to their conversation. Steven put on his uniform cap to keep the sun from his ruddy scalp.

‘I know my inspector has already taken a statement from you, Doug, but I like to get things straight from the horse's mouth. You weren't at The Dog last night, I gather?'

Mackay shook his head, his sallow features devoid of expression.

‘No, I'm not much of a one for dancing, I only go for Rosa's benefit now and then. She's younger and deserves a bit of life occasionally. It's a lonely place for a wife up here – and I'm afraid she and Diane don't get on all that well.'

Steven avoided any pursuit of that topic. He knew that Douglas was almost a teetotaller, apart from the odd beer. Keen on classical music, he was a devout man, going every Sunday morning to the garrison chapel, though he was really a Presbyterian, rather than a ‘C of E' man.

‘So you were at home all evening?

‘Yes, I did the usual last rounds of the sheds and tapper's lines about six thirty, before it got dark. James was away, gone to Taiping, so he said.'

Steven noted the slight sarcasm in the manager's voice.

‘Then I went in and had a meal. We listened to the radio for a bit, then Rosa said she was tired and went to bed about ten, I suppose.'

‘Both of you?

‘No, I did some paperwork and made up the servant's pay packets for this morning. Then I listened to records for a bit and went to bed about eleven, I suppose. Rosa was fast asleep and I'd only just nodded off when you and half the British army descended on us.'

Blackwell nodded, he'd had this already from Tan.

‘What guns d'you have up here, Douglas?'

The manager stared at him. ‘Guns? Well, we've accumulated a few since the troubles began. There were a couple here when I came and we've added some since. Last week was the fourth attack we've had over the years, so we needed them.'

‘What exactly have you got?' persisted Steven.

Mackay steepled his hands to his chin as if in prayer.

‘Both James and I each have a thirty-eight revolver and a Lee-Enfield rifle. Then there are three twelve-bore shotguns about the place, though they're mainly for rats and other vermin.'

‘Where are they all kept?

‘The pistols and rifles are locked away with their ammunition in gun cupboards in each of the bungalows. I'm afraid we're more relaxed with the shotguns, they're usually stuck in a corner somewhere, though we keep the cartridges in the estate office across the road.'

‘Have any of the house servants or estate workers got weapons?'

Douglas looked shocked. ‘I certainly hope not! You know better than me that it's a hanging offence under the Emergency laws. Though I'll admit that occasionally one of the
serangs
will use a twelve-bore to have a go at the rats that infest the tapper's lines.'

Blackwell's experience at other places told him that illicit firearms were not all that uncommon, but he made no comment.

‘Eventually, we may have to test fire all rifled weapons held by estates around TT, just to eliminate them. That's after we get the ballistics reports on the bullets I've sent down to KL.'

Mackay looked dubious. ‘Sure, but it'll be a waste of time checking ours. James and I had them with us when we turned out to deal with the swine who shot us up the other day. And poor old James didn't shoot himself.'

The policeman shrugged. ‘Just routine, Douglas. With all the arms held by the garrison, I agree it seems a bit futile just testing the few outside. Yet it looks as if James was hit just down the road, so what with last week's attack here, we have to eliminate the local weapons.'

The manager's sparse eyebrows rose. ‘You know where it happened then?'

‘I didn't mention it in front of Diane, not until we're sure, but we found what looks like blood just where the road goes through that cutting.'

The manager nodded slowly, his lean face looking even more solemn than usual. ‘Just the place for an ambush, Steven. I'm still not convinced by your argument that this wasn't the work of the CTs.'

Inspector Tan came across from the curing sheds at that moment and after muted farewells, they climbed into the Land Rover and were driven off, leaving a pensive Douglas Mackay staring after them.

Around five o'clock, a meeting was held in the Police Circle building in Tanah Timah, mainly to discuss the significance of the post-mortem findings. Alfred Morris was sent by the CO to represent the hospital's interests, as the victim had died there and the pathologist was one of its officers. The Admin Officer drove Tom Howden down to the town in his Hillman, both wearing civilian clothes, as was usual on a Saturday. Their identity cards got them past the constable on the gate and, inside the high-walled compound, Tom saw that it was largely a vehicle park and workshops, with a police barracks at the rear.

The headquarters building itself was typical colonial government – two-storey white cement under a red-tiled roof, with wide balconies running around the upper floor. They went up the steps to the front entrance and found themselves in a large hall with busy policemen behind a long counter. A Malay desk sergeant escorted them up an imposing central staircase and out on to the balcony, which had doors at intervals. Tapping at one, he motioned them in and they entered a bare, high room with the inevitable fan turning below the ceiling. There was a large desk, a table, some hard chairs and walls covered with maps. Steven Blackwell rose from the table, where he had been talking with Major Enderby, Sergeant Markham and Inspector Tan.

‘Come and sit down with us, chaps. We were only gossiping until you arrived.'

They sat down and an Indian servant came in with a tray of opened bottles of cold orange squash and grapefruit soda, each with a straw stuck in the neck. When they had settled down again, the superintendent began the meeting.

‘Firstly, I must thank you, Captain Howden, for so readily agreeing to do the post-mortem. If you hadn't been here, there'd have been at least a few days' delay – and in this climate, that doesn't help to preserve any evidence.'

Tom nodded his appreciation, though privately he knew he had had no choice, with the CO breathing down his neck.

‘I've written out a rough draft of the report,' he said, holding up a thin cardboard folder. ‘Only handwritten at the moment, I'll get it typed up when the office opens on Monday.'

The major from the provost marshal's department stopped sucking on his straw for a moment. ‘Fine! We were there, so we know the gist of it. But can you give us your interpretation of the findings?'

The pathologist shifted his bottom uneasily on the hard seat.

‘Look, I'm a pretty junior bloke, you know. I've had almost no experience of this kind of thing, all I know is from the books.'

‘Just do your best, Tom,' said Steven kindly. ‘I'm sure you know a hell of lot more about it than us.'

Opening the file, Howden looked down at the two sheets of lined quarto paper, with the government crest at the top. He had no need to read it, as he already knew every word.

‘James Robertson was perfectly healthy, so death was entirely due to a gunshot wound,' he began. ‘There was a single entrance wound to the left of centre in the front of his chest. The bullet, which you saw was a .303, was still in the back of his chest cavity, so there was no exit wound.'

Sergeant Markham looked up at this. ‘Thinking about it, sir, isn't that a bit unusual for a service rifle? I've seen a few in my time and most them went in one side and out the other.'

Tom nodded his agreement. ‘From what the books say, it's very common for a high-velocity projectile from a military weapon to make a through-and-through wound. But here the bullet happened to hit the spine at the back of the chest. It made a hell of a mess of it, completely disintegrated one of the vertebrae, but the thick, hard bone must have stopped the bullet.'

A sudden thought occurred to him and by the look on Blackwell's face, it must also have dawned simultaneously on him. The pathologist beat him to it in stating the obvious.