noise.’
Tom waited patiently, as Daniel seemed to have run out of emotional steam.
‘Then what?’ he prompted gently.
‘I ran across to car, captain, and saw him slumped across wheel. I thought he had either hit his head in the crash – or was a bit worse the wear for drink.’ He lowered his voice at the end, as if embarrassed to mention the possibility of James being ‘one over the eight’.
‘I called to him. He didn’t answer, so I opened the door – and he fell out against me!’ These last words came out in a rush, as the mild little man recalled his moment of horror. ‘There was blood all over his front – that’s when this rubbed off on me.’ He picked agitatedly at his own soiled shirt.
‘Did you think he was dead then?’ asked Lynette, who had come across to stand at Tom’s side.
Daniel shrugged and turned up his hands. ‘I didn’t even think about it, I just wanted to get help. One of the mess boys had come out to see what was going on and between us we pulled Mister Robertson across bench-seat to the passenger side. I jumped in, the engine was still running and I drove as fast as hell down here, five minutes away.’
‘Did he move or show any signs of life during the journey?’
Daniel shook his head vehemently. ‘Nothing at all, sir, he just lay against the side door, his head on his chest. As I left, I yelled at Nadin, the mess boy, to telephone hospital to say we were coming.’
The QA corporal confirmed that, as she brought mugs of tea.
‘The guardroom switchboard put him through here, I took the call. But the car arrived almost as soon as I put the phone down.’
The club manager had nothing more to tell them about the incident and as he gratefully sipped the sweet tea, Tom wondered what to do next – or at least, in which order of priority he should raise the alarm?
‘What about his wife? Any idea where she might be?’ he asked, thinking that perhaps Diane should be top of the notification list. Daniel looked as abashed as when he ventured the possibility of the dead man being drunk.
‘Missus Robertson went home earlier – or at least, she left earlier.’ He corrected himself with an almost visible squirm. ‘They seemed to be having disagreement in the empty dining room after the buffet. I just happened to walk in, but I left damn quickly when I heard them arguing.’
‘What time was that?’ As he said it, Tom wondered why he asked such an irrelevant question, but Daniel answered it without hesitation.
‘Just before eleven o’clock, sir. Then she went out and they drove off in her Austin. Mr Robertson left a few minutes later.’
‘They? Who were “they”?’ He seemed stuck in a Sherlock Holmes mode.
The steward gave another embarrassed wriggle. ‘An officer from the garrison, I can’t quite recollect his name,’ he added evasively.
Tom sensed that the night sister was looking at him rather impatiently and pulled himself together.
‘Right, you sit there quietly and have your tea. I’m sure other people will want to talk to you before long. I’d better get on the phone now.’
He backed off and took Lynette’s arm to guide her across the room.
‘Better not let anyone in here, unless we get another casualty. Keep the curtains drawn around the body and don’t let anyone touch him. I’m going over to the guardroom to phone, it’s a bit public in here.’
Leaving Casualty in her capable hands, he strode outside and found the orderly sergeant waiting by the armour-plated Buick, both its front doors wide open.
‘Best leave one of the chaps here, Sarge. Tell them no one must as much as breathe on it until the police come.’
The pharmacist nodded and yelled for the soldier on sentry duty at the gate to come across. Tom passed him in the other direction and went into the hut alongside the red-and-white striped barrier inside the outer gate. Here he found a corporal sitting behind a bare table, a small switchboard on the wall to one side. The soldier jumped up as he came in.
‘You logged the time of that call from the club just now?’
‘Yessir . . . twelve-oh-seven, sir.’
The pathologist threw his hat on to the table and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. Of all the bloody nights to be stuck with OMO duty, he thought!
‘Right, I’ve got to make some calls – and quick. I’d better tell the CO first.’
As the corporal swung around to his old-fashioned switchboard, Tom added under his breath, ‘I don’t want to risk a bollocking from old Death’s Head for not telling him first.’
The corporal pulled up a couple of cords and plugged them into the board, then cranked a handle vigorously. Tom waited impatiently, but nothing happened and the soldier wound his bell generator energetically a couple more times, holding one half of a pair of headphones to his ear.
‘No reply from the colonel’s quarters, sir. Shall I try someone else?’
‘Shit! Now what?’ muttered the pathologist. Aloud he said ‘Ring the Officers’ Mess, get whoever answers to call Major Morris and tell him it’s vitally urgent to get down to Casualty. Then ring the guardroom in garrison HQ and tell them that I want to speak to the most senior officer who happens to be on duty, OK?’
He was moving back to the door as he spoke, suddenly feeling like a real army officer, confidently giving orders.
‘I’ll be in the RSM’s office, with the orderly sergeant, so put it through there – and don’t take any messing from the other end, this is pretty desperate!’
He went off at a trot across the car park, heading for the light streaming from the room where Staff-Sergeant Crosby was lodging. The pharmacist met him at the door, waiting anxiously for orders.
‘I’ve sent for the Admin Officer and I’ve got a call going through to garrison,’ snapped Tom. ‘If this is another terrorist shooting, then I expect they’ll want to get troops up to Gunong Besar at the double.’
As he spoke, the phone rang on the RSM’s desk and he pushed past the sergeant to grab it. On the other end was a captain from the First Battalion Royal Australian Regiment, who was that night’s Orderly Officer for the Brigade. In a few words, Tom Howden explained what had happened and with a laconic Aussie acknowledgement, the infantryman rang off, leaving the doctor ticking off his mental list of things to do.
‘Will he tell the police, sir?’ asked Crosby, as a gentle reminder.
‘He didn’t say as much, so we’d better make sure.’ He rattled the receiver-rest of the heavy black instrument and told the guardroom operator to get through to the Police Circle. ‘Get Superintendent Blackwell if you can – if not, the most senior copper.’
As the pair waited for the phone to ring again, there was the sound of a car engine coming fast around the perimeter road and Alf Morris’s Hillman pulled up with a jerk. He was wearing a hastily donned plaid shirt and flannel trousers and from the look of his tousled hair, had just got out of bed.
‘What’s going on? The guardroom made it sound as if Chin Peng was banging on the gate!’
‘Not all that far wrong, Major!’ Tom rapidly explained what had happened. ‘I’ve tried to get the CO, but there’s no answer at his house. I’ve notified Brigade and I’m just waiting for a call from the police.’
As if on cue, the phone rang again and the Staff Sergeant picked it up and held it towards Tom, who shook his head and motioned it towards Alf Morris.
‘I think you should take over now, as senior officer.’
Thankful that he had passed the buck, he left the major talking urgently down the phone and made his way back to Casualty. He wanted to check that James Robertson had not unexpectedly come back to life and to offer any further help to Daniel and the staff – not that the competent Night Sister seemed likely to need any support. All was quiet there and after a quick glance behind the curtain at the still figure lying on the couch, the pathologist turned to the trio sitting around the table on the other side of the room. The QA corporal, a reassuring figure in her no-nonsense blue-grey uniform, was resting her hand solicitously on Daniel’s shoulder as he sat hunched in his chair, shivering slightly in spite of the all-pervading heat. The RAMC orderly, a National Service private straight from sixth form, sat in awkward silence, but hopped to his feet as the officer came across. The QA looked up at Tom, her homely face as calm and efficient as that of her nursing officer.
‘Sister Chambers has gone up to the Mess to tell the Matron, sir. She thought she ought to know what’s going on.’
