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
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
