tattooing on the clothing or skin. The books say that the distance over which that occurs is very variable according to the type of weapon and ammunition, but in any case, wouldn’t happen if the muzzle was more than a few feet away.’
‘So not a very close discharge – but it could be ten feet or half a mile!’ said the major. ‘Any idea about the direction?’
Tom rubbed his chin and looked at his papers while he made time to consider his answer.
‘Anatomically, it was a bit downwards through the chest and slightly from left front to right middle, as it smashed the spine. But of course, it all depends how the deceased was standing or sitting when he was hit.’
‘How d’you mean?’ asked Steven.
‘Well, the books warn against assuming that a downward path means that the shooter was firing from above. If the victim was leaning forward a bit, then even a horizontal shot would incline downwards through the body?’
There was a silence as they digested this. Then the inscrutable Inspector Tan spoke, again picking up something that the others had so far missed.
‘Superintendent, you said just now that a driver couldn’t be shot straight through the front of the chest while sitting at the wheel, especially in an armoured car like that Buick. So that must surely mean he was shot when he was
They all thought about this, but it was Blackwell who responded first.
‘Of course! And it had to be like that, otherwise how could that blood have got on to the grass at the side of the road!’
‘If it is blood,’ muttered Enderby, with typical lawyer’s caution.
‘Let’s assume it is for the moment,’ said Steven, rather impatiently. ‘So why the hell would a man get out of his car on a lonely road late at night, not many days after a presumed terrorist attack less than a mile away?’
‘Because he recognized someone he knew,’ snapped the SIB sergeant.
‘Someone whose own car had broken down – or who pretended it had,’ offered Enderby.
‘But then the killer would have had to leave his vehicle at the scene, if he drove the body down to the club in Robertson’s car,’ objected the implacably logical Chinese inspector.
Steven Blackwell raised a hand. ‘Let’s not get too far in front of ourselves, chaps. At this stage, I don’t think that matters all that much. We’ve learned something very important from Dr Howden, that James Robertson must have been driven to The Dog by someone, presumably the assailant.’
The taciturn sergeant joined in the discussion.
‘I wonder how he got away so quickly? Surely he didn’t drive away, or that manager chap would have seen or heard a car, as he seems to have gone out straight away when he heard the crash.’
‘He wouldn’t have a car there, anyway, if he drove James’s down from the murder site,’ reasoned Enderby.
‘Unless he was someone who was in the club earlier and had left his car there, then footed it up to that cutting. It’s only a couple of miles away.’
Alfred Morris’s observation suddenly brought home the fact that the murderer, now known not to be a terrorist, could quite well be one of their own acquaintances. It was an unpleasant realization, unwelcome to them all. Steven Blackwell sighed, thinking of the difficult work that lay ahead, interviewing people who he knew all too well.
‘This means that we will have to concentrate on all weapons that could possibly be involved, both in civilian and military use. A hell of a job, I’m afraid.’
He looked at the two majors. ‘This is going to be bloody difficult! It’s going to be a nightmare testing even the relatively few guns in civilian hands, amongst the planters, let alone the military weapons. The chaps on the estates are not going to take kindly to being deprived of their shooters, even for a short time.’
‘Will they all have to be sent down to the forensic lab in KL?’ demanded Enderby. ‘I can’t see the Brigadier suspending his war for you, even for a murder!’
‘That’s out of the question, of course,’ said Steven. ‘We’ll have to be very specific about what guns we test, to limit the numbers.’
Sergeant Markham chipped in again. ‘Getting a test bullet to check on the rifling marks can be done on the spot. Firing into a tank of water or a big box full of wadding is sufficient. That stops a bullet without damaging it.’
‘Let’s wait until we get a report back on those shell cases from the attack on Gunong Besar, before we start on the rifles,’ advised Blackwell. ‘I’m convinced now that that episode is linked somehow to this killing.’
He turned to his inspector. ‘Tan, you said your constables found no sign of a spent cartridge along the road near that cutting, but we need to find the one that carried the bullet that killed poor James. Send another team up there tomorrow and widen the search, OK?’
After a few more minutes of discussion, which got them nowhere in particular, the meeting broke up and Morris drove Tom back to the hospital. Just before the garrison entrance, a red-capped military policeman held them up as a procession of vehicles streamed out of the gate. Three Ferret armoured cars, four Saracen troop carriers, half a dozen three-tonner Bedford TCVs, two Land Rover ambulances and a radio van lumbered off down the road towards the town.
‘What’s going on?’ asked the pathologist, suddenly aware that he actually was on Active Service and that one man with a bullet in his chest was pretty small beer compared to the potential mayhem in which this convoy might soon become involved.
‘Looks as if the Brigadier has decided on disinfecting some part of the jungle,’ replied Alf, laconically. ‘They’re probably going down the main road to the turn-off for Grik and then going up north for a punch-up.’
Dusk was approaching as they entered BMH and as they parked behind the Mess, a glorious sunset filled the western sky. Streaks of salmon pink and scarlet vied with the blue vault above, masses of cumulus on the horizon being tinged with brilliant gold. Though Tom had seen this almost every evening, he was still spellbound by the sight, so different from the grey haze that hung over Tyneside when he had left a couple of weeks earlier. His feelings of unreality hit him with full force, but he managed to shake them off and follow Alf into the anteroom for a reviving Tiger before dinner.
With his wife away, Steven Blackwell found that one day was much the same as another and that weekends merged into a continuous pattern of work. So though the next day was a Sunday, he found no problem in seamlessly pursuing the enquiry by interviewing the potential witnesses. In fact, it was easier, as most of them were off duty on the Sabbath.
He had an early breakfast in his quarters, which was a bungalow at the back of the police station. It was within the safety of the encircling wall and high fence, but far enough away from the constable’s barracks to be relatively private. With Margaret away, he was looked after by an Indian houseboy and their Chinese cook who came in each day from the town.
He spent a couple of hours in his office dealing with other matters and conferring with the duty inspector about the day’s patrol schedules, then called his driver and was taken in the Land Rover up to Gunong Besar. Here he met his first obstacle, as the Robertson’s servant gravely informed him that his mistress had gone to church. At first, Steven wondered if James’s death had driven her to a return of faith, as to his knowledge, Diane had never before set foot in the garrison chapel. Siva soon enlightened him, explaining that she had gone to see the padre to make arrangements for the funeral.
‘The priest telephoned, sir. He said his Sunday morning duties made it difficult for him to come up here until after lunch, so Missus said she would drive down to see him.’
Though Tan had already grilled all the servants, the superintendent took the opportunity to question Siva, who was an unusually tall man for a Tamil. Politely, but firmly, the servant said that he had heard and seen absolutely nothing out of the ordinary on the night of the murder.
No, there had been no strangers hanging about the estate lately, the only visitor in the past few days being Mr Arnold from Batu Merah, the next plantation a couple of miles further up the road.
Blackwell had no luck at the other bungalow, as the Mackays were also at church, though he half expected this. Douglas was known to be a keen Christian and although his wife was a Roman Catholic, she went with him to the Anglican services on Sunday morning. Steven knew that she also went down each Thursday evening, when a Catholic padre from Sungei Siput came up to say Mass for the relatively few of that faith in the garrison.
