‘Certainly she would have been someone he knew and would have stopped for, which was what we assumed must have happened,’ agreed the inspector.
Blackwell shrugged. ‘Yes, but I still don’t fancy her as the killer, somehow. What about Leslie Arnold?’
‘He has this unfortunate past history of violence,’ answered Tan. ‘Though I suppose it shouldn’t be held against him. He admitted to you that he had lustful feelings towards Mister Robertson’s wife,’ he added primly.
Steven tapped his desk with the end of his fountain pen.
‘There’s been a rumour for some time that Arnold would have liked to buy Gunong Besar if it came up for sale. It seems he’s made a success of his own place and would like to expand. But I hardly think he would kill the owner just to get his hands on the property.’
Tan gave one of his rare smiles. ‘Perhaps he thought he might get James’s property and his wife with the one shot!’
The superintendent sighed again. ‘He has no alibi for the time of the shooting – and he does live next door to the dead man, up a long and lonely road. But we’ve got not a shred of evidence against him.’
The inspector put a slim finger on the notes before him.
‘The Mackays are also next door and on the same lonely road, sir.’
‘Yes, I wonder about the Mackays. Upright, sober and churchgoing, not typical of most of the folks around here. Yet I sense something wrong between them, there’s a tension you can almost feel when you’re with them.’
Tan said nothing, as the emotions that Europeans experienced were a mystery to him. He had been brought up in a large Cantonese family in Ipoh where everyone had seemed too busy making money or working towards a career to be cursed with introspection or jealousy.
‘Again the bush-telegraph around Tanah Timah whispered that Jimmy Robertson may have made a play for his manager’s wife at one time, but we can’t accept every bit of spiteful tittle-tattle that goes around.’
Tan was not sure what ‘tittle-tattle’ might be, but he got the general drift of his superior officer’s remarks.
‘Then there are the military people, sir. That’s going to be difficult for us.’
Steven Blackwell groaned. ‘Don’t I just know it! They’ve played along so far, but a lieutenant colonel is going to be a tough nut to deal with.’
‘You have no serious suspicions of the Commanding Officer, have you, sir?’
‘I suspect everyone, Tan. Reluctantly and probably hopelessly! But all the people who had access or even a fragile motive have to be considered.’
‘With respect, Colonel O’Neill seems a rather strange person. Several of the more junior witnesses I interviewed, claimed that he is insane.’
Blackwell nodded resignedly. ‘His wife has left him, though there was some innocent excuse put about. He seems to have been obsessed with Mrs Robertson lately, though he has been rumoured to have been pestering several other ladies in and around the garrison.’
He thought back to the strange behaviour of the hospital commandant at the funeral, when he almost hijacked Diane and drove off with her in his car.
‘What about the other medical officers from the hospital, sir?’ prompted Tan. ‘Several would seem to have some sort of a motive.’
‘Motives for anger and perhaps jealousy,’ agreed Blackwell. ‘But sufficient for murder?’
‘Captain Meredith, the anaesthetist, appeared incensed and affronted at the fact that James Robertson stole the affections of the nursing sister Franklin,’ said Tan, using the pedantically perfect English that he had learned in a good school and from reading many classical novels.
‘He’s the one with the Olympic standard shooting skills,’ mused the superintendent. ‘Though blasting a chap in the chest at a few yards’ range doesn’t take much marksmanship!’
‘Major Bright was also used to firearms in civilian life,’ said the inspector. ‘There seems little doubt that he was extremely keen on Mrs Robertson and wanted her to get a divorce, according to rumours I’ve heard from these witnesses.’
Blackwell nodded. ‘But surely, it would have made more sense for James to have shot
It was Tan’s turn to shrug now. ‘If Major Bright couldn’t have a divorcee, maybe he thought he could have a widow?’
Coming from the inscrutable inspector, this almost amounted to a witticism, thought Steven! He reached over and pulled his pad towards him, running his finger down the list of entries.
‘We’re running out of suspects, Tan. Unless there’s someone out there we know nothing about.’
‘You didn’t specifically mention Mrs Mackay, sir. If she had been seduced by James Robertson, perhaps she was scorned when he turned his attentions elsewhere. Or perhaps he had threatened to tell her husband?’
Blackwell pulled at the blackened, damp patches under his armpits, envying his inspector, whose khaki uniform was always pristine however hot the conditions. ‘Rosa Mackay? Apart from living next door and on the same bit of road where he was killed, I don’t fancy that little mouse as a killer, somehow. But we must keep all our options open!’
The weekend at Pangkor was a mixed success. For some, including Tom Howden and Lynnette, it was an idyllic couple of days, but the tensions introduced by several of the couples made for some uneasy moments. Neither could the fact of James’s death hanging over them be ignored and some furtive glances suggested their awareness that his killer might be amongst them.
A cavalcade of cars set off from BMH immediately after breakfast, a mixed bunch of vehicles ranging from the Matron’s Typhoon to Alec’s shaky Morgan. The absence of the Commanding Officer gave an almost palpable sense of relief as they loaded up their sun hats, flippers and snorkels, together with a smuggled supply of Anchor and Tiger beer, the bottles wrapped in newspaper to conceal them and reduce the rattle. It was forbidden to carry any food outside the garrison, as part of the military regime to defeat the CTs was to deprive them of all support from the civilian population. The villages near the jungle were fenced off and strict control exercised over the movement of food or any other supplies that could aid the terrorists. Though it was unlikely that a few sandwiches from BMH Tanah Timah would significantly aid the Communist campaign, the principle was firmly enforced, but a few bottles of beer at NAAFI prices was hardly likely to lead to a court martial.
The dozen or so weekenders were arrayed in their off-duty civvies, the men in shirts and shorts, the women in summer dresses or halter tops. With Albert Morris’s Hillman in the lead, they set off through the gates, leaving an envious skeleton staff to deal with emergencies until the next evening. The three-hour journey took them back down to Sungei Siput, then along the main north–south road through Ipoh, the capital of Perak State. The route then wandered westward through Batu Gajah and Bruas, eventually reaching the coast at Lumut, a small town on a wide creek coming in from the sea. They had coffee in the nearby Rest House while waiting for the ferry to Pangkor Island, which lay a mile or two offshore.
Leaving the cars parked behind the Shell petrol station, they trooped up an ominously bending plank on to a big motor boat which smelt strongly of fish. The accommodation was benching which ran along each side, under a wooden canopy supported on poles. Settling themselves on the seats, clutching their beach bags and holdalls, the party from BMH provided a source of wonderment for several large-eyed Malay children who stood clutching the skirts of their mother’s sarongs. Forty minutes later, they disembarked at the fish quay at Pangkor village, on the mainland side of the island. Tom Howden, born and bred on the banks of the Tyne, had a spasm of nostalgia as he smelt the place, the reek reminding him of North Shields, with its own fish quay and its herring-smoking factory.
With Alf Morris in the lead, the party set off in a straggling line along the track between the coconut trees which lead from the village towards the opposite side of the island. Half a mile away was Pasir Bogak Bay, an idyllic curve of sun-bleached sand, which to Tom’s eyes looked like every tropical beach that he had seen in his childhood picture books.
Even though most of the group had been there before, the sight was so sublime that they all stopped at the top of the beach where the sparse grass under the trees gave way to the glorious sand. Opposite was the smaller island of Pangkor Laut and farther out, some smaller islets dotted the blue waters. Smitten by the sight, they stood and gazed until Alf Morris chivvied them back into action.
‘Right, folks, let’s get settled in, then we can get ourselves into the water or whatever else you want to
