‘Thereabouts? You can’t be a bit more exact?’ asked Blackwell.
‘Jesus, no! I’d had a good few beers, as always. Even had a bit of a dance, before and after the grub. Do you want to know who with?’
His tone was bantering, a half-amused smile on his face.
Steven shook his head. ‘You saw no one on the road from Tanah Timah, I presume? It would help if you knew the time you came up, so that I could try to place where James Robertson was then.’
Arnold took another mouthful of beer and tried to look more serious.
‘Just can’t be that exact, mate. Time doesn’t mean a hell of lot in a place like this, getting the date right is hard enough. But I think I got to bed about midnight, give or take a few minutes.’
‘And you saw nothing on the road?’
‘Damn all, Steve.’ He looked quizzically at the superintendent. ‘Why this interest in this road? Was that where it happened?’
It was inevitable that everyone would soon hear about the blood on the grass, so he made no attempt to avoid the question.
‘I’m not absolutely sure, Les, but I think the shooting happened near that cutting just below Gunong Besar.’
The Australian shrugged. ‘That’s a long way from here. I wouldn’t hear any shots this far off. I didn’t even hear when they blasted the place a couple of weeks ago and that’s almost a mile closer.’
Blackwell took a long swallow of his beer, imagining that he could feel it come out as perspiration on his forehead as soon as he drank it.
‘This is the awkward bit I have to ask people, Les. We’re sure this wasn’t a CT attack, it was more personal, so we need a motive. How did you really get on with James and Diane?’
Again a crooked grin appeared on the planter’s face. ‘What d’you expect me to say, for Chrissake? Jimmy Robertson was a pain in the arse, but he was harmless.’
‘And Diane?’
‘Come on, Steve, you’ve got eyes and a pair of balls! She’s bloody gorgeous and I could do her a good turn any day of the week — though I’d have to join the queue!’
‘And did you?’
Arnold’s expression hardened a little, the smile fading. ‘Look, Steve, you’re sitting in my place, drinking my beer. Do you seriously think I’m going to admit to you that I was knocking off Jimmy’s wife?’
Blackwell carefully put his empty tankard on the ground alongside his chair.
‘Is that a “yes” or a “no”, then?’ he asked.
‘It’s a “no comment”, and that’s all you’re getting, Stevie boy,’ he grunted. ‘It’s got bugger all to with this affair, anyway. I’ll admit I fancied her something rotten, as did every red-blooded chap within ten miles, but that’s sweet Fanny Adams to do with Jimmy getting killed.’
The planter uncoiled his six feet from the chair and Steven sensed that he would get nothing more from him at present. Not wanting to antagonize people with whom he had to associate — and who he would no doubt have to return to question yet again — he decided to retire gracefully while he was still ahead.
After a few rather stilted platitudes, the social temperature having dropped somewhat, the police officer climbed back into his Land Rover, wishing the air temperature would do the same.
When they got back down the road as far as Gunong Besar, Steven Blackwell saw that a black Ford V8 Pilot was just turning into the manager’s driveway. A quick glance up to the Robertson house showed him that there was no sign of Diane’s Austin under the bungalow, so he told to his driver to follow the Ford. As they drove up to the front of the bungalow, Douglas and Rosa were just getting out of the V8, stopping to stare at the police vehicle as it pulled up. The Scotsman wore a rather creased linen suit and a wide-brimmed straw hat, Rosa being as neat as usual in a blue-and-white flowered dress with a wide skirt. She had a small blue hat on the front of her raven hair and even carried a pair of white gloves, obviously her formal churchgoing outfit.
Leaving his driver with the vehicle, Steven got out to greet the manager and his wife and was invited up into the bungalow, a slightly smaller version of the one next door. In the wide lounge, Douglas invited the police officer to sit down, after a rather apprehensive Rosa took off her hat and sat opposite, perched stiffly on the edge of a settee.
‘I’ve only a beer to offer you, I’m afraid,’ said Douglas softly. ‘We’re not great drinkers here, you see.’
Blackwell waved away the offer, but accepted Rosa’s suggestion of a fresh lime. She rang a small brass bell that stood on a coffee table between them and gave an order to a silent Chinese amah who glided in from the back of the house.
‘What can we do for you, Steven?’ asked Douglas. ‘More questions, I expect.’
He said this without rancour and sat alongside his wife, looking expectantly at the superintendent.
‘Sorry about all this, but I’ve got to start doing the rounds of everyone who had more than a passing acquaintance with poor old James. I’ve just been up to talk to Les Arnold.’
Douglas Mackay gave a slight sniff at the mention of his neighbour. Steven recognized that though Douglas was a most Christian soul, full of compassion and forgiveness, he was not overly fond of the Australian, a cynical, hard-drinking and sometimes aggressive fellow.
‘How did James get along with Arnold?’ asked the policeman. ‘We all saw them together often enough in The Dog, but that doesn’t really tell me much.’
Douglas looked down at his wife’s smooth features, then warily raised his eyes to his visitor.
‘I’m not much given to gossip, Steven. People’s affairs are their own. But as this is a police matter, I have to say that they were certainly not bosom pals. Arnold used to needle James quite a bit, sort of sarcastic leg-pulling. I felt he thought James a bit of a “pommie snob”, to be honest.’
‘Anything more than that?’ persisted Steven.
Mackay hesitated and again looked across at Rosa, who sat impassively alongside him. ‘I think he used to get annoyed at Les flirting with Diane — but Les did that with every woman he met, it doesn’t mean that it was at all serious. Though perhaps James may have thought it was — he wasn’t the most perceptive of people. But one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’
The amah brought a tray of drinks, tall glasses with a crush of heavily sugared limes. They each took one and rattled the ice with the straws before gratefully sucking down some of the delicious pale green juice. Then Blackwell went over once again their movements on the night before last, this time in meticulous detail, though nothing new emerged.
‘I’ll have to borrow your rifle in the next few days, Doug — and the one that belonged to James. A damned nuisance, I know, but every.303 in sight will have to be test-fired, just as a routine. We’ll only need them for a day, the Ordnance guys in the garrison can do the business.’
Mackay’s fair eyebrows rose at this. ‘How the dickens can you do all of them, Steven? There must be hundreds down in the Brigade!’
The superintendent shrugged helplessly. ‘I know, it’s almost impossible. We’ll start with those in civilian hands, like yours, then gradually work selectively through those which must have been in the garrison both on Friday night and when your bungalows were shot up the other day.’
‘Will the army let you do that?’ asked Douglas.
‘They’re very cooperative. There’s an SIB chap working with the provost marshal’s office. I think they may be afraid that the culprit may turn out to be in the military.’ Steven said this in a neutral tone, but they all knew that the possibility was that an officer was involved.
The superintendent sighed to himself. He felt he was getting nowhere fast in this investigation
‘And there’s been no trouble recently between James and his workers, has there?’ he asked.
Douglas shook his head. ‘Nothing at all lately. James was always a little brusque with the men — some would say overbearing and rude, but I was usually able to smooth down any ruffled feathers. We had better labour relations than Les Arnold, that’s for sure!’