Page 60 - WTP Vol. XIII #3

Murderous Wood (continued from preceding page)
“Dobell tried to recover his reputation with a second attack on Gaza. But the Bosch were ready by then
and just dusted us off. That’s when they brought in Allenby to replace Dobell. Cashiered Rodgers to boot,” Moore said. “Once word got out on what Rodgers had done, he became a Jonah, and nobody wanted him on their staff.”
“I’d heard he’d been shivved on a street corner in Jerusalem. That’s why I was surprised to hear he was still breathing,” Hariaksh said.
“Was your Unit involved in First Gaza, Moore?” Frazer asked.
“Damn right,” Moore said. “My Regiment was in the center. It was tough as hell at first until the Turks broke and it was more like a foxhunt, shooting the bastards as they ran, whooping and screaming; but then the whistles started to blow and the general withdrawal began. We had to turn around and move back across our own lines, creeping past our mate’s bloody bodies all turned to dog chow on those desert waddies; seeing their shocked expressions, frozen dead faces, knowing it was all for nothing.”
Frazer noticed how all three soldiers met this admis- sion with silence and nods, possibly reviewing similar movement across other mud-splattered landscapes.
“What about your Regiment, Sergeant Hariaksh?” Frazer asked.
“We were on the right flank of the general assault, making our way across the beaches and into Beer- sheba. The fog was impenetrable. We couldn’t see beyond our bayonet tips at times. We got turned around somehow and fired into the flanks of our own Brigade. You know what that’s like?” he added look- ing down at his puttees. “To shoot into your own men and hear them cursing you for it?”
“So, there you have it!” Horwitz said with triumphant finality. “Both these men conjoined with our victim
in the most terrifying moment a human being can experience, then motivated by their comrades’ appar- ent ineffectual deaths on the battlefield they travel to England and conspired to murder Rodgers.”
“That’s insane,” cried Hariaksh. “Damn right,” agreed Moore.
“I didn’t even know Colonel Rodgers was alive until yesterday,” Hariaksh said. “And that’s about the same time I’d made the acquaintance of Lieutenant Moore.
So how could I plan his death?”
“Motive still stands,” Horwitz said dismissing Hari- aksh’s excuse with a wave of his hand. “Only makes it more likely to be a crime of passion; unpremeditated yet still lethal.”
“I’m sick to death of killing,” Moore cried suddenly. “And I don’t care what Rodgers did. Just another screw up in a long line of fiascoes, you ask me. No! Find somebody else to crucify, Inspector. I didn’t kill him.” Then with an angry shrug he dropped onto the common room bench with his head be- tween his hands.
“If I may interpose a thought, Inspector?” Frazer said quietly. “I think you may have a justifiable mo- tive here and clear opportunity, but the means, the means are most perplexing? Why go through this elaborate ritual? It speaks of other motivations; deeply religious and expiatory, with antecedents that preclude the actions of men merely inured to the wholesale and indiscriminate death witnessed in trench warfare.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Horwitz said, turning to face Hariaksh. “It would take an un-Christian savage to kill in such a fashion.”
“I take great offense at your inference, Sir,” cried Hariaksh. “My religion and culture, although not Brit- ish, are highly sophisticated. My countrymen were living in marvelous cites, using phonetic writing, and making astrological observations of the cosmos while
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