The Leopard's Prey (18 page)

The mission, with its coffee farm and school, lay tucked between the confluence of a seasonal tributary and the Nairobi River in the beautiful highlands east of town. The drive would help her think, and she loved visiting the French Fathers there as she’d done when she first met them, looking for help. Maybe Sam would be back when she returned, but by this time, he’d probably gone back to his room at the Thompsons’.

SAM FOUGHT THE urge to punch his fist into a wall. First Inspector Finch had pulled him from the ballroom and then had the unmitigated gall to “suggest” that Sam spend the rest of the night at the police headquarters rather than disturb his friends by coming in so late. Finch even had one of his constables retrieve Sam’s motorcycle for him so he’d “have it in the morning” when they turned him loose. And why? Because they had found his partial thumb print on the corn-husking glove.

Well, why the hell wouldn’t they? He’d hauled the blasted body out of the dryer, for Pete’s sake. He’d also admitted in his interview that he’d looked at one in the store and handled it. So had a lot of other people, he imagined. Sam told Finch what he’d learned about Stokes: how the Berryhill kid and Mr. Griswell both seemed to think he was blackmailing someone. Finch only seemed mildly interested and countered by asking if Stokes had blackmailed Sam as well.

“Was that why you were so angry with him?” Finch had asked. “Is that why you hit him?”

Sam repeated that he hadn’t knocked Stokes down. That he’d been upset about being charged five pounds more for the barrel of fuel, waved a billing in his face, and grazed him. He wanted to know who this so-called witness was who claimed to see him punch Stokes. Finch said he couldn’t divulge that, making some claim that it was to protect the witness.

“Am I under arrest?” Sam asked.

“The case against you is looking better, but no, not at this point,” Finch had replied. “But we would suggest that you don’t go flying off anywhere.”

“I’m supposed to fly early Monday,” Sam said. “I have a job for that Perkins and Daley outfit. They want me to scout a young rhino for them.” When Finch didn’t respond, Sam added, “Jade is planning to go with me.”

“Ah, Miss del Cameron,” said Finch. “A most interesting young woman.”

Sam couldn’t tell if Finch’s comment about Jade was geared to provoke a response or intended to suggest that she might be involved in Stokes’ death as well. He decided not to reply. Anything he said would be misconstrued anyway.

“What does she think about your being seen arguing with Mr. Stokes?” asked Finch.

“You told me not to tell her about my previous interrogation.”

Finch smiled. “So I did. But women are generally so curious.”

Sam kept his mouth shut and his eyes on Finch’s.

“She told me you rescued her and her mother in Morocco,” continued Finch. “I checked into that and learned that Miss del Cameron had been held by the police as a murder suspect in Tangier.” He cocked his head and watched Sam. “What I found most interesting was that she slipped away from them during the night.”

Sam felt his jaw tighten and forced himself to remain calm.
It’s all an act. He’s trying to provoke me.
He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair.

“Of course, we have applied to Lord Avery Dunbury about all this, as Miss del Cameron claims he is a character reference,” said Finch. “It is curious, isn’t it, that Lord Dunbury has not deigned to reply?” He leaned forward, looking to Sam for an answer to the implied question.

“Maybe he’s simply not at home right now,” said Sam.

Finch put his palms flat on the table. “Perhaps.” He gave the tabletop a slap and stood. “Well, I should imagine that you are very tired, Mr. Featherstone. It is rather late.”

“I’m free to leave?” asked Sam.

“If you insist, of course,” said Finch. “But when the constable brought your motorcycle to the station, he noticed that your lamp was out. Of course it would be out of the question for you to drive it at night. After six o’clock headlight rule and all, you know. You
would
get arrested for operating a vehicle without the proper lighting. You could walk, but we have a perfectly comfortable bunk here at the station.” He smiled as though he were offering a friend a spare bedroom with a bath.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stood. “Thank you for your consideration,” he said. “It seems I have little choice.”

Which was why, sitting on the bunk in what was nothing more than a jail cell, Sam wanted to punch his fist into the wall. Instead, he flipped the mattress over in case there were lice, tossed the pillow to the floor, and rolled up his dinner jacket to use in its place. He didn’t bother to dismantle his artificial leg before retiring.

I’ll be damned if I let him see me as anything less than a whole man.

JADE GOT UP again at five, pulled her old ambulance corps skirt on over her trousers, left a note on Maddy’s bag, and rode off to the mission on her motorcycle. The early-morning air felt cool and refreshing on her face, the speed good. Biscuit had chirped and strained at his lead, begging to run alongside her, but Jade decided the Fathers didn’t need a cheetah interrupting their Sunday. Instead, she left Biscuit tethered in the backyard with a chicken carcass for breakfast.

Jade took the Kikuyu Road south and cut east at the Nairobi River. From there she followed the river, avoiding the roads and relishing the open grasslands. She crossed the dry tributary, puttered into the mission’s coffee plantation, and rode past the convent and school grounds to the church. As she dismounted, she adjusted her skirt so that it hid her trousers above the boots. Then she slipped a scarf over her head and went inside.

After mass Father Jacquinet invited her to breakfast, but Jade declined, albeit with some regret as she thought about the fresh breads, jams, clotted cream, and the Father’s wonderful coffee. She explained that she needed to get home and on to the Thompsons’ house before the zoological crew arrived. Besides, she was anxious to find Sam and ask what had happened to him.

“Are you certain you do not have time for perhaps a petite visit?” Farther Jacquinet asked, holding his thumb and index finger a few millimeters apart.

She pulled out her pocket watch and checked the time. Seven forty-five. Madeline and Neville would possibly still be abed on a Sunday morning, and something told her she wouldn’t see Sam there either. “Perhaps there is time for just one cup of coffee,” she said.

“Bon!”
exclaimed Father Jacquinet, as he led the way to the refectory.

Inside the cool dining area, Jade helped the younger Father Duflot set the table while Father Jacquinet assisted the more infirm, older Father Robidoux to a seat. Jade was sorry to see that the old priest had declined so much physically since she last saw him, but was glad to note the alert expression in his soft blue eyes. His mind, at least, had not aged.

They said grace and broke their long fast on warm bread and jam. Jade regaled them with her adventures in Marrakech, but she could have recited the merits of her motorcycle and they would have been just as happy as long as it was in French rather than in Swahili or English.

“It is good that you helped the old woman in Tangier to go back to France,” said Father Robidoux. “But selling the Panhard? Bah! That was a mistake, mademoiselle. That is a fine French automobile.”

“True, but I find my Indian Big Twin much more practical,” she replied.

“And now? What do you do now?” asked Father Jacquinet.

Jade told them about her writing and her extra job working for Perkins and Daley. She spoke about Sam and flying, and about the most recent problems. “Did you know this Mr. Stokes?” she asked. “Did he deliver food or supplies here?”

Father Robidoux shrugged. “Sometimes, but I never spoke with him. He came, he delivered, we paid him, he left. Voilà.” Then he smiled and his eyes seemed to twinkle. “And so,” he said in a cracked voice, “you have yet another puzzle to solve.”

“Why do you think, Father, that this is a puzzle for
me
to solve?”

“Perhaps I am a bit of a detective myself, no? You tell us of this Mr. Featherstone, who helped you and your mother in Morocco. And you tell us of rides in his flying machine. Then you say that the police think he may be a suspect.” He chuckled. “You will not let them accuse this young man. Oh, no.” He smeared jam on another chunk of bread and bit into it, still chuckling.

Jade blushed. “Sam and I are friends, Father. Of course I do not wish to see him accused. And yes, I’m trying to assist, but I don’t know what else I can do.”

“You have already said you must find out where the coffee dryer stood,” said Father Duflot. “Perhaps there is a tank of this animal dip nearby? You will play like the great French detective, M. Edmond Locard, no? You will search for the hairs, and the buttons, and the faint but telling footprints. And do not forget there is planning in covering up this crime.”

“Yes,” said Jade, “slitting the wrist and adding animal blood to make it appear to be a suicide.” She looked at the mantelpiece clock and noted the time. “Nine o’clock! Oh, dear, I must be on my way,” she said. “Thank you so much for the delightful breakfast.”

“Please be certain to let us meet this young man soon,” Father Robidoux said as Jade excused herself. “Bring him next Sunday,” he called to her back.

SAM LEFT THE police headquarters as soon as someone opened the door for him at six thirty. He felt as if bugs were crawling all over his legs.
Damn
lice-ridden jail! He rode on to the Dunburys’ house, intent on explaining where he’d been and retrieving his everyday clothes, but not until he filled a tub with water and scrubbed himself raw to get the bugs off him. When he arrived, it was to an empty house.

Avery had purchased a good house to begin with, but had also invested some money adding all the best amenities. Consequently, the bathroom had hot and cold running water, as long as someone lit the pilot and turned on the gas to heat the water. No one had. Luckily, in this climate even the cold water wasn’t too bad. Sam filled the tub a third of the way full and scrubbed hard with a bar of Palm Olive soap he found on the shelf. Wrapped in a towel, he found the clothes he’d left behind when he’d changed into evening wear and gotten dressed.

Now he felt human again. He wadded the dinner jacket, trousers, tie, and cummerbund into a ball, rolled them into a newspaper, and tossed the bundle in a corner on the front veranda to keep any possible lice from contaminating the house. He’d worry about them later. Right now he had other things on his mind. He felt a desperate need to see Jade.

He looked for a note, found none. Sam checked his watch and decided she had gone to mass. From his visit in town last January, he remembered that they’d gone to St. Joseph’s together. He got back on his motorcycle and headed back into Nairobi.

By the time he arrived at seven thirty, the service was just beginning. Sam knelt in the back pew, his eyes scanning the crowd for Jade. From their build and general height, two young ladies could have been her, but he couldn’t see their hair for the broad-brimmed hats on their heads. Somehow, neither the hats nor the dresses looked like anything Jade would wear. An hour later, he emerged discouraged at not finding her. He suddenly felt very much alone in Africa, like a man shot down in enemy territory. The pounding in his head didn’t help either.

He decided to retrieve his equipment and go back to the farm. He slipped out of the church and motored back to the Dunburys’. His head spun a little as he bent to take the key from under a flowerpot. He attributed the weakness to lack of sleep, went inside, and headed for the back pantry, where he had left the camera and tripod yesterday. They were gone!

JADE RODE BACK to Parklands, thinking about Father Duflot’s suggestion. If she could find something to show Finch, something that would lead him away from Sam as a suspect, it would be worth any time and effort.
I’ll ask Neville where the coffee dryer stood as soon as I see him.
Finch had either not asked Neville that question, or Neville hadn’t remembered it when he made his meager entries in his notes.

At the Dunburys’ she found a note from Madeline in her room. It said that Neville and she had driven off to their farm at six fifteen but left Biscuit behind since he was still eating. They added that Sam had not returned, and since they expected to see him at their home, they took his camera equipment with them in the motorcar. Jade wadded up the note and tossed it in a trash can. Then she removed her skirt and hung it in her closet. In the bathroom, she saw a wet towel and wondered if either Maddy or Neville had bathed that morning or if Sam had returned. She hurried to see if he was in any of the guest bedrooms.
Empty.

Deciding Sam had already gone back to the Thompsons’ farm, Jade locked up the house and headed for her motorcycle. That was when she saw the bundle tossed into a corner of the veranda. A quick check revealed Sam’s evening clothes.

Why did he leave them wadded up here? Why didn’t he wait for me?
She rerolled the clothes in the paper and set them back where she’d found them, searching for some reason why he’d be angry at her. She came up empty. Deciding that the answers waited for her at the Thompsons’, Jade went to fetch Biscuit. She undid his tether and led him back to her motorcycle. A quick check on her watch showed it was nine forty-five. Time to get moving.

The sleek cat pranced and tugged at his lead, letting Jade know how excited he was by the prospect of another good run. Jade made sure the lead was firmly wrapped around her right hand, kick-started her engine, and let Biscuit set the pace. If anything, she had to restrain him several times. Her motorcycle was capable of 60 mph, but the road was not, and Jade didn’t care to connect with one of the many ruts and bumps at that speed. Two miles from the farm, she stopped, untied the lead, and let Biscuit have his head. He could run full out for as long as he could endure it and trot the rest of the way in.