The Leopard's Prey (35 page)

Jade held out her hand. “I guess this is goodbye then, Mr. Perkins. Thanks for the job.”

He shook her hand. “Been a pleasure, Miss del Cameron. Look me up if you ever get back to the States.”

“Hey, Bob,” yelled Cutter from the truck, “who’s overseeing the animal care here and who’s going on to the boat?”

Perkins pulled a notebook from his hip pocket and flipped through a few pages. “I’ve got you staying here, Frank. Wayne will go with me and Hank on the train.” He turned another page. “They’ll return here for the carnivores and you. I’ll stay at the boats.” He looked up from his book. “I’ll hire workers at Mombassa to help before we ship out.”

“So it’s just
me
here?” Cutter looked like a kid who’d just learned he had to miss a parade for chores. “Why do I have to stay behind?”

“Because your shoes still stink like polecat, Frank,” said Perkins. “Don’t want to be in the same train car with you if I can avoid it. Get the damn things cleaned, why don’t you?” He waved a hand at the warehouse. “You have men here, Frank. Once everything is locked down for the night, you only need to post the usual watch.”

“Yeah, Frank,” said Anderson, “you’re acting like you’re a scaredy-cat.”

“I don’t see you rushing over to check on those cats, Wayne,” retorted Cutter. “That leopard gives me the willies every time he looks at me. Those eyes don’t look natural, I tell ya.”

“You don’t have to feed the leopard yourself,” said Perkins. “Just make sure it gets done. You’ll be in charge.” He clapped his hands twice. “Let’s get to work, men.”

Jade saw that the rhino had finished his hay, at least as much as he intended to eat. Right at the moment he seemed more intent on pawing through it and bucking in what, she supposed, passed for rhino play. Jade let him have his fun and exercise for another ten minutes, then led him back into a traveling pen before he could curl up and fall asleep on the ground outside. His new pen was large enough for him to move around in, and once inside, he quickly dropped to his knees and closed his eyes.

In the meantime, the others had started pushing and hoisting cages into the waiting freight cars. Jade photographed the loading of the zebra stallion as well as his harem. Next came a young pair of reedbuck, the male’s horns barely budding. Following them, the men loaded up two Thomson’s gazelles. Their horns had been wrapped in woolen fabric to prevent them from accidentally goring each other during the voyage. It looked as if they sported turbans, and Jade made a point of capturing the image.

As she watched set after set of animals, she had the impression that this was a twisted sort of Noah’s ark. Once again, pairs or small herds of animals were being saved, but from a flood of humanity rather than water. The last cage to go up contained one lone female aardvark. She stuck her long, piglike nose between the bars and sniffed. A moment later, her whiplike sticky tongue flicked out and swept the floor, searching for insects.

At least they didn’t keep the zorilla.

Jade had finished taking shots of the aardvark when she spied one of the railway workers walking the line, checking to see that all doors were shut and the cars securely coupled. The engineer? No, the engineer was currently backing the locomotive down this side rail. Whatever this man’s position, she decided to visit with him. Since Neville’s coffee dryer had stood on the siding for several days, this man might have seen or heard something useful.

She stepped forward, her right hand extended. “Hello, I’m Jade del Cameron.” The man shook her hand, his brows tipped upward in curiosity. Jade waved her Kodak in her left hand. “I’m documenting this shipment for Mr. Perkins and Mr. Daley. I was wondering if I might ask you to pose by one of the cars for a picture.”

“Why, certainly, miss,” he said, putting his left hand on the boxcar door handle. “How’s this?”

Jade moved to her right to get the approaching locomotive in the background and took two exposures. “Wonderful. Now if I could just get your name and your official title.” She slung the camera over one shoulder and pulled out her notebook and pencil.

“David Robertson,” he said. “I’m an assistant locomotive superintendent. I oversee special freight cars such as this one. Wouldn’t do to have excessive weight behind an engine, you see.”

“Ah, an assistant
superintendent
!” exclaimed Jade. “Then I imagine you know everything that goes on around the rail yards, don’t you?”

The man dropped his hand from the door and brushed away some dirt from his shirtfront. “Yes. I check all the manifests for weight, oversee loading and unloading, that sort of thing. “ He smiled. “Doing a piece for a paper?”

“I write for a magazine,” said Jade.

“A magazine,” he repeated as he straightened his cap. “Good show. Wonderful what young ladies can do nowadays. If you’d like to photograph my office, I’d be happy to let you. Perhaps a shot of me sitting behind my desk?”

“I think out here in the yards is much more impressive,” said Jade. She looked around as though trying to find a proper backdrop. “Considering your importance, you should be in front of some heavy equipment.”

“There are crates of tea in the far warehouse,” he suggested.

Jade shook her head. “No, I want something that really represents the colony. I know. How about some big farming equipment? Maybe something that has to do with all the coffee they grow around here?”

“You mean such as a pulper?”

“Yes, or a dryer?”

“Sorry, miss. Nothing of that sort here now. And you should be glad you weren’t taking these photographs last week. We
had
a dryer on the siding. Sat over there.” He pointed to the far side of their animal warehouse. “Man was found dead inside it.”

Jade shook her head. “I heard about that. Murdered, they say. Then you may have seen who did it, too? I imagine the police have asked
you
a lot of questions.”

He puffed up, sticking his chest out. “Told them I saw that Mr. Stokes and some other man arguing one day. Yank, by the sound of him. Mad about overpricing him on petrol. Said it looked like the billing had been tampered with. Stokes seemed surprised.”

“Did they fight? I mean physically?”

Mr. Robertson shook his head. “Not what
I’d
call fighting. Just loud words. Some fist shaking, posturing, that sort of thing. I think Stokes walked into the Yank’s fist once. Made him step back, but that’s all. Then that Yank got on a motorcycle and rode off. I think Stokes stayed around, though.”

“How shocking,” said Jade.

“Unpleasant, I suppose, but not entirely surprising. I’ve wanted to take a swing at Stokes myself, to speak the truth. He had … a way about him. I’m only surprised he didn’t have more enemies. Of course,” he added hastily, “
I
wouldn’t actually go and hit him. Perhaps accidentally trip him in a practice scrimmage, if you catch my drift.”

“Did the police interview you?”

“Yes. Inspector Finch, I believe.”

Jade wondered if Stokes had been waiting for someone when Sam found him. She also wondered why, if Finch knew all this, he’d ever seriously considered Sam as a suspect. “You’re lucky you weren’t here longer,” she said. “You might have been the target for the killer instead of Mr. Stokes. Pity him standing there all alone.”

“Well, he wasn’t the only one around at the time. As I recall, there was a farmer hanging about later. And I saw some chap coming out of this animal warehouse. Wiry, blond fellow.

That sounded like Cutter. “What time of day was this? Do you recall?”

“Actually, yes. I was coming off my job, you see, and in a bit of a hurry. The railroad employees’ football squad was having a dinner that evening at the gymkhana. I play forward on the team, you know.”

“Ah,” said Jade, “so it was still early in the day?”

“No. Pushing six thirty, in point of fact. Barely time to go home and change into evening kit.” He leaned in as though to offer a confidence. “It’s these blasted work hours, you know. Can’t even get a game in before dark. Have to play on Sundays. Only reason I could see any of them was because of the light above the warehouse door.”

Jade considered what she already knew and matched it against the railroad man’s report. Sam had been seen arguing with Stokes. Cutter probably overheard the argument and came out to see what was happening. He saw Sam drive off. He presumably told Anderson, who embellished the story to the police. Added to Sam’s print on the harvesting glove, it might have initially been enough to bring Sam in for questioning the night of the dance.

Stokes waited, though. It was already dark, so someone could have killed him and then shoved the body in the nearby dryer without anyone seeing. Then the murderer had staged the suicide. Either he had the glove or he had found it with Stokes’ things. Unfortunately, not much blood came out since Stokes was already dead. But there were always natives at the depot selling chickens. It would be easy enough to get one, bring it back, kill it, and pour its blood into the dryer drum. Could it have been Cutter? Jade couldn’t figure out his motive, but then, she didn’t know him well at all.

The locomotive and its tender edged into the line of cars. The resulting clang of couplers startled Jade out of her thoughts as the force rippled in waves down the line of cars, making them shudder. The impact, mild as it was, frightened the animals, which responded with a cacophony of bleating, brays, and snorts. Several monkeys screamed.

“Will you be wanting any more photographs, miss?” Mr. Robertson shouted over the din. “Because if not, I believe I need to double-check those couplings so your train can leave.”

“Oh, sorry. No. I think this one with the animal train will be good. I can send a print to you if you’d like.”

“Would you? That would be splendid. I can send it home. Show my mum that I’ve an important job and all that.” He waved goodbye and strode off down the track, whistling.

Anderson came up beside her. “We’re heading out now, Jade,” he said. “See you when we return, and mind what I said about that pilot.”

“Leave her alone and get on board, Wayne,” called Daley from the car’s door. He waved and Jade waved back as they and Perkins boarded the lone passenger car attached at the rear. The train chugged out of the rail yards, and Jade pulled her watch from her side trouser pocket. Four forty-five. She’d catch a taxi and head for the Dunburys’ to see if Avery and Sam were back. That was when she heard Cutter issuing orders to the native workers regarding the dip tanks.

“Get rid of it.” Cutter stood with his hands on his hips and an impatient scowl on his face.

“Ku-simana! Wait!” shouted Jade. She was too late. The men, standing on either end of the big metal trough, tipped it over onto the dirt.

“What’s the problem?” asked Cutter. “We don’t need it anymore. All the animals have been taken care of.”

“That’s a poison, you idiot!” she exclaimed. “You just had them dump gallons of arsenic. I read in the paper where absorbing enough of it can cook your liver.”

“Oh.” Cutter watched as the pools of liquid disappeared into the soil and gravel. “Ought to keep the fleas down then,” he said, and laughed. “I’m glad you’re still here, though. You know some of these natives, right? You speak their lingo? Who’s the best one for night watch?”

“Wachiru isn’t afraid of the leopard, if that’s what you mean. And he understands some English in case your Swahili is bad.”

“Which one is he?”

Jade pointed him out as he came out of the warehouse.

“Thanks. I’ll let him either pick a pal or keep watch tonight himself.” He hurried over to Wachiru. Jade was about to follow when the men by the dip trough called to her.

“Simba Jike, come!” Both men waved to her with one hand and pointed with their others to the ground on the far side of the tank.

Jade walked over. “What is it?”

“We have found something, Simba Jike. It was under the trough.”

She stepped around the tank, expecting to see a smelly, bloated rat carcass. Instead, lying on the wet siding was a man’s pocketknife.

CHAPTER 19

A warrior might kill another in mock battle, and then the dead man’s family
will seek revenge unless they can be placated in some way.

—The Traveler

A KNIFE!
JADE started to reach for it when she remembered that it was probably coated with an arsenic-laced solution. Instead, she pulled out her pocket kerchief and used it to pick up and carry the knife over to a pump, where she rinsed off the poison.

The knife looked like any ordinary pocketknife, three inches long with brass edging surrounding a dark wood inlay. Jade wanted to examine the blade when she remembered that there might be fingerprints on it. She had no idea if any would remain after being ground in dirt and bathed in dip, but that was a matter for the police to determine. She tipped her hand enough to flip the knife over on the sopping cloth, hoping to see a monogram. Nothing.

Because the coffee dryer had sat near here, and there weren’t any other dip tanks nearby, it seemed likely that Stokes had drowned in this very trough. So, Jade wondered, had the knife belonged to Stokes? Had it fallen out of his pocket or his hand when he fell into the tank? Or had it belonged to the killer? Even though it wasn’t a murder weapon, maybe it could help Finch connect someone to the scene of the crime. Then again, maybe it simply belonged to someone in this crew. Maybe it was Cutter’s. She rolled up the dripping kerchief and shoved it and the knife into her side pocket.