The Crocodile's Last Embrace (40 page)

After a moment’s hesitation, Sam signed it as Lord Dunbury, hoping Finch would pay more heed to that name than to an anonymous note. He folded the note in half with the mining forms inside and wrote
FINCH
on the outside.

As he exited the station, Sam collided with a young man hurrying down the street. “What’s going on?” Sam asked.

The man brandished a stout stick. “Some Indians said that the plague is a government plot to kill them. The district’s in an uproar. I’m going to establish order before they attack us.”

He hurried away, seemingly anxious to get into the fray. Sam felt an uneasy twinge in his chest as he started his motorcycle. What better way to occupy the police today than to pay someone to foment a riot? There was no way he could count on Finch to find Lilith in town now, not with all this mess. But Sam wondered if he could himself. He made his way around the gathering throngs and headed for the Victoria Hotel. The street and lobby were nearly empty and Sam asked the clerk for the reporter’s room number.

“That fellow’s gone, sir. Checked out two days ago, he did. Not sure where he moved to. Didn’t leave any forwarding notice here.”

Sam thanked the clerk and hurried back to his motorcycle. He needed to get to the falls, set up his decoy tent, and hide. At least, he mused, Jade was safely out of the way. There was no way that a woman like Lilith, one who kept extravagantly appointed rooms, would stay in that dumpy shack.

 

HARRY DROVE STRAIGHT FOR AVERY’S STABLES. If that Fairley was on-site, then that was where he’d be. He didn’t even shut the truck door when he got out. He just grabbed his Holland & Holland and drew back the bolt, putting a cartridge in the chamber.

But other than the horses peacefully munching hay in their clean stalls, the barn was empty. Harry hadn’t expected that. For a moment, he stood in the center aisle, uncertain what to do next. Then he heard the sputter of a badly maintained motorcycle coming up the drive.

He ran around the paddock towards the house in time to see a pale woman alight from a rickshaw and approach the house, carrying a small valise. The rickshaw driver hurried after her with another, larger suitcase. The woman was met at the door by a servant dressed in immaculate white. Harry recognized the servant as Farhani, who bowed to the woman.

“Memsahib Heathington,” Farhani said, “it is good you are home. Everyone is fled.”

“Fled!” The woman stood rooted to the veranda, her gaze darting every which way. She spotted Harry. “I recognize you. You came to our camp. Jade said you took sick afterwards.”

Harry approached and touched his hat brim. “Harry Hascombe, Miss Heathington. Dunbury knows me.”

Emily looked at Farhani for confirmation. He nodded. “Then,” she demanded, “perhaps you can be so good as to tell me what the devil is Farhani talking about? Where is my sister?”

Before Harry could answer, Farhani broke in. “They are fled to escape an evil kidnapper that threatened a Guiding Girl and the children. Memsahib left a letter for you.” He stepped aside as Emily led the way into the house.

“You are Lady Dunbury’s sister?” asked Harry.

“I am.” She offered her hand for him to shake. “Emily Heathington, Mr. Hascombe. I’ve heard your name mentioned.”

Farhani handed a sealed envelope to Emily, who ripped it open, scattering shreds of the envelope onto the carpet. The note inside, written in Beverly’s neat hand on fine linen rag, was brief. Emily read it aloud.

“‘Emily, so sorry to cause you fright. We’re safe, but we fear someone may harm the children. Threats were made against Mary Postlewaithe. We’d hoped to have this resolved before your return, but if you are reading this, then you may also be in some danger. You should return to Mombassa until I can send word to you. Love, Beverly.’

“Return to Mombassa,” Emily said. “What sort of nonsense is this?” The clock chimed two in the background. Emily looked to Farhani. “Do you know anything else?”

“Yes. Memsahib Jade is dead.”

Emily shrieked and would have fallen if Harry hadn’t caught her. She covered her mouth with her hands and stared, horrified at the white-robed man before them, looking at him as though he were the angel of death. “Dead?” she breathed.

Harry guided her to a chair and poured a glass of brandy for her. “Afraid so,” he said.

“Indeed,” said Farhani. “That is what the egg peddler told the cook.”

Harry pressed the glass into her hand. “The aeroplane she was flying was tampered with and she crashed. And someone put a notice in this morning’s paper saying that the lioness was dead.”

Emily drank the brandy in two gulps. “Then it was premeditated murder.” She looked at Harry. “You came here to tell Avery?”

Harry looked sidewise at Farhani without answering.

“You can speak in front of him,” said Emily.

“No,” said Harry. “I came here to . . . to find a man named Fairley. But he’s not here.”

“Fairley? That disreputable-looking Australian whom Avery hired? Why?”

“He’s the one who tampered with Jade’s plane. It’s in today’s paper.”

Emily found the day’s newspapers and flipped through them, looking for the personal advertisements. “Horrid,” she said after reading it.

Harry studied Emily for a moment, assessing her. “What do you know of him? How did Dunbury come to hire him?”

Emily related the tale and added that she seemed to be the only one who didn’t trust him. “As to where he is, who can say? I took the down train to Mombassa on Tuesday. He was here then.” She looked at her valises, placed just inside the door. “I returned after only one night. At first a trip sounded like an adventure, but when I got to Mombassa, it only seemed noisy.”

Harry nodded. “It is at that.” He rose and paced. “And now we learn that Dunbury and your sister have fled somewhere. Neville Thompson said that his wife and son were hiding, too. Jade had flown them someplace.”

“Do you have any idea where they went?” asked Emily.

“Thompson started the search near Kinangop, not far from Naivasha.”

Emily stood and went for the telephone, a candlestick contraption on the side table. After jiggling the receiver several times, she spoke into the handset. “Operator, hello. Connect me to—No, this is not Lady Dunbury. Yes, very tragic, now please connect me to—” She immediately replaced the earpiece into the handset and stepped back, her hands clasped in front of her. “If I ask for them in Naivasha, I might give away their hiding place.”

“Like as not, they took the train farther north,” said Harry. “But it’s a clever thought.”

“Should we call the police?”

“Inspector Finch already knows about this,” Harry said.

“And he’s probably got his hands full with the riot in the Indian district,” said Emily. “I heard of it when I got off the train. It sounded like a war.” She looked at Harry. “Well, Mr. Hascombe, it appears it’s up to us to find this blackguard Fairley.”

“Begging your pardon, miss, but—”

Emily held up her hand for silence. “Mr. Hascombe, I beg you to listen. My sister is in hiding. Beverly does not hide. She has always been a fighter. It was a trait that, as her older sister, I tried to soften. I was wrong, and it’s high time that another Heathington signed up to fight.” She lifted her chin. “No one threatens my little niece and gets away with it. And no one who destroys a brave woman like Jade deserves to live.”

Harry smiled. “Very well, Miss Heathington.”

“Emily,” she corrected.

“All right, Emily. But unless you are privy to more information, I have no idea where to look.” He heard a quiet cough at his elbow and turned. Farhani stood at attention.

“Pardon, memsahib, bwana. I have overheard. Are you speaking of the man locked in the darkness room? I take him food two times a day. Bwana Dunbury says he is there to keep safe, but I think that he has perhaps gone afoul of God.”

Emily and Harry stood motionless for a moment before Harry bolted for the door.

 

THE SLAM OF WOOD ON WOOD echoed in the stagnant air. Jade felt the reverberation shudder down the ladder. It rattled under her hand and feet as a wave of dust pulsed across her face and the noise slapped her ears. She instinctively ducked as from a blow before resuming her frantic climb. She took the rungs two at a time and pushed with one hand against the door. It gave an inch before a force on the other side pounded back. If she’d harbored any hope that the door had fallen on its own, it was gone now.

Jade heard the soft scrape as the wooden bolt slid home. For a moment, Jade froze. Maybe the person on the other side didn’t know she was down here. Perhaps someone thought that Jelani had gotten loose and tried to escape. The thought vanished, an idea made of mist. There was no doubt that the person up top was Lilith, and Lilith was no fool. She’d know that Jelani couldn’t have opened the door from below.
She knows she’s trapped someone. But she doesn’t know who.

Jade eyed her rifle, leaning against the wall.
Lilith wants me. Could I lure her down the ladder?

“You’d better get back down the ladder now, before I decide to shoot you.” The voice from above was a woman’s, as harsh as sleet.

Jade complied without speaking. She stepped back towards her Winchester. If she shot, the bullet would likely pass through the inch-thick wood, but would it hit Lilith? Jade decided to wait. When Lilith left, she’d shoot around the bolt to break it loose. But Lilith had to leave first.

“Now,” said Lilith, “you’re going to tell me who you are.”

Jade didn’t answer, her mind racing for a solution. Mutahi had come here and found some of the poison tea. Perhaps she could convince Lilith that she was yet another Kikuyu.

“I asked a question!” snapped Lilith. “Who is down there?”

Jade looked at Jelani and had a sudden flash of inspiration. She twisted her voice to sound old. “
Saidia haraka!
” she wailed.
Get help quickly. “Niko pamojana mtoto.” I’m with my child.

For a moment, Jade held her breath. Would her ruse work? Would Lilith believe that Jelani’s mother had come to find him?

The answer chilled Jade’s heart.

“Ah, Jade. I cannot tell you how it gladdens my heart that you’re not dead. Yet! That was a very good try just now. I almost believed you to be a native woman, but your voice is burned into my memory.”

Lilith laughed, the sound of a glacial river tumbling over a rock, freezing whatever it touched while it inexorably ground away at the stone beneath it. “I’m not certain how you managed to fake your own death, but it was most convincing. I trust you are the O. Fairley in the newspaper. Or is it Lord Dunbury? No matter. I’ll make a quick check along the river this evening in case. If there is someone waiting, I’ll have another nice hostage to keep you from trying anything foolish when I return. And then I’ll repay you for
everything
and with interest.”

The last sound Jade heard from atop was that of something heavy being dragged across the floor on top of the door.

 

HARRY REACHED THE DARKROOM BEFORE EMILY, only to realize that he didn’t have the keys to unlock it. He heard a gentle jingling behind him and turned.

“You’ll need these,” Emily said, holding up a set of keys. “I got them from Farhani.”

“Good thinking,” Harry said, taking them from her hand. “You’d better wait outside.”

“I will not,” she snapped.

Harry sighed. He’d never met so many temperamental women as he had since Jade had moved here. “Very well, but let
me
interrogate him.”

A soft
hmph
told Harry that he’d have no luck getting this woman to comply either. But he no sooner had the keys than three girls with very determined faces raced to join them. They were dressed in their Girl Guide uniforms and wore canvas bags slung over their shoulders.

“Mary, Elspeth, Helen!” said Emily. “Why aren’t you girls in school?”

“We dismissed ourselves,” said Mary, “as soon as we heard the news about the riots.”

“We told the headmistress that we were needed to minister to any wounded,” added Helen. She reached in a cloth pouch and pulled out a roll of bandages.

“But when we got to the police,” continued Elspeth, “we learned about Lieutenant Jade, so we came here straightaway. Where is Captain Dunbury?”

“She’s gone,” said Emily. “She’s hiding with the baby.”

“You girls go home or back to school,” ordered Harry. He flapped a hand at them as though he were shooing chickens. The girls didn’t budge.

“We can tell that you’re in the middle of something important,” said Helen. “And we plan to help you.” The other girls nodded once, emphatically.

“It’s our sworn duty,” added Mary.

“Be damned,” muttered Harry. “Miss Heathington, tend to these girls.”

Emily grabbed the keys as Harry slipped one into the lock. “Mr. Hascombe, I intend to find out what this prisoner knows.”

“Prisoner!” echoed the girls in unison. Their eyes widened.

“You must interrogate,” said Elspeth. “We’ll be witnesses.”

Harry growled at them. “Then stay back!”

The four females jumped back a half pace, enough for Harry to regain control of the keys and unlock the door. He wasn’t certain who or what to expect inside, but it certainly wasn’t the sight of Steven Holly sitting placidly on a cot, reading a book. The darkroom had been wired for electricity and a lamp burned brightly on a table near his elbow. Opposite him were the wet sinks used for developing film. Avery had spared no expense for Jade, even to the point of installing a lavatory at one end. Before Harry could recover from his surprise, Emily pushed past him.

Steven Holly didn’t raise his face above his book. “I say, Farhani. About time you served lunch. I’m starved.”