Death in Kenya (27 page)

Victoria said scornfully: ‘Then they're just being stupid too! Suppose she did meet Kamau that night, and kill him? All right, how did she carry him from the gate right up to the place where they found him? And when she got him there, how did she manage to dig a grave and bury him? She's over seventy!'

‘Seventy-two, I believe – and as strong as a carthorse. But that's beside the point. You're not using your head, Victoria. If Em had done it she wouldn't have needed to kill him by the gate. She could have invented a dozen excuses to get him to walk with her to the kilns, and dealt with him on the spot. And she wouldn't have needed to dig a grave. There were several there already. It must have been only too easy to topple a body into one of those trenches and cover it up with some of the loose earth that was lying around, and the fumes from the charcoal kilns would have interfered with the scent if tracker dogs were used.'

‘But it was Aunt Em's dogs who found him!'

‘Ah, that was different. He'd been underground for quite a few days by then.'

Victoria flinched, and Drew said quickly: ‘I'm sorry. This is a beastly business for all of us, but the rest of us have at least seen or heard or worse things in our day. The Emergency wasn't a picnic! – though now I come to think of it, that's an unfortunate simile, isn't it? But you've been pitchforked into this from a safe and orderly existence, and it must be pretty unnerving for you. Wishing you hadn't come?'

‘No – o,' said Victoria hesitantly. ‘I don't think I could ever wish I hadn't come back to Kenya. But I wish I hadn't…'

She did not complete the sentence, but come to lean on the verandah rail beside him, looking out into the deepening dusk. There was something about Drew's mere physical presence that was reassuring, and as long as he was here the house seemed less frightening. She turned to look at him and said abruptly:

‘Are you staying here tonight?'

‘Yes. Greg wants all his suspects under one roof. Or rather, under two: the Brandons are reluctantly parking out at Lisa's. Just as well really, as he seems to have roped in our respective house servants for questioning, and turned all our labour lines into the nearest thing to a concentration camp that I've seen outside one.'

‘Then he does think it may possibly be an African after all?'

‘Of course he does. He's no fool. They've been getting a far stiffer grilling than we have. You mustn't think that just because Greg has been hauling us over the coals that he hasn't had a squad of his boys doing exactly the same thing to every single African who works on this estate, or on mine or Hector's. There were even two of them who might have pulled off that picnic business. Zach and Samuel were actually down in the crater. And there is still “General Africa” – who is still at large and still unidentified, and who may yet turn out to be the snake in the grass. I don't believe that Greg has lost sight of that possibility for a moment. In fact he's quite capable of making all this display of suspecting one of us with the sole object of confusing the issue and making it look as though the enquiries in the labour lines are merely routine, and that it is the Bwanas who are really under suspicion.'

Victoria gave a little sigh that was partly relief and partly weariness. ‘I didn't think of that. You must be right. After all, we couldn't
really
be suspects. Not you or the Brandons, anyway.'

‘Why not? We all happened to be here or hereabouts on the night Mrs DeBrett was killed.
And
on the night that Kamau disappeared.'

‘But the Brandons weren't even here then!'

‘No. But they called at the Markhams' bungalow that evening. Gilly was out, but Lisa had just got back from here, and it seems that she spilt the works. Which means that any one of them could have got over here in time to head off Kamau. It's no distance at all by the short cut between
Flamingo
and
Brandonmead,
and there was a moon that night.'

Victoria said: ‘But they wouldn't have got him to go with them. You said that Aunt Em could have made an excuse to get him to walk to the kilns, but he might not have gone with one of the Brandons.'

‘Ever noticed that there's a trolley arrangement that runs from the shamba to the road, and passes within a few yards of the kilns? No one would have needed to do any carrying of corpses. Even you could have managed it without much difficulty.'

‘
Me!
But——'

‘No, I'm not accusing you of running amok with a hatchet, so there's no need to glare at me. Though I daresay Greg has had to consider that possibility.'

‘What possibility?'

‘That you and Eden might have cooked this up between you.'

Victoria looked at him, meeting his bland blue gaze thoughtfully and without anger. Studying his face in the dusk as if it had been a letter held up for her to read: a very important letter.

She said at last: ‘And what do you think?'

‘Does it matter?'

Victoria did not answer, and presently Drew said slowly and as though he were thinking aloud:

‘People who are desperately and deeply in love are probably capable of anything. There are endless examples in history and the newspapers to prove that love can be a debasing passion as well as the most ennobling one; and a stronger and more relentless force than either ambition or hate, because those can be cold-blooded things, but love is always a hot-blooded one. Men and women have died for it – or for the loss of it. They have committed crimes for it and given up thrones for it, started wars, deserted their families, betrayed their countries, stolen, lied and murdered for it. And they will probably go on doing so until the end of time!'

He stubbed out his cigarette against the rail and dropped it among the geraniums, and after a moment or two Victoria said meditatively and without turning her head:

‘And you think I might be – capable of anything?'

Drew gave an odd, curt laugh. ‘Not of murder. Or even of conniving at it. But of covering up for someone you were in love with, or even very fond of, yes.'

‘Even if I knew they had committed a murder? A horrible murder?'

‘No. Because you would never love anyone like that.'

Victoria turned to look at him. The last of the daylight was running out with the swiftness of sand in an hour glass, and now it was so dark that she could no longer see the lines in his face.

She said: ‘Then at least you don't believe that Eden could have done it.'

‘I didn't say that. For all I know, he may have done it; though I shouldn't say it was in the least likely. But then you aren't in love with Eden.'

Victoria did not say anything, but she did not turn away, and Drew said: ‘Are you.'

It was an affirmation rather than a question, and as she still did not speak he took her chin in his hand, as he had done once before.

Victoria stood quite still, aware of a crisis in her life: of having reached the end of a road – or perhaps the beginning of one. And then a door at the far end of the verandah opened and the shadows retreated before a flood of warm amber light, and it was no longer dusk, but night.

Drew's hand dropped and he turned unhurriedly:

‘Hullo, Eden. Has Greg finished with you at last? How much longer is he likely to be around?'

‘God knows,' said Eden shortly. ‘What on earth are you two doing out here in the dark?'

‘Talking,' said Drew pleasantly. ‘Any objection?'

‘No, of course not! But there are drinks in the drawing-room if you want one. I've sent Gran to bed.'

‘Did she go?'

‘Yes, surprisingly enough. She's going to be the next person to have a heart attack if we don't watch it.'

‘A genuine one?' enquired Drew. ‘Or one of the kind that hit Gilly?'

‘Oh, for Pete's sake!' said Eden angrily, and turning his back on Drew he took Victoria's arm. ‘Come on, Vicky darling. You must be cold. Come and have a glass of sherry. Or let's finish off the vodka and get really tight.'

They found Mabel in the drawing-room, sipping a brandy and soda and watching the door. Hector, accompanied by Bill Hennessy, had returned to
Brandonmead
to collect various necessities for a night's stay at the Markham's bungalow, but Ken was still being questioned, and Mabel would not leave without him.

‘What
are
they doing with Kennie?' she demanded unhappily. ‘He's been in there for hours! They must know that he can't know anything at all about this. It isn't kind of Greg – and after all the years we've known him! Drew, don't you think you could go and tell him that we're all very tired, and couldn't he let us go home?'

‘No, Mabel. I couldn't,' said Drew firmly, collecting himself a stiff whisky and soda and sinking into an arm-chair. ‘It would not only be a pure waste of time, but I have no desire to receive a blistering snub. He'll stop when he feels like it, or when he's got what he wants, and not before.'

‘But we shall all be here tomorrow, and the next day.'

‘We hope,' said Drew dryly. ‘Well, here's to crime.'

He lifted his glass and drank deeply, and Eden said furiously: ‘
Must
you make a joke of it?'

‘Sorry,' said Drew mildly.

But Eden refused to be placated. His handsome face was taut with strain and his voice was rough with fatigue, anxiety and anger: ‘In the present circumstances, that sort of remark is in bloody bad taste, besides being entirely un-funny!'

Drew raised his eyebrows and pulled a faint grimace, but fore-bore to take offence. He said amiably: ‘You're quite right. I can't have been thinking. My apologies. Have an olive, Mabel; and stop watching that door. Ken will be along any minute now. Hullo, here's another car. Who do you suppose this is? the D.C.?'

But it was only Hector, returning from
Brandonmead
with an assortment of pyjamas, tooth brushes and bedroom slippers. He accepted a drink, and after a nervous glance at his wife said in a subdued voice that contained no echo of his former booming tones: ‘Is Kennie still there? They're keeping him a long time. Surely they know the boy isn't feeling fit. Never known him to pass out like that before. He ought to be in bed, not being badgered with silly questions.'

‘Then why don't you put a stop to it?' demanded Mabel, wavering on the verge of tears. ‘You're his father. They're bullying him: I know they are. Oh, if
only
he'd never met her! Why did this have to happen just when it seemed that everything was going to be peaceful and happy again? I'll never forgive Greg for this – never!'

Hector said uncomfortably: ‘He's only doing his duty, dear. Why don't you come over to Lisa's with me now? She won't have given any orders about supper, so we'd better go and see about it.'

Mabel burst into tears and said wildly that is was just like a man to think of his own stomach before the welfare of his son, and Drew got up and left the room.

He returned a few minutes later, looking particularly wooden and accompanied by a white and subdued Ken Brandon, and the reunited family removed themselves into the night.

‘How did you work that?' enquired Eden with grudging respect.

‘Stuck my neck out,' said Drew morosely, ‘and was duly executed.' He drew his index finger across his throat in a brief expressive gesture. ‘Greg is in no very pleasant temper, but at least it was preferable to having Mabel going on a crying jag.'

Mr Gilbert appeared in the drawing-room on the heels of this remark, and informed them curtly that he was leaving, but would be back at nine o'clock on the following morning. He would be obliged if they would all be in the house and available at that hour, and he was leaving Bill Hennessy to see to it.

He had refused a drink, and had left; and they had dined frugally on soup and sandwiches, for the majority of the house servants had spent the day being questioned at police headquarters, and Zacharia and Thuku, together with the cook, were being kept there overnight.

Victoria had retired to bed immediately afterwards, and had been accompanied to the door of her room by Eden. He had not searched her room as Drew had done, but he had asked her if she had any aspirins, and on hearing that she had, advised her to take two and get a good night's rest. And then he had kissed her. Not lightly, as Drew had done, but hard and hungrily, holding her close.

She had made no attempt to avoid his embrace; but neither had she returned it. And when he released her at last she had put up a hand and touched his cheek in a fleeting caress that was purely maternal, and there was relief and pity and sadness in her smile; as though she had been a much older woman who has found a page of a forgotten love letter, and is smiling a little ruefully at herself because she cannot remember the name of the boy who wrote it.

16

Mr Gilbert was not only true to his word, but regrettably punctual. It was exactly one minute past nine, and breakfast was still in progress, when the now familiar squad of police and C.I.D. men arrived at
Flamingo.

But this time the proceedings were brief. Typewritten copies of statements made on the previous day were produced and they were asked to sign them, and that being done Mr Stratton and the Brandons were curtly informed that they could return to their own houses, with the proviso that they must stay within reach of a telephone and not leave the Rift until further notice.

‘And that means that you can't suddenly decide to go off on safari to the Northern Frontier, Stratton. Or take a holiday to Malindi, Mrs Brandon. I want you where I can get in touch with you at short notice. I hope that is quite clear.'

‘Painfully, thank you,' said Drew.

‘Are we under arrest?' demanded Hector, who appeared to have recovered some of his former truculence.