The Leopard's Prey (36 page)

“Hey, Frank,” she called, “I’ve got something under my fingernails. Can I borrow your pocketknife?”

“Sure,” he hollered as he pulled his out. “I thought you always toted that big knife in your boot.”

“Oh, that’s right. I plum forgot it was there. Sorry.” She watched him shove his knife back into his pocket, shaking his head at silly females.
Well, it’s not his.

“Frank, I’m heading off now.” She retrieved her Winchester from the truck, waved goodbye to him and to Wachiru and the other men, and set off at a brisk walk up Government Road, hoping to get to Stokes and Berryhill before they closed, her camera bag slung over her shoulder.

As she stepped off the distance, she remembered meeting Jelani the first time she’d walked up this road after the war. He’d been working at the Norfolk Hotel and had been sent to haul her and her luggage in a rickshaw. Jade couldn’t bring herself to let a young boy act like a beast of burden, so she’d walked beside him, asking him questions and practicing her rudimentary Swahili.

The broad street had changed a lot in the short time since then. There were fewer tossed-together buildings of galvanized tin and more of stone or timber. Rickshaws were still plentiful, but many were powered by motorcycles or bicycles rather than by human legs. In fact, the motorized traffic had increased enormously along with the dust and the noise. She didn’t see a single horse cart or oxcart along the street.

Jelani had changed, too. The boy had disappeared. In his place stood an imposing young man, a future leader already harnessing himself in that role. What would have happened to him if she hadn’t met him, hadn’t interfered in his life? Would he now be working on someone’s farm? Would he be happy or at least content with his life, not knowing any other? Somehow she doubted it. His strength, intelligence, and courage had always been there. He still would have chafed and felt the frustration of not being able to do anything about his forced servitude. She hoped he would write; perhaps he could bring the natives’ concerns before the governing body. Maybe they’d see the potential for the rest of the Kikuyu in this one young man’s abilities.

A car horn beeped, and Jade came out of her daydream and dodged the vehicle as it sped past her.
Better get to
the side walk.
Ahead one block stood Stokes and Berryhill,
Catering to the Settler
written in wide black letters beneath the name. Jade quickened her pace and went inside.

The store felt cooler, because a few ceiling fans turned lazily overhead. Jade gave the room a quick survey, noting the customers as well as the employees. Mr. Berryhill assisted Charles Harding at a display of pitchforks. The Berryhills’ son, Harley, stood with a red face next to an older woman, who was intent on purchasing a lady’s cambric camisoles and drawers.

Chalmers was settling a bill with Mrs. Berryhill, a big smile on his gaunt face. He grabbed up a new halter and bridle and shoved a smaller bundle wrapped in brown paper into his jacket’s spacious lower pocket. “Good day to all of you,” he said as he tipped his hat. “Charles, bring your mare by the next time she’s in heat for White Fire to service. I promise I’ll only charge half my usual stud fee.”

“Won’t be necessary, Alwyn,” grumbled Harding. He turned his back on his erstwhile friend to one of the forks, a big six-pronger, and hefted it.

Chalmers tossed the tack on top of a large box loaded down with soap, floor brushes, white flannel, and what looked like curtains. Hoisting it, he repeated his goodbyes as he kept on walking and talking, not watching where he went until he bumped into Jade. “Oh, Miss del Cameron,” he said. “Please excuse me. I’m terribly sorry.” His eyes sparkled in his narrow, weathered face.

“Think nothing of it, Mr. Chalmers. You certainly look happy.” She waited, her head tipped expectantly. Chalmers did not disappoint her. He was too pleased to hold back his news.

“My prize polo pony returned. Isn’t that amazing? And in time to register for race week and the polo competition.”

“That certainly is amazing,” Jade replied. “Congratulations. Poor thing must have been starving.”

Chalmers shook his head. “The grazing has been fairly good as of yet, I believe. He looked fit and trim. Mane was a bit ragged is all.”

“You certainly were searching hard enough for him,” Jade added.

“That’s the irony, don’t you see? I was out again yesterday, and when I came home, he was standing outside his stall, as impatient to go in as if he’d just had a good workout, which, all things considered, I believe he’s had. Probably not easy running with the plains animals.”

“I’m very happy for you. He must be a very special horse. I’ve never seen you so … ebullient.” Once again, she waited, giving him an opportunity to continue.

For a moment, it looked as if he intended to tell her something else. “Actually …” He looked over his shoulder at the others, who were now busy buying and selling, and leaned closer.

Just as he took a deep breath, Pauline Berryhill called to Jade, “I shall be with you in a moment, Miss del Cameron. You may set your rifle by the door.”

It was enough to break the spell. Chalmers nodded again and said goodbye. Jade stopped him with a hand on his arm. “By the way, I found something today, Mr. Chalmers. I was going to ask if anyone might know who it belonged to. Since you’re here, perhaps you can tell me.” She took the damp kerchief from her pocket and pulled enough aside to reveal the knife.

Chalmers peered at it a moment and shrugged. “Could be anyone’s, miss. I couldn’t say for certain. Sorry I can’t be of more assistance than that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to hurry to get to E. Dobbie’s before it closes.” He grinned again, which made his red face and long, gourd-shaped head look like a smashed jack-o’-lantern.

Jade watched him leave as she slipped her Winchester off her shoulder. “I’m not certain what I want yet, Mrs. Berryhill,” she said. “Please don’t rush on my account.”

“As you wish,” said the sour-faced woman. She shooshed her son into the back room. “Bring out another case of Pearson’s carbolic soap,” she snapped. “Mr. Chalmers took the last of the ones up front.”

“But Mrs. Trumwell …” the young man began.

“
I’ll
assist Mrs. Trumwell,” said his mother.

The lad ran into the back, only too glad, it seemed, to get away from women’s underthings, lacey or otherwise, and his mother’s temper. Jade wasn’t sure, but Mrs. Berryhill seemed to be in a more sour mood than usual.

Jade sauntered past a display of blotters, clocks, and ink stands toward the showcase of knives. “Hello, Mr. Harding,” she said. “Thank you again. My friends told me you were the only person they could find to join in the search for me.”

Harding seemed embarrassed by the recognition, and merely nodded before deciding on the pitchfork. He set it against the counter next to a bottle of Pinkham’s liver pills. “I happened to be in town the evening before.”

“That’s right,” said Jade. “The Volunteer Mounted Rifles dinner, if I’m not mistaken. I think I’ve seen a photo of you and Mr. Chalmers and you, too, Mr. Berryhill. You were standing next to a zebra.” She hoped they would want to boast of their exploits, but Mr. Berryhill merely shot a sideways glance at his wife and started to write up Harding’s billing.

“More like stuff and nonsense,” scolded Mrs. Berryhill. She’d finished with Mrs. Trumwell and stood, fingertips grazing the countertop. “An excuse to drink and carouse, is all.” She glared at her husband. “Bunch of foolish boys playing at dress up.” She turned back to Jade. “Have you decided on anything, Miss del Cameron, or are you just … visiting?”

“I’m interested in seeing your pocketknives,” Jade said. “I found one today at the animal compound. Someone lost it. I thought at first I might keep it if no one claimed it, but I think a lot of arsenide dip has spilled on it.” She shrugged, as though to indicate she wasn’t sure it would be in very good condition anymore. “But it looked like a nice knife and I was considering getting a new one like it.” Jade scanned the display. “There,” she said, pointing to the same model. “It looked like that.” She pointed to a folding single-blade model.

Mrs. Berryhill unlocked the display case and removed the knife, slapping it on the counter. “A very popular knife. Just sold one to Mr. Chalmers.”

“Did Mr. Stokes own one like this?” Jade asked.

Mrs. Berryhill shook her head. “What an odd thing to ask.”

“I believe he used the next size smaller,” said her husband. “I think it fit in his pocket better.”

“Can you tell me who else bought one? Perhaps the person who dropped the one I found replaced it. It might help me find the owner.”

“One of those Americans buying up the animals bought one. Mr. Chalmers, as I already said.” She pursed her lips. “I cannot recall the others without checking the books.”

“Would you mind?” asked Jade.

“I’m really very busy,” Mrs. Berryhill snapped.

Jade made a soft clucking sound, shook her head, and led the woman aside, away from the men. “You look very tired, Mrs. Berryhill. May I call you Pauline? I feel I know you well enough. Are you still making many of the deliveries?”

Mrs. Berryhill looked for a moment as if she might burst into tears. Her lips quivered, and she clutched the locket hanging on her bodice. Jade noticed that several blond hairs stuck out of the locket. A quick glance behind the counter verified that both the husband and son had brown hair.

“No,” said Mrs. Berryhill, “I’m not making deliveries. It’s not … necessary anymore.” She stifled a sob.

Jade felt a pang of sympathy for this sad woman, who, Jade suspected, carried Alice Stokes’ hair in her locket. She reached over and patted the woman’s hand.

Mrs. Berryhill straightened with a sniff. “I apologize for my behavior just now,” she said. “I’ll check those files for the recent billings for you.”

While Jade waited, she tried to engage Mr. Harding and Mr. Berryhill in conversation. “That’s certainly good news for Mr. Chalmers, isn’t it? I must admit, I’d have bet that his pony would only show up in lion droppings.” Harding only grunted and Berryhill went to an adding machine to tally up the bill. Jade tried another topic. “Did you sell any more animals to Perkins and Daley?”

Harding pulled his head back in surprise. “Who said I had animals to sell?”

“I was there when you brought in those leopard cubs, remember, Mr. Harding?

“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “I’d forgotten.”

Winston Berryhill returned with the newly tallied bill. Harding paid it and, with a nod to everyone, left the store. Mrs. Berryhill closed the file cabinet and returned to the counter, calling Jade.

“It appears that Mr. Harding purchased a pocketknife a few days ago, as did a railroad man named Robertson. But it looks like we also sold knives to two Americans, Mr. Cutter and Mr. Featherstone.”

CHAPTER 20

An innocent man can undergo a trial to prove his innocence.
He will drink blood from an ox and say,
“May God kill me if I did this crime.”

—The Traveler

JADE SNATCHED UP her rifle and hurried to police headquarters. While she didn’t relish seeing Inspector Finch again, she hoped that the knife could be the clue he needed to find the real murderer. Unfortunately, it was not going to help take Sam off the list.

It will if you don’t give his name to them.

Could she do that? Could she withhold information?
What’s the worst that could happen?

Jade thought through the most likely scenario. Finch would go to the store to verify her information. Mrs. Berryhill would give Sam’s name along with the others. The fact that Jade had withheld it would probably put Sam to the top of Finch’s list.

No, it would be better if she gave his name and then stressed how he couldn’t be the murderer. While she was there, she’d explain how someone had sabotaged Sam’s plane, and how Stokes had been seen standing after Sam left. Mr. Robertson could verify that.

Robertson! He bought one of those knives.
It wasn’t a far stretch to assume he’d dropped his knife near the dip tank and didn’t know where he’d lost it. With all the traffic near there, it would be easy for someone to kick the knife under the tank. So the knife might not have anything to do with the murder.
But it might!
What Jade found most curious was the fact that Mr. Chalmers had just purchased one of those knives and hadn’t bothered to mention that to her when she showed him the old one.

Finch can sort it out. As long as he drops Sam from his
suspect list.
Her decision made, Jade went into the police station, head high. “Inspector Finch, please.”

“Sorry, miss,” said the constable behind the desk. “Inspector’s busy. Absolutely not to be disturbed. Perhaps I can help you.” He spied her rifle slung over her shoulder. “You’re going to have to check your weapon at the door.”

Jade carefully leaned her rifle against the wall, beginning to wish she hadn’t taken it with her when they went to fix the plane. In town, it was a nuisance. She dug into her pocket and handed over the knife, explaining where she’d found it and to whom it might have belonged, while the officer wrote down the particulars. “I don’t know if you can get any fingerprints off it anymore,” Jade said.