The Leopard's Prey (8 page)

JADE AND SAM arrived on his motorcycle at police headquarters—an ugly, squat, galvanized-tin building on Eighth Avenue. They found Neville and Madeline sitting in the dingy waiting area on straight-backed wooden chairs on a scuffed and unpolished wooden floor. A bare bulb, which probably did little to light the room on cloudy days, dangled above their heads. The curtainless window admitted some of the sun’s rays, but it was badly in need of washing. Neville had a newspaper in hand, but didn’t seem to follow any particular story as much as he did Maddy’s nervous fidgets.

“What’s all this about murder?” asked Jade after they reported their arrival to the constable at the desk and took seats next to the Thompsons.

Maddy grabbed Jade’s hand and held it tightly. “Oh, Jade, I’m so glad you and Sam are here.”

“No one is telling us much of anything,” said Neville. “Constable Miller drove out to the farm early this morning looking for us and for both of you. He said the Inspector wanted to see us
now
. Oh, and we checked the
Red Book
. That postal box is not listed in this volume so we still don’t know who placed the ad looking for Mrs. Stokes.”

Madeline broke in, unable to contain herself. “We reminded him that we were given a day or two to come in, at our convenience, but he said all that had changed. Of course, we asked him what he meant and he gave us a rather pert little smile and said they no longer believed Mr. Stokes took his own life.”

“Did he say why?” asked Jade.

“No. Only that he did
not
seem pleased to find Sam gone, especially,” she added, turning to Sam, “when he found out you’d flown off.”

“I suppose they went to the Dunburys’ house looking for me,” said Jade.

“We told him you were with the zoological crew and wouldn’t be back for a day or two,” said Neville. “But you are. Were you successful?”

Jade shrugged. “Yes and no. The leopard in question had been going onto Charles Harding’s property, and he shot it. But he did bring us her two cubs. It looks as though they’re old enough to survive.”

Madeline’s head drooped. “Poor thing.
She
certainly paid a high price for motherhood.”

Jade noted the pain in Maddy’s voice. Apparently there was still no “bun in the oven.” “Speaking of Chalmers and Harding,” she said, turning the subject away from the executed leopard, “what can either of you tell me about them? They barely spoke to each other beyond acknowledging the other’s presence, yet they still used first names.”

Neville shifted in his chair. “I believe they
were
friends, being such close neighbors. Chalmers is a bachelor, and Harding is a widower. I think the loneliness more than compatibility bonded them together. I heard they had a falling-out more than a month ago. As I understand it, Chalmers purchased some Somali ponies from a trader. They were supposedly ‘salted,’ if you know what I mean.”

Jade nodded. “They were either inoculated against equine diseases, or had had them and gotten immunity.”

“Right,” continued Neville. “Harding bought a rather promising-looking pony from Chalmers, but the animal caught fever and died. Harding is known to be scrupulously honest, and he expects the same from everyone he deals with. He claimed that Chalmers owed him a pony. Now, Alwyn is as honest as the next man, but he lost one, too, so he said that, as far as he was concerned, he sold the animal honestly and they’d both been taken.”

“I feel sorry for them,” said Madeline. “Two lonely men made even lonelier by silly pride.”

The door to an interior office opened. Inspector Finch stepped halfway into the waiting room, once again wearing the tired-looking brown suit with frayed cuffs he’d worn to the Thompsons’ farm. If he was surprised to see Sam and Jade there, he didn’t show it. “I will see you one at a time now. Mrs. Thompson, would you be so kind as to come first? I should think you’d like to get this interview out of the way.” He ushered her into the office with a pleasant smile and, with a nod to the others, shut the door behind him.

Neville immediately stood and began to pace. “This is monstrous,” he declared. “Interrogating Maddy like some common criminal. I shall give that Finch a piece of my mind when my turn comes.”

Sam went to him and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll do no such thing, man. It’s what he wants us to do. He separates us so that we’ll each stew with worry about the others in the hopes that one of us will blurt out something useful.”

“How do you know this?” asked Jade. “Have you made a habit of being arrested?”

“No, but it’s a common interrogation practice for prisoners of war.”

“But that must mean he suspects one of us,” exclaimed Neville.

“The body
was
found in your coffee dryer,” said Jade. “Probably the logical assumption. And I suspect the constable sitting quietly behind that desk is listening, too.”

Neville plunked himself back into the chair and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Poor Maddy. She’s been rather distraught these past months. She doesn’t need this.”

Sam and Jade both sat up straighter, matching looks of eagerness in their partly open mouths. “Are you and Maddy anticipating a baby?” asked Jade hopefully.

“No,” said Neville. “We’ve never had any luck having a child, and I think it’s telling on her, especially now that Beverly is expecting.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jade.

Sam responded by hunching over and fingering his hat. After an awkward silence, he looked up at Neville. “Perhaps we should distract Maddy when she comes out, especially when you go in. Otherwise …” He shrugged. “I know, give her the paper you have there and point out some particular story for her to read.”

“Which one?”

“Does it matter? Just find one that takes a while to read.”

“Aren’t you two entering produce in Nairobi’s agricultural show tomorrow?” asked Jade. “Is there an article about it?”

“Actually there is,” said Neville as he flipped through the pages. “It’s the first time Nairobi’s held a fair, and I’m afraid it’s been cut back at the last minute. Still, she can look at the remaining categories and tell you about her plans. That is, if you can keep her attention on it.”

“Don’t worry, Neville,” said Jade. “We’ll keep her occupied.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Jade, speaking of Saturday’s fair, are you attending the dance that evening? Would you allow me to escort you there? That is, if you’re going.”

Jade cocked her head and pursed her lips, studying Sam for a moment. “I’d love to go with you Sam, but you’ve certainly taken your sweet time asking. What if someone else has already asked me?”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “Did someone else—”

“No.”

He exhaled loudly. “That’s a relief,” he mumbled to himself.

Madeline emerged from the inner office at that moment, her sun-browned face looking a shade paler. Both Sam and Neville stood until she returned to her seat. She bowed her head, staring at her hands folded in her lap.

“Maddy?” asked Neville, reaching for one of her hands. Jade saw that her fingertips were stained with blue-black ink.

Madeline looked up and forced a weak smile. “I’m fine, Neville. I’m not supposed to talk about any of this with you.” Neville scowled and his wife immediately added, “They just fingerprinted me and asked me a few questions. The inspector was a perfect gentleman. It’s only that I find this whole subject of a murder all too distressing.”

That seemed to mollify Neville, who relaxed his tense posture. He didn’t get a chance to reply, though.

“Mr. Thompson, if you please,” said Finch. Neville went through the door Finch indicated. Once again, Finch shut the door behind himself.

Madeline sat staring at or beyond Jade and Sam.

Jade pointed to the newspaper listings and asked Maddy about the upcoming agricultural fair. “Are you entering your flowers,” she asked, “or just your garden vegetables and coffee?”

Madeline made a show of studying the listings. Jade could tell by the tense lines around her lips that her friend was distraught, but how much was due to Stokes and how much due to another failed attempt at conceiving, she couldn’t tell.

“I have some nice roses I could enter, and some rather large onions and sweet potatoes,” Maddy said. “I’d planned on showing my laying hens, but it seems they’ve cut out the animal exhibits.” She dropped the paper on her lap, sighed deeply, and lapsed back into silence.

Jade looked to Sam for help, but he just shrugged. Then she remembered the mail. Jade had stuck Bev’s letter to Maddy in her shirt pocket. She reached for it now and held it out. “I almost forgot. There were letters for each of us from Beverly.” Jade noted that Maddy didn’t immediately open the envelope. Usually, she was thrilled to get “news from the outside,” as she termed it, and her uninterest only confirmed Jade’s suspicions about her deeper distress.

Silence hung in the air until Jade tried another tactic. “I could use some coffee.” She went to the desk and asked the constable if there was any coffee to be had or at least a cup of water. “Or is this part of the interrogation tactic?” she asked, using Sam’s term.

“It is not,” the young man replied, “but we only have tea.” He produced four tin cups, and pointed to a pot on top of a cast-iron stove. Jade made a face. She hated tea, but she wanted something hot. She poured a cup for herself, added six spoonfuls of sugar, tested the tea, and decided it was one step above loathsome. “Maddy? Sam? Anyone else care for a cup?”

Maddy declined, but Sam came over and poured one. Jade filled a cup from a covered water jar and handed it to Madeline. “Drink this,” she ordered. Madeline sipped obediently.

Before Madeline had finished, Neville emerged from the inspector’s office and Sam was called in. With Neville busily directing his wife’s attention to either the fair listings or to Beverly’s letter, Jade was not needed. She went to a window, took out her pocket handkerchief, and swiped at the smudges and dried bugs on the glass. When that didn’t clear a spot, she applied some of the tea, revealing the steeples of All Saints and St. Joseph’s churches, two and three streets south.
Tea is good for something at least.
She craned her head to see Government Road.

Europeans, Indians, and native Africans went along the street intent on their business. What was absent from this view was any sense of congeniality. Everyone seemed intent on his task at hand, and Jade saw very few people greet one another beyond a quick nod. Any social intercourse in the city took place a few blocks away, on the more friendly Sixth Avenue with its many stores, or perhaps deep in the Indian bazaars. Across the street, an
askari
escorted an African wearing wrist cuffs into the Department of Native Affairs building set aside to rule over native
shauris
, as squabbles or serious discussions of any kind were termed.

What’s keeping Sam?
She pulled out her pocket watch and verified that he’d been in with the inspector twice as long as the others. A minute later Sam stepped out of the office, his face set in a grim scowl, his lips nearly invisible in a tense, taut line. He spared one glance for Jade and sat down with his arms folded across his chest.

“Miss del Cameron, I believe you are next,” said Inspector Finch.

Jade set the mug on the constable’s desk with a “Thanks” and went into Finch’s office.

“Please be seated, Miss del Cameron,” said Finch.

Jade sat down on another hard-backed chair. She crossed her legs, revealing the grime on her duck trousers and her ambulance corps boots. Jade hoped Finch wouldn’t take her attire as a sign of disrespect. If anything, it showed the promptness with which she’d answered his summons. Then, with a patiently neutral expression on her face, she waited for him to begin.

“How well did you know Mr. Stokes?” he asked.

“Not at all,” said Jade. “It was always Mr. or Mrs. Berryhill who waited on me.”

“So you never met Mr. Stokes?”

Jade paused to think. “I
saw
him once this past December. I was purchasing film-developing chemicals in preparation for my safari to Marsabit. Mrs. Berryhill was filling the order when a man came in from the back. I heard Mr. Berryhill say something like ‘Ah, there you are, Stokes.’ ” Jade leaned forward. “May I ask, sir, why you now suspect he was murdered?”

“In point of fact, our tests indicate that his wound was inflicted postmortem,” said Finch. “And he had bruises on his jaw and on the side of his head.” Finch looked up sharply from his leather notebook and awaited Jade’s reaction to this news.

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her eyes wide and mouth partly open, a picture of incredulity and surprise. “Someone beat him to death, then cut him?”

“Possibly.” Finch paused to make more notations in the booklet, and Jade stifled her desire to know what he wrote. Probably nothing of importance, but an act designed to make her nervous. She certainly had a feeling of being called before the headmaster. She sat back and mentally told herself to relax. The inspector was only trying to do his job, to solve a crime, and if she was able to help, then fine. She just couldn’t figure out what she knew that would shed any light on the situation. And what in the world had he asked Sam to make him so angry?

“How well do you know Mr. Featherstone?”

She hadn’t expected that question. “Enough to trust him with my life, sir.”

“Please elaborate. Where and how did you meet? What do you know of his previous life?”

Previous life?
“I met Sam in January on Mount Marsabit.”

“Then he was your safari guide?”

“No, he wasn’t part of my safari at all. He—”

“He was poaching then?” The question came rapidly, designed to throw her off.

Jade had decided she would cooperate in the name of justice, but she’d rather be bucked from a bronco than let someone manipulate her. She took a deep breath, smiled a pleasant albeit insincere smile, and answered, “No.”

Finch looked up, waiting for her to continue. “No?”

“He was making a motion picture about the elephant herds. Our paths crossed.” What she didn’t add was that he’d come all the way to the remote volcanic mountain at the urging of the Dunburys just so he could meet her.