Читать книгу Tall, Dark And Deadly - Madeline Harper - Страница 9

Alex was settled comfortably in his favorite rattan chair on the veranda, drinking a beer, contemplating the river and wondering what the hell he was going to do about his life. He didn’t look up when Maurice Longongo appeared; instead, he balanced the chair on its two back legs as was his habit and propped his foot against the porch rail.

“I hear they’ve made an arrest,” Longongo said in his precise voice.

Alex didn’t respond immediately, but that didn’t seem to bother the government official, who persisted. “The American is in jail even as we speak.”

“We’re not speaking, Longongo. You’re speaking,” Alex clarified.

“In any case, the woman is in jail.”

“Kantana thinks he has evidence,” Alex said brusquely, trying to cut off further conversation.

Longongo wasn’t discouraged. He perched on a chair beside Alex. “She hardly knew Bertrand.”

Alex shrugged.

“I cannot fathom a motive,” Longongo persisted.

“Who can figure women out? I sure as hell can’t. If I were you, I’d leave it alone. Let the policeman do his work.”

Longongo’s eyes narrowed cunningly as he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “It seems a coincidence, doesn’t it, that so many of us on the Queen were also at the Egyptian’s party in Brazzaville?”

Alex took a final swig of his beer and tossed the bottle into a nearby trash can. “Were you?” he said, barely stifling a yawn.

“Yes. A most elegant party at a large estate outside the city. I was there as a government representative, of course. Poor Louis was there also, as a merchant. I believe he supplied the wine through one of his contacts. Miss Kittredge and Miss Weston and her companion were guests, as well. Then we all turned up as passengers on the Queen. And now here we all are in Porte Ivoire.”

“Life is filled with strange coincidences, Longongo. Like the American woman’s knowledge of the Mgembe.” Alex got to his feet. “However, I’m tired of hearing about Louis and about the woman. What I need is another beer.”

He stepped into the hotel bar, leaving Longongo sitting alone in the hot afternoon sun.

* * *

THERE WERE TWO cells in the Port Ivoire jail. Only one of them was occupied. Dana sat on the side of a rickety cot, still stunned, unbelieving, almost paralyzed with fury. How dare they! She stood up and paced the eight-by-eight-foot space. The jail, and her abysmal cell, could have been a symbol for all the deterioration of Porte Ivoire.

She knew something about the town from her reading, even more from her trip into the marketplace yesterday. And she’d seen the rest on her incredible journey today from the hotel to the jail under a police escort that consisted of one ridiculous aide to Kantana and the sergeant himself.

She sat back down. What a place to be incarcerated! Once the town had been a major trading post on the Congo, shipping out ivory for the craftsmen of the East and Europe, and animals for the zoos of the world. International laws and changing mores had put an end to that, and as an environmentalist, Dana was glad of it.

But the result was a town sliding into lassitude, a place on the verge of extinction. It lay somnambulant on the bank of the river, its buildings rotting, worn down by tropical heat and humidity, its population gradually drifting away to larger cities downriver, its market the last gasp of enterprise.

The jail to which she’d been so summarily whisked away was testament to the town’s failure. A pitiful concrete block building, it stood on a dusty side street in the most neglected section of the town, Kantana’s office in front, the two cells behind. In her cell were a cot, basin and chamber pot. There was one window, about four feet off the ground, its bars rusted but still strong enough to keep her inside. Through the window, vines and bushes pushed against the jail as if the jungle were hungry to reclaim what had once belonged to it.

Not surprisingly, there was no screen across the window, and insects buzzed freely in and out, making their homes in the crevices of the walls. Soon it would be dark, and the mosquitoes would begin their invasion. It seemed absurd that she was even worried about the mosquitoes, but she could be sure they would come. She could only speculate on what else to look forward to.

Her first hope had been centered on Father Theroux. She’d expected his visit from the moment she landed in the cell, and it had finally come after more than two hours. He brought food and prayers but little in the way of encouragement.

“You know I shall do whatever possible,” he said, standing uneasily by the door.

“Then please intervene with Kantana for me. Your word will carry weight with him.”

“Oh, I’m afraid that is not the case, my child.” The priest fixed his gaze on the scene out the window as if he didn’t want to meet her eyes. “I have known Jean Luc for many years, and he has always been a very decisive, even stubborn man. Not in the least likely to change his mind.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dana snapped. “Sorry.” She didn’t want to offend him so she chose her next words more carefully. “But as an officer of the law, he has to pay attention to evidence and testimony—”

“And I imagine he would profess to have done just that. The blowgun was in your room.”

Dana’s heart plummeted at the finality of Father Theroux’s hard words spoken in such a gentle tone. “I’m innocent, Father!”

“Of course, you are, my dear. But Jean Luc can only act on the evidence at hand.”

“Then he has to look again. And again!”

“Yes, of course.” The priest hesitantly assured her, “I’ll speak to him.”

“Thank you, Father.” She leaned against the cell wall. As if the priest’s mild words would change the sergeant’s mind or convince him to reopen the investigation.

“Jean Luc is an intelligent man,” Theroux said, further discouraging her, “who usually knows what he’s doing.”

“Well, he doesn’t know this time. Unless he’s framing me on purpose,” Dana shot back. She stood up straight and looked at the priest with narrowed eyes, a spark of hope flaming momentarily. “Maybe he’s part of the setup. Maybe he’s framing me to...to protect himself! He could have killed Louis as easily as anyone else!”

“Oh, no.” The priest shook his head in distress. “Jean Luc is totally honorable. I can’t imagine—”

“Well, I can,” Dana interrupted. “The law isn’t above corruption. When I get a lawyer, I’m going to have him investigate Kantana, who is just as likely to be guilty as I.”

Father Theroux’s smile was gentle. “We are all guilty of many things, in many ways,” he said profoundly. “And now, before I leave, let us pray that the Lord will rid us of our unfounded guilt...”

“And punish those on whom the guilt is not unfounded,” Dana added.

The priest opened one eye and looked at her forgivingly as Dana closed her eyes and prayed.

He left her with a crock of cooked chicken, a Bible and some information that stunned her. Louis was to be buried in Porte Ivoire—and Alex Jourdan was paying for the funeral!

* * *

DANA WASN’T HUNGRY but forced herself to eat the chicken and rice. It was all Father Theroux left; certainly no hope. So she ate the food. It was either that or fight the roaches and ants for it later in the evening. She had just finished when she heard a familiar voice echoing in the hall.

“This place is disgustingly dirty! Someone needs to get in here with a mop and scrub brush.”

Dana caught a glimpse of Sergeant Kantana making a quick escape into his office and out of Millicent’s way as she breezed by, her face red from the heat and her gray hair standing out in tufts around her face. To Dana she looked like an angel of mercy. A lot more decisive than the good Father.

“Oh, Millie, thank heavens you’re here. Did you get through to the American Embassy in Brazzaville? I asked Father Theroux to remind you, but who knows where his head was when he left here. So what happened? Did you talk to them, did you—”

“Calm yourself, Dana. Take a deep breath and slow down. Getting overwrought won’t help anything,” Millicent ordered.

“Overwrought? You’re damned right, I’m overwrought. Look around! I’m in jail, Millicent, in case you haven’t noticed. Sergeant Kantana has taken all my money and my passport, and I’m being held for murder. Murder, Millicent! It’s enough to make anyone overwrought. Besides which, Father Theroux offered me no encouragement whatsoever.”

“He can be somewhat ineffectual,” Millicent agreed.

“Ineffectual? He mouthed accusations that came straight from the sergeant.”

“Like?”

“Like a blowgun was found in my room. I’m not a complete idiot, Millicent.”

“No, indeed, you’re not.”

“And only a fool would kill someone and then keep the murder weapon in her room. I would have thrown it in the river, for God’s sake.”

“Of course,” Millicent agreed. “And as for your supposed love affair with Louis on board the Queen—”

“There was nothing between me and Louis. I was probably less friendly to him than anyone—except Alex.” Dana leaned her forehead against the bars of her cell. “To make things more confusing, Father Theroux tells me Alex has offered to pay the funeral expenses.”

“Well, obviously, in this heat, the body can’t be returned to Brazzaville.”

“That’s not the point, Millicent. The point is, he’s paying—Alex, who was supposedly Louis’s enemy.” Dana covered her face with her hands. “This is so awful. I can’t even believe the man is dead, much less that I’m accused of killing him! It’s like a terrible nightmare.”

Millicent patted Dana’s hand that grasped the cell bar. “I’m sure things will work out once I get through to the American Embassy,” she said soothingly.

“You haven’t reached them yet?” Dana was dismayed.

“The radio is down on the Congo Queen. Just temporary, I’m sure.”

Dana beat her fists ineffectually against the bars. “What kind of a place is this? No phones, no lawyers, no working radios...”

“It’s the Congo, dear. That’s just the way things are. And you must accept it—at least for a while.”

Dana gave her a hard look. “Not on your life. I’m going to fight like crazy, Millie, and I need your help.”

“You’ll have it, I guarantee. After all, I’m the leader of this tour, and I feel responsible. For everyone,” she added quickly. “Are they treating you well?”

Dana gave a bitter laugh. “Look around. I’m sharing a cell with half the insect life of Central Africa. I’m locked in a space eight feet square with no running water. I’ve only been here a couple of hours, but I can assure you that I’m not being treated well.”

Millicent pushed a bundle through the bars. “I brought you some fresh clothes.”

“Thanks,” Dana said, taking the clothes and tossing them on the cot. She suddenly lost her spunk and felt the tears building. Slowly, they trickled down her cheeks.

“We’ll think of something,” Millicent assured her. “I’ll talk to Kantana.”

“Please,” Dana begged. “Ask him to let me out. Father Theroux says I can come to the mission until the investigation is over. I won’t try to escape,” she said a little pitifully.

“I’m sure you won’t.”

“And when you get through to the embassy, have someone call my brothers in Colorado. Kurt and Andy will fly right over. Do you have something to write on? I’ll give you their numbers.”

Millicent produced a pencil and notebook, and Dana wrote down the information. She had no doubt they’d drop everything and come to Africa as soon as they heard about her plight. Dana and her brothers had become even closer after the death of their parents. Nothing would keep them from helping her.

“Now, what else?” Millicent asked sympathetically. “Father Theroux brought you dinner...”

“Yes, and promises my next meal. Well, I don’t intend to be in here that long.”

“And I’m sure you won’t, my dear.” Millicent offered another pat.

“Meanwhile, Betty has a real hook for her story—’Murder in the Congo, America teacher arrested.’ I can just see it—”

“That slut,” Millicent said emphatically.

Dana did a double take, not believing her ears. Admittedly, Millicent was an outspoken woman, but Dana never had heard such a remark from the Englishwoman’s lips.

“That’s just what she is,” Millicent reinforced.

“I thought you liked her. You invited her on the cruise—”

Millicent waved a dismissive hand. “I ran into her at a party and felt a momentary empathy because she was out of work.”

“Well, she’s working now,” Dana said sarcastically. “Just keep her away from me. I can’t be responsible for what I might do.”

“Admittedly, I made a mistake bringing her on the tour. Her behavior with Yassif has been disgusting.”

Again, Dana was surprised at the emotion in Millicent’s voice. “Hardly to be compared with murder,” she snapped.

Millicent’s eyes brightened behind her thick glasses. “Do you think Betty—”

“No,” Dana said firmly. “There’s only one viable suspect, and that’s Alex.”

Millicent was thoughtful. “I’ve known Alex for a long time, and I understand what he’s capable of. A little larceny here and there, lying when it suits him, womanizing, it goes without saying. But murder—”

Dana felt a burst of anger. “I don’t believe this! No one wants to admit that Alex could be guilty—not you, not Father Theroux, certainly not Kantana. In spite of the fact that the man’s practically a criminal. Whereas everyone immediately assumes I’m guilty when I’m the least likely person in the world to commit murder.”

“But you, my dear girl, are a stranger here.” Millicent’s response, meant to be kind, sent cold chills down Dana’s spine. “The rest of us know one another, our capabilities as well as our frailties, while you are an unknown element. Of course, you’d be an obvious suspect.”

Dana felt sick. She was a stranger in a far-off land—with no one to stand up for her, no one to take her side. “You will help me, won’t you?” she asked in a shaky voice.

Millicent’s voice was strong and reassuring. “Of course. I’ll get on it right now. I’ll keep after that captain until he gets the radio working.”

“Thank you.” Dana couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice.

* * *

NIGHT FELL over Porte Ivoire like a thick, heavy cloak. Strangely, as I’d noticed often, the darkness didn’t muffle sound; noises seemed to intensify. The beating wings of a raptor swooping down on its prey; the rustle of a night animal in dry grass; the rumble of laughter from the waterfront. It had been that way the night Louis died. All the sounds magnified. I remember distinctly the whisper of the dart. The sharp intake of Louis’s breath. The sound of his body falling across the path.

Too bad he had to die. He had such a love for life, for fine wine and good food. And women. Most of them fell for his world-weary, French dilettante line. Few women knew what Louis was really like or what he was up to.

* * *

DANA PUT ON the clean slacks and shirt Millicent brought and tried not to be intimidated by the darkness that was creeping into her cell. It was hard to ignore when the animals outside increased their frantic calling. And the shadows lengthened...her heartbeat accelerated.

It was the rapid beating of her heart that told Dana she was in trouble; getting through the night was going to be hell, and she wasn’t sure she was prepared for it.

Kantana made a last visit before leaving for home and dinner. Victor, his aide, was left in charge. And that was not comforting, particularly when he came to the office door every few minutes and looked down the hall at her. After the third time, she crawled onto her bed in the corner of the cell, out of his view.

The black night was illuminated by a single bulb swaying in the hall, casting its crazy shadows on Dana.

I could die here, she thought.

And the only thing that could prevent her death would be action on Dana’s part. She needed a plan of some kind. But what? She had no money, no passport. She couldn’t even bribe her jailer!

Dana drew her legs to her chest and tried to make herself into a little ball. Tried to disappear. She was too tired to think and too scared to sleep. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She felt alone and very sorry for herself.

Against her will, she dozed off. Voices awoke her, two men speaking French in whispers. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. It seemed like déjà vu, that conversation, so similar to what she heard—or thought she heard—between Alex and Louis that fateful night.

Then it was quiet, and she heard only the noises of the night, those terrifying sounds that kept her on edge, huddled on the bed, ready for anything.

“I wonder how many stars Louis would have given this place?”

The voice came from the window, and at the sound of it, Dana bolted to her feet. “Who is it?” she cried. Then she saw his face, briefly, as the bulb cast a quick illumination on the cell window.

“Alex Jourdan! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Keep your voice down,” he ordered, “so Victor doesn’t hear you. Wait until he turns the tape recorder on. There...” he said as the music wafted from the jail office.

Dana listened for a moment to the sound of jazz. “You brought him a tape recorder?”

“Sure. He loves jazz. I brought him some beer, too. that’ll help him pass the hours while he guards his dangerous prisoner.”

Dana shot him a long, hate-filled look. “Are you crazy?”

“I needed to talk with you. The jazz and the beer will give me that chance, keep him occupied while you and I make a deal.”

“A deal? You are insane! There’s no way I’m dealing with Louis’s murderer. Now get away from the window or I’ll scream for Victor.”

“No, you won’t,” Alex said calmly. “You’ll listen to what I have to say because, lady, I’m your only hope.”

“Then God pity me,” Dana said flatly, “if I have to depend on the likes of you.” She moved into the corner and climbed onto her bed, as far away from him as she could get. Even though he was on the other side of the bars, she felt safer away from the window.

“You don’t have to depend on me,” he said, “but I think you’ll want to when you hear what I can do.”

“And just what is that?” Dana asked.

“I can break you out of this place,” he answered in a hoarse whisper.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied loudly.

“Be quiet or I’ll never get a chance to show you. I can get you out of here now. Tonight. We can cross the border into Zaire and then fly to Kenya. You can go to the American Embassy, get a new passport and be out of this part of the world before Jean Luc gets organized enough to put together a chase. You can be free, Dana.”

Free. The word sounded wonderful, but there was no way freedom would come from Alex Jourdan. There was no way she could trust him.

“Come here, Dana. I don’t want to shout. Come here so I can tell you what I have in mind.”

Curiosity got the best of her. Whatever he had to say, listening to him would be preferable to cowering uselessly. She went to the window. When she was within two feet of him, she stopped.

“Come closer,” he urged.

“No, this is good enough.”

“What I have to say is for no ears but yours. If you don’t come close, I can’t speak.”

Warily, she approached. She was obviously the crazy one for even talking to him. Their encounter in the garden the night before, the perplexing mixture of emotions it aroused in her, was all too immediate. She didn’t just remember those feelings; she felt them. Attraction. Excitement. Anger. And danger; it had been there in the garden, and it was here in the jail.

But she’d already taken the first step toward him. She took another. His face was in shadow, but she could make out his features in the dim light. The look in his eyes was dark and intense, and the seductive whisper of his voice drew her on.

“I can help you, Dana.”

She kept her voice low. “You don’t strike me as the altruistic type. There must be something in this for you.”

He flashed a smile, and she caught a glimpse of his even, white teeth. “No, I’m not altruistic. Let’s put it this way. I’m meeting a mutual need. But I can’t explain unless I can see you. Step a little closer, into the moonlight.”