The Crocodile's Last Embrace Page 20

  Avery sat up straighter. “You’re suggesting that they are still in danger. That the attempt on Cyril might be repeated.” It was not a question. At least, thought Jade, one of them was grasping the situation. Jade nodded.

  “Don’t you see?” said Jade. “That attempt was a warning, meant to frighten me. Perhaps to induce you to send me away. The next time will be more serious. She could be anywhere by now. Here, in the colony, maybe even in Nairobi. It’s enough to worry about who Pellyn might be masquerading as, but Lilith? For all we know it was Lilith who put Cyril in the coffee dryer. Whoever gave Mutahi’s necklace to Cyril did it not to put blame on a native, but to let me know that I’m being watched. This person knew I’d recognize the emblem etched on it.”

  “Perhaps she never made it out of England. Perhaps they’ve captured her by now?” suggested Beverly, her tone hopeful.

  Avery handed his wife back to her chair. “Until recently, you were the only target, Jade. Do you think Lilith took Cyril or would go after anyone else just to make you leave?”

  Jade shook her head. “There will be inquests in the recent deaths and she may fear my testimony more than we know. Those deaths were meant to look like accidents. Now they’re murder. And it would expose the mining scheme. Or she may be trying to get me away so that she can kill me. I can feel her behind this. She hates me; that much we know for certain. I doubt she’d scruple at hurting my friends just to get to me.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Bev. “Taking the children would be the ultimate blow.”

  “Exactly,” said Jade. “Until we find her, everyone I care about is in danger. You all should go to ground. Someone should alert David’s brother, too.” Jade looked at Avery. “She hates Pili as much as me simply because he’s her husband’s illegitimate child.”

  “More likely she hates him for taking half of Gil Worthy’s estate,” said Avery. “Rest assured that Pili is safely tucked away. He’s in no danger, but he will be if I try to send him a message. You said yourself that we don’t know who we can trust, Jade.” He held up the crumbled telegram. “The only reason we may have received this is because it’s coded. Sending him a telegram could give away his hiding place.”

  Jade nodded. “I think my parents are safe as well. Their ranch is remote. If Lilith wanted to use someone to capture me, then she’d most likely try for someone close at hand.” At least Sam is safe. She felt the ache in her chest swell. Her throat tightened and her desire to hear his gravelly voice, to see his angular face and to feel his embrace, swelled into an overwhelming need, one that she had to satisfy or die. She carried this new wound as she did her scarred knee, a constant reminder of an injury, sometimes a dull twinge and at others a searing pain, but always present.

  Ah, Sam. Where are you? Why did you leave me? She fought back a sob and clenched her jaw until the moment passed.

  “Beverly may be right,” said Avery. “The London police would be looking for Lilith. They surely had the docks closely watched. Chances are she’s been apprehended and we just haven’t heard.”

  “They’ll be looking for a woman,” said Jade when she finally felt she could trust her voice. “Lilith has a scar from her nose past her eye. People would comment on it. She’s got to stay hidden or else disguise herself as a man, perhaps wear a beard. It wouldn’t cover the scar, but it would draw attention away from it. She’s done this before, but the London police may not think to look for a small, bearded man.”

  “Still, at most she could have been in the colony for only a month,” said Beverly, “and that’s assuming she caught the fastest ship here straightaway. I wish we knew who Pellyn is. Then we could take our own hostage, force her hand.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too,” said Jade. “Avery had the right idea when he suggested interrogating Holly. Only now we don’t know where he is.” She fixed her gaze on Beverly. “But I was dead serious when I said you need to hide.”

  Beverly raised her chin and sniffed. “I have no intention of leaving Avery. Or you, for that matter, Jade. Nor do I intend to entrust my baby with the nanny in some strange place. She’s safest here, in our own house, where we can keep an eye on her. And what if Pellyn or Lilith spies us catching a train? They’d only have to track us down in Mombassa, where we’re completely unprotected.” She folded her arms adamantly around her chest. “So no! I’m staying.”

  Avery smiled. “My brave, stubborn little wife is right, Jade. We would do better to keep Maddy and Cyril here. Safety in numbers and all that. And then go on the hunt for Holly.” He balled one hand into a fist and punched it into the other. “Should we keep Emily here, do you think?”

  “Let her enjoy her little holiday, love,” said Beverly. “She was most upset today. And she and Jade are not close enough to make her a target. She should be safe enough.”

  Farhani returned with the announcement that afternoon tea was served. Jade didn’t feel like eating anything; her stomach was too unsettled, her nerves too fever pitched. She stood up and paced around the room.

  “I’m going to the Thompsons’ now,” she said. “They need to know. If you don’t mind, Avery, I should like to borrow your Hupmobile so I can bring them back with me.”

  Avery walked up to Jade and put a brotherly hand on her shoulder in what was for him an uncharacteristic gesture of concern. “Forgive me for saying this, but I don’t trust you behind the wheel of my car. You are far too distraught. They’re already on the alert. Maddy won’t let Cyril out of her sight and Neville is probably standing guard with a rifle.”

  Jade scowled. “I feel fine.” She knew she was lying. In truth, she felt as though the walls were closing in on her. She needed to get outside and breathe.

  “You look like hell and I mean that in the nicest way.” Avery took his hand off her shoulder and slipped it in his trouser pocket. “If you must do something to burn off your restless energy, go and see if there are any letters waiting for us. A mail ship docked Friday. There might be a letter from my brother or the warden with more information.”

  “Yes, do go,” echoed Bev. “Perhaps the fresh air will do you good. And don’t worry about Biscuit. I’ll find him a nice fresh cut of meat to occupy him while you’re gone. Take a rickshaw or let us ring up a taxi for you.”

  “I’ll take my motorcycle, thank you very much.”

  Jade rode her Indian Power Plus into Nairobi proper. As she motored past the government buildings and shops, she again wondered which of the city’s many men might be Mathers Pellyn. Perhaps someone in the land office? Such a person would be able to forge a mining claim easily enough. But she had no idea how to catch him at it.

  Whatever role Pellyn had chosen, he was skilled at forgery. Who else could have imitated not only David’s handwriting but also Major Bertram’s and Bev’s so well? Could Lilith? The thought gave her pause. She’d been thinking of Pellyn being behind all of her torments. But now that she knew Lilith was free, it opened up an entirely new vista of possibilities.

  A horn oogahed at her and she turned aside just in time to avoid colliding with a man driving a new Chalmers automobile.

  “Watch where you’re going, lady!” he yelled. “Blasted women on motorcycles now. They get a vote and suddenly they think they’re free to run loose everywhere.” He shoved his car into gear with a grinding screech and puttered off.

  The up train that left from Mombassa Sunday afternoon had arrived a few hours before, so Jade had no chance to scan passengers for any small men with beards. Instead, she went directly to the post office and collected the Dunburys’ mail. She looked in vain for anything from Sam. In fact, the entire bundle was a paltry assortment of monthlies. Avery’s copy of Flying sat atop the heap, and Jade scanned the many photos of the newest airplanes. She closed the issue with a sigh, as it made her think too much of Sam. There were no letters, nothing to give them more information regarding Lilith’s escape.

  Blast! Now what?

  The answer came to her quickly. Inquire at the different hotels for
someone matching Lilith’s probable description: a small man, slightly built, with a beard and a small scar riding up from the nose bridge past the left eye.

  And how are you going to do that? Just go up and ask if anyone’s seen someone who looks like that? She knew the clerks protected their clients’ privacy. They would question the validity of Jade’s search. Then they’d warn their tenant that someone was looking for them.

  I’ll make up a name. When they say no one is registered by that name, I’ll describe him. Hopefully, someone would slip and reveal such a person’s registered name. Better pick an odd name so I don’t risk getting a legitimate guest.

  She went to the Norfolk, the New Stanley, the Old Stanley, and the Victoria hotels. At each one she adopted the story of looking for a gentleman named Clive Whippoorspool. Each time she was certain he had to be there and described him.

  “My height, slender, light brown hair. He had a beard when I last saw him. Very soft-spoken gentleman. Rather shy. He’s got a scar he’s ashamed of.” She traced an imaginary scar line on her own face.

  By the time she’d gone to all the hotels, she felt that every clerk must have thought she was a desperate, jilted woman. Especially when she also inquired after Mr. Holly. The clerk at the Victoria had not seen him return. Finally, she debated going to Eliot Street to ask at the YMCA. While she had a hard time imagining either Lilith or Holly gravitating to the association, it made it that much more likely that no one would look for them there.

  Perhaps the perfect hiding place?

  “There’s no gentleman by that name, miss,” said the stiff man behind the desk. His scowl did nothing to veil his disgust that a young woman was in this bastion of male sanctity to begin with, much less one in her attire. “As a rule, our members do not sport facial hair. Clean face, clean mind, clean soul, you understand.”

  “He might have shaved his beard. And this gentleman might not have been here more than a month, maybe less. Perhaps—”

  “There are no new residents, miss.” The man turned back to his bookkeeping, dismissing Jade.

  She left, uncertain where to head next. Finch? Can I trust him? Part of her still didn’t, but she also wondered if he’d learned anything new about Mutahi’s death. Remembering an old adage to hold your friends close but your enemies closer, she decided it was worthwhile checking in with him, especially as she had no idea which of those two categories to put him under.

  It’s late. He probably won’t be there anyway. That idea secured her decision to go to the police. She felt confident that she could wrangle information out of a lowly constable.

  She was disappointed. Finch was still there. In fact, she heard him shouting at one of his men. “If you’d inquired more thoroughly for him when I’d ordered, we might not be in this position!” He turned and saw her standing in his doorway. “What the devil do you want? My stars! You remind me of a vulture. Do you smell death?”

  Jade stood her ground. She’d planned to ask about Mutahi, but she decided to toss an idea at him and watch his reaction. Dymant was Cornish and so was Pellyn. His hair matched Cyril’s description and no one really knew the man. “I think I know who tried to abduct the Thompsons’ child.”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Dymant.”

  Finch’s reaction was as instantaneous as it was unexpected. He laughed in one sharp hoot. “Well, then you’ll be happy to hear this news, Miss del Cameron. Dr. Dymant is dead.”

  THE MAN FINGERED HIS BEARD in a way that said he was still not used to it. It was hot for one, and it itched for another. But it was necessary if he didn’t want to be recognized in Nairobi. His pulled his hat brim down lower and nestled back into the building’s protective shadows. After the woman left the YMCA, he followed her as far as he could on foot before he lost her. But his ears tracked the sound of her motorcycle, and he’d guessed where she was going. It was one place he couldn’t go right now. He’d have to catch her alone. Later. When it was dark.

  CHAPTER 18

  Another saying is, “Do not mock the crocodile until you have crossed

  the river.” It might be a good plan not to mock it even then

  in case one has to return later.

  —The Traveler

  NO ONE SPOKE. The constable acted as though he were trying to blend into the wall lest his superior yell at him again. Finch appeared to be deciding whether to throw both Jade and the constable out of his office. And Jade was too stunned by Finch’s news to speak. She’d been prepared to hear Finch scoff at her half-baked idea, but to hear that Dymant was dead?

  Jade took a deep breath and broke the silence. “How did he die?”

  “Plague,” said Finch. “Found him lying on the floor of his office this afternoon.” He glared at the constable again. “If Gardner here hadn’t been such a bloody damned idiot the other day and done a more thorough search for the doctor when he was told to, we might have had him in a hospital. Dr. Mathews is at Dymant’s surgery now, finishing a rather hasty examination before an even quicker burial.”

  “He did say he planned to take care of the Indians,” Jade said. She felt ashamed for having suspected someone who’d wanted only to do good.

  Finch paced back to his desk, picked up a pencil, and tossed it back down again. “Yes, well, he certainly paid the price for that. He may have been involved in that knife fight reported in the papers a few days ago. The one in the Indian district. A witness said he saw a white man in the thick of it, but as no one ever came forward, we had no idea who he was or his level of involvement. All we have is what some anonymous person told a reporter for the Leader.”

  “And he actually died of the plague?” asked Jade.

  “Septicemic plague, to be precise,” said Finch. “The variety that gets into the blood. He had a deep gash on his leg and Dr. Mathews speculates that the knife was infected with the plague germ. Probably had tainted blood on it. We’ve had enough problems with the pneumonic variety in the slums.”

  Jade nodded. She’d read about it in the Leader. Dymant dead! She still couldn’t comprehend it. But if he’d been ill, then he was probably not the one who had taken Cyril from the house. Unless he’d started to take sick then and that was why he left the child behind.

  “How fast does that form of the plague work?” she asked.

  Finch shrugged. “No idea. Well, not much of one, I should say. More quickly than the bubonic form, I believe. Dr. Mathews is the man to ask, though I doubt you’ll have the chance. He just returned last evening and already we have him on this case. Chap’s hardly had a chance to sleep.”

  “And did he also examine Mutahi’s corpse?”

  “Who? Oh, the Kikuyu eaten by the crocodile. No. Corpse too far gone to tell much of anything, there. Brought in another military doctor. He ruled it an accidental death by crocodile.” Finch seemed to notice the constable still standing silently at attention. “You’re still here? Get the car round, man! We’re going to take a look at Dr. Dymant’s rooms to see if there’s any family we need to notify.”

  “I’d like to go along,” said Jade, as the constable sped past her.

  “And why the blazes should you?” demanded Finch.

  “As I told you, I thought Dymant might have been the man who tried to kidnap Cyril. I suppose I’m looking for evidence to prove he was or wasn’t.”

  Finch raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? You were serious about that?” He rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger, considering her request. “Oh, the devil! Come along then.”

  Jade followed on her motorcycle as they drove towards the Indian district. She had been there often enough, sometimes to buy trinkets for her parents, once to photograph the area for her magazine. While the streets weren’t as mazelike as in Morocco, they still reminded Jade of the souks in Marrakech with their exotic costumes, faces, smells, and sounds. The narrow streets were thronged with humanity as women in colorful saris pulled dusky children in shorts or in tunics past the roughly built shops and residences. The melodic intonat
ions of Hindustani dominated over English, and the scent of sweat collided with sandalwood incense.

  Extended families lived crowded in the backs of stores under some of the meanest conditions. The British citizens had expressed disgust at the Indian slums but offered very little in the way of an alternative. The city government still denied the Indians any land in the upland area away from the swamplands. Most Europeans avoided the interior of the district, especially in light of the plague incidents. Dymant had made the same choice as far as his residence went.

  Finch’s driver stopped at the shop of Harisingh Valjee, a block off Government Road. Several Europeans who’d been doing last-minute business at the store stopped and stared as first Finch and the constable got out of their vehicle and then as Jade parked her motorcycle just inside the alleyway.

  “He took rooms upstairs of this shop,” said Finch, handing a key to the constable. “Close enough to get to his patients, but far enough to avoid the hazards of living among them. At least, that’s what he thought.”

  The constable opened the door at the end of the building and held it for Finch and Jade. Jade followed the inspector up a steep, narrow flight of stairs to a short hallway. He went past the first door, which opened into the shopkeeper’s home, and headed for Dymant’s flat at the rear of the building. They waited while the constable fetched a spare key from Mr. Valjee and opened the door. The building was wired for electricity, but the lone, bare ceiling bulb was weak and fitful.

  “Please do not touch anything, Miss del Cameron,” said Finch. “You are here to look only. And to answer any questions I might care to ask you.” He turned away from her and walked into the front room, which served as both a study and a parlor. He lifted the desktop. “Kept his keys in the desk. Trusting chap.”

  Jade went inside, her gaze taking in the simple appointments: one easy chair and a threadbare ottoman sat next to a small coal stove for heating the room on cold nights. A rolltop desk and wooden chair stood in an opposite corner. The wall facing the stove sported a barrister bookcase, nearly empty, and an end table beside the chair held one brass oil lamp. Finch struck a match and lit the lamp to add more light. There were no papers atop the desk, just a blotter and a pen-and-ink holder. Jade turned back to the bookcase, noting that a key also sat in the lock, and silently read the book spines: A King James Bible, a tome on tropical diseases, a Hindustani language booklet, and one anatomy text. A tall, leather-bound book propped up the others. Photograph album?