скачать книгу бесплатно
“And did anyone else hear this argument, mademoiselle?”
“I don’t know. But everyone was aware of the bad blood between Alex and Louis. You can’t deny that,” she said firmly.
Kantana didn’t flinch. “I, as everyone else, knew of the bad blood between the two men. As for the recent argument, which you say that you overheard, Alex told me that he had warned Bertrand to stay away from you, Mademoiselle. It is unfortunate, is it not, that Bertrand did not listen to the warning?”
The edges of the room grew fuzzy, and Kantana and his aide faded in and out of focus. She wasn’t going to faint, but Dana thought she might be sick. She grasped the arms of the chair and sank into it, her head reeling.
“Things like this don’t happen to people like me,” she said slowly. “I’m a tourist, a college professor. I’ve never been arrested, never even gotten a traffic ticket.” She looked at Kantana pleadingly. “People like me don’t commit murder!”
Kantana shook his head sadly. “All kinds of people commit murder, mademoiselle.”
Dana couldn’t think of a response. She sat immobile before him as Kantana rose slowly and spoke to her in soft tones.
“And now, mademoiselle, I shall ask my aide to escort you to our local jail. There, we shall do all in our power to make you comfortable.”
* * *
STRANGELY, no one was around when the American was taken away. But I was watching. I suspect that everyone was watching.
Dana’s being with Louis that night had been a stroke of luck, and hiding the blowgun in her room had been an impulsive but brilliant decision. It put all the focus on her and away from the real reason behind his murder.
She’d been easy for me to set up. She knew no one; she had no connections. Justice moved slowly in the Congo, and someday she might be found innocent. But by then it wouldn’t matter. My game would be over.
Chapter Three
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.”
