Blood Will Tell

by Jeanne M. Dams

  Alan took a firm hold of my hand. ‘Steady, old girl. You’ll be all right. Here, pop into the reading room. No rats there.’

  ‘No. I have to see what’s happening. Just don’t go anywhere!’

  I did feel safer at the top of the stairs leading to the main entrance to the library. I didn’t know how fast a rat could move, or how good it was at climbing stairs, but at least from this vantage point I could see more of my surroundings. Not particularly well, though. The day had reached that stage so aptly described in Macbeth as ‘almost at odds with morning, which is which’. Except in this case it was day fading into night, the light now an indeterminate grey that consigned everything to obscurity, everything except those objects in the small pools of yellow light cast by occasional street lamps.

  One such object revealed itself to be a plastic cage, still, as far as I could tell, intact and inhabited. As I watched apprehensively, a man rushed into the light, did something to the cage, picked it up and began to murmur words I couldn’t understand. Again, though, I was sure I knew what he was saying.

  ‘Dorothy, I do not think this is a good idea,’ Alan was saying, when a large figure loped up the steps, two at a time, and skidded to a stop at my side. ‘You’ll be Mrs Martin. Terence said you’d be wearing a hat. I’m Jim Ashby.’

  He was probably the most amazing physical specimen I’ve ever seen in my life. Alan is a substantial man, but Jim dwarfed him in both height and girth. And he was, incredibly, not even panting after rushing his impressive weight up a longish flight of stairs. Alan took one look, recognized that I was adequately protected and faded into the background.

  More anguished profanity sounded from below. Jim frowned. ‘Looks like that fellow could use a spot of help. ’Scuse me.’ He loped down the stairs as fast as he had climbed them, arriving at the scene of Mahala’s distress just as the frantic rat escaped the cage and ran squealing into the shrubbery.

  I made my slow and careful way down the stairs, trying to see what was happening, but it was too dark. When I reached the bottom, though, and could see better, there was Jim, gently cradling a huge white rat on one arm, while with the other hand he stroked it, murmuring words of comfort. And Mahala – angry, defensive Mahala – stood and smiled, reaching out eager hands for the animal.

  ‘Thank you, man, thank you! I feared she would be lost, or hurt. She is valuable, you understand.’

  ‘Beautiful, too. Never saw one as big as her.’ With what looked like reluctance, Jim handed the rat over to her keeper, who ran his hands anxiously over her plump body. ‘Don’t think there’s much amiss with her. She was running as fast as those little legs would carry her.’

  ‘I thank you again for catching her. I hope that this will not cause her to abort her babies, but I am worried. Stress, and a fall – it is not good.’

  Jim whistled. ‘I’d say not! Where were you taking her?’

  ‘They are all to go back to their home in the Hutchins Building. They should never have been taken away! This could ruin nearly two years of work – important work!’ Mahala was getting excited again.

  ‘Oh, they’ll be fine. Rats are pretty tough. But if you have more to move, I could help, if you like. I like rats.’

  ‘I can see that you do. I must move twelve of them, and I would be glad of your help.’

  I stepped up, then, trying to look as if I’d just come on the scene. ‘Good evening, Mahala. Having a little trouble with your rats?’

  He frowned. Jim, who was perhaps not quite as dim as advertised, smiled at me. ‘He has to move a dozen of these big beauties across the college grounds, so I said I’d help. I can carry two at a time.’

  ‘Oh, dear. What a pity it has to be done on foot. But listen, I have an idea. Since you’re both students, I’ll bet the library would let us borrow some book carts. We could probably fit four cages on each, and do it all in one trip.’

  ‘That is a good idea,’ said Mahala in tones of astonishment. ‘I will ask.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay here and tend to Mrs Whiskers here? Jim can get the cart – or carts. Three of them if they’ll let you have that many, Jim.’

  ‘Mrs Whiskers?’ Mahala looked mystified.

  I laughed. ‘After a character in an English children’s book. An intelligent and capable rat, though a bit of a thief, I’m afraid. Look, I’ll go and get the cage for you. It will be easier to get her back into it with another pair of hands helping.’

  That meant I would actually have to touch the thing. I had to admit, though, that up close she had enough resemblance to a cat to make me feel a little less repugnance.

  I didn’t have to test it, though. Jim came back with the carts before I found the cage, so he helped Mahala get Mrs Whiskers back inside. Her water bottle had become dislodged when the cage fell, spilling water all over her bedding, so Mahala simply emptied the soggy stuff out on the grass. ‘She can do without for a little time,’ he said, and firmly placed the rat in the cage, and closed and latched the door. She didn’t seem to like the slippery plastic floor, but she was plainly tired after her adventure and settled down quickly.

  Good grief! I was beginning to identify a rat’s moods and preferences. Where would this end?

  It didn’t take long to load the remaining cages on the carts. Jim was the greatest possible help. It was he who tirelessly trotted down the stairs to the room where the rats were temporarily housed and trotted up again, bearing two cages at a time – something like nine pounds of squealing, wiggling rats. Mahala and I situated them securely on the carts, and we worked out a route to the Hutchins Building that involved grass almost all the way. Paths would have been much easier had they been solidly paved, but the gravel pathways, while attractive, weren’t friendly to anything with wheels.

  We had to be very careful not to jog the cages off the carts, which were just barely big enough to accommodate their loads. So our progress was slow. That was fine with me. I needed all the time I could get with Mahala, while he was in a good mood.

  ‘Where in Africa do you come from, Mahala?’ I asked as we carefully wheeled our carts across the smooth lawn.

  He named a country I’d heard of, but couldn’t place at the moment. I shook my head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know where that is, exactly. I’m woefully ignorant of African geography, except for some of the bigger countries. I’m from the state of Indiana, by the way. I don’t imagine you’ve ever heard of it?’

  I made it a question, and he shook his head. ‘Is it near New York or California?’

  ‘Oh, dear, you’re just as bad as me. No, it’s quite far from either of those states. Indiana is in what’s called the Midwest, the central part of the country. Perhaps you’ve heard of the city of Chicago?’

  He eased his cart over a path that crossed our stretch of grass and then nodded. ‘There is a university there, is there not? And a great deal of crime? That is where you live?’ He took one end of my cart and helped me lift it to safety on to the grass.

  ‘Several universities, and, sadly, yes, a great deal of crime. But I never did live there. I live in England now, but I was born and raised almost three hundred miles from Chicago, in a quiet little town called Hillsburg. Chicago, though, is the biggest city in the Midwest, and the nearest to my town that most people over here recognize.’

  ‘Was your town rich or poor?’

  Uh-oh. This was perilous territory. ‘We didn’t think we were rich, but looking back on it, I suppose we were.’

  Mahala shrugged. ‘All Americans are rich.’

  ‘Most of us, probably. But there is great poverty in some areas. America, too, has people who do not have enough to eat, whose children beg on the streets, whose aged relatives must go without medicines because they have no money to buy them.’

  ‘I do not believe you,’ he said flatly. ‘All Americans are rich. It is well known.’

  Time to change the subject. ‘Mahala, why did you choose to experiment with rats? I would have thought some animal nearer in nature to humans wou
ld have been a more likely choice.’

  Again a shrug. ‘The higher animals are expensive and take far longer to breed. Rats are cheap. They are also very intelligent and easy to work with. Also, one does not have to begin at the beginning. There is a very large body of previous research with rats, so that the norms are established. You would not know about norms.’

  ‘I do, though. My father and my first husband were both biologists. I’m neither fluent in terminology nor learned in the biological sciences, but I do know the basics.’ I took a deep breath and looked back to see how closely Jim was following us. ‘I also know quite a lot about people. I taught children for many years in Indiana, and Mahala, I can nearly always tell when someone is lying.’

  TWENTY

  He said nothing, but he stumbled. His cart rocked and one of the cages jogged perilously close to the edge of the top shelf. I stopped and reached over to push it back to safety.

  ‘No! You will not touch my animals! I do not like you. Go away!’

  The rats began to squeak.

  ‘You’re upsetting them, Mahala. You know they don’t like angry voices.’

  ‘You have called me a liar! That is not a good thing to say.’ He moved away angrily.

  ‘It’s true, though. I’m quite sure you didn’t tell the truth about how you got the cut on your arm. Look out – there’s a pathway just ahead. Don’t jostle your cart! Mrs Whiskers is on it, and you don’t want her to fall again.’

  ‘Why would you care? You do not like rats. I can tell.’

  ‘No. I don’t care much for rats, as a general rule. But I don’t want to see any animal suffer, and when animals are loved, as you love your rats, they become more lovable themselves.’

  ‘You – you have seen that I love my rats? You do not think that is foolish?’

  ‘No, Mahala. I have two cats and a dog, and I love them dearly. Why shouldn’t you love your rats?’

  ‘But you and your husband want to arrest me and put me in prison, and then my rats would die, and I—’ He stopped talking abruptly, and stopped pushing his cart as well. We were under a street light, and I could see, with astonishment, that tears were coursing down his dark cheeks.

  I thought I’d better not notice. This proud, arrogant man would not cry easily, nor would he want anyone to see, much less a woman and a foreigner.

  ‘No, Mahala, we do not want to put you in prison. We just want some answers about what has been happening here at St Stephen’s, and we want to find Tom Grenfell. We believe that you might help us.’

  He caught hold of my arm. His grip was painful. Behind us, Jim cleared his throat. Mahala paid no attention. ‘You do not lie to me? You swear it?’ His voice was ragged.

  We were in front of the chapel, whose clock chose that moment to chime. ‘I swear it, Mahala.’ I solemnly made the sign of the cross. ‘We want only the truth.’

  He dropped my arm. A sob escaped him, instantly covered up with a cough.

  ‘Look, let’s get your animals safely back to their home. Jim and I can help you feed them or whatever they might need at this point, and then maybe we could go somewhere and talk.’ He needed time to recover his composure. Of course, he might also recover his belligerence, but I thought I had to take that chance.

  There was a young man going in the front door as we approached it. He nodded stiffly. Mahala nodded in return. The young man was a student, then, I guessed. It was plain the two knew each other, and equally plain that they were not friends. Well, Terence had said that Mahala had no real friends in the department. How sad for him, I thought for the first time. Thousands of miles from home, and his only friends were rats.

  It took a little longer than I had expected to get the rats safely tucked away for the night. For one thing, the Hutchins Building had no elevator, so we had to carry the cages up the stairs. That is, the two young men had to do that. I helped bring them into the building, but I knew all those stairs were beyond me. My titanium knees are pretty cooperative, but several trips up and down several flights of stairs? No. So I waited until all the rats had gone up before I went up myself, partly to see if I could help, partly to make sure Mahala hadn’t changed his mind and decided to bolt.

  I found him in amiable conversation with Jim. ‘She is the best one,’ Mahala was saying, pointing out a rat with pride. ‘She is strong and smart.’

  ‘The prettiest, too,’ said Jim fondly, stroking the little animal with one finger.

  To me all the rats looked exactly alike – disgusting. But I didn’t dare show Mahala my distaste. ‘Where is Mrs Whiskers?’ I asked, forcing myself to come farther into the room.

  Mahala smiled. Actually smiled. ‘Here. I gave her fresh bedding, you see. I would let you hold her, but she has become calm, and it is bad for her and her babies to be excited.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ I said hastily. ‘Of course you mustn’t disturb her. I’m sure she’ll be all right once she’s had a quiet night’s sleep. Oh, and they are quiet, aren’t they? No more squeaking.’

  ‘They are happy to be home. We will leave them to rest.’

  Well, I couldn’t understand, really, how having one’s cage on an accustomed shelf in an accustomed room rather than an unfamiliar shelf in an unfamiliar room made much difference, but then I’m not a rat. A matter of light and odours, I supposed.

  ‘Might I come and visit them sometimes?’ asked Jim, sounding a little wistful. ‘I’m not allowed pets here.’

  Mahala snapped off the lights and locked the door. ‘Tell me when you would like to come, and I will meet you here. The door is kept locked, you understand.’

  ‘Right. It’s important work you’re doing. Well …’ Jim looked at me, a question in his eyes.

  ‘Jim, Mahala and I are going out for a drink. Mahala, would you mind if Jim joined us?’

  ‘I don’t drink,’ said Jim, and at the same time Mahala said, ‘I do not know …’

  I had to make a quick decision. It looked as if Mahala didn’t want anyone else around when he talked to me. Alan would be most upset at the idea of my going anywhere with Mahala, unescorted. But a public place would surely be safe enough; anyway, I was beginning to believe that the poor boy posed no threat, at least not to me. Could anyone who loved animals as he clearly did be a murderer?

  That, I realized, was spurious logic at best, just plain nonsense at worst. On the other hand, there was no real evidence that a murder had been committed. The only person from the university community who had been reported missing was Tom Grenfell, and he was alive, or at any rate had been a few hours ago. Mahala had said the blood on the floor was his own.

  I made up my mind. Mahala was here, he was in a compliant mood just now, and he probably had some answers to important questions. By the time I had to explain myself to Alan, I’d have information that would placate him.

  ‘Oh, of course, you’re in training, aren’t you?’ I smiled at Jim. ‘Go get your sleep, and thank you so much for your help. Oh, and Jim, do me a favour, will you? I forgot to charge my phone. Would you call Alan for me and tell him I’ll be a bit late getting back, and not to worry?’ I gave him the number and a wink.

  I’d told a blatant lie about my phone, which was charged up and ready to go, but I didn’t want to talk to Alan myself just now. He’d make demands, and I preferred not to defy him openly. I love my husband, but there are times when I need to make my own decisions. In fact, I thought I’d turn my phone off while I was with Mahala. I shrugged off the pang of conscience that cost me and turned to him. ‘Where shall we go? I don’t know many pubs around here.’

  ‘I do not, either. I do not like pubs. They are noisy and crowded. There is a quiet place in the next street where we could have coffee.’

  ‘That sounds perfect, if it isn’t too far away. I’m a bit tired and achy.’ Mahala’s only response to that was to slow his pace somewhat, and I was more firmly convinced that he knew nothing about my fall at the Fitzwilliam.

  The café he had chosen was small and so
mewhat shabby, without the trappings of a Starbucks or the other chain coffee houses, but it was clean. We sat down, and I was about to ask Mahala what he would like when he stood and asked me.

  Oh, dear. I’d almost made a big mistake. Doubtless Mahala had little money, but his male pride meant he would not allow a woman to pay. ‘Just coffee, please. It had better be decaf at this hour of the evening, or I’ll never get to sleep.’ He sketched a little bow and went to the counter.

  When he came back with our coffees, I began the conversation with the typical American questions. ‘Coming from West Africa, Mahala, how did you end up at St Stephen’s?’

  ‘My country, Burkina Faso – do you know anything about it?’

  ‘Actually, I do. My church in the States once sent a team of people to help dig wells there. I can understand why you are concerned about your people. From what I learned then, your country suffers from terrible poverty.’

  ‘Yes. Poverty, government corruption, illness, poor education – almost no one can read. But we are not a stupid people!’

  ‘Well, plainly you’re not stupid. How is it that you speak such good English? I think I heard somewhere that French is the official language in Burkina Faso.’

  ‘I also speak French. I speak my native language, and other native languages. There are many languages in my country. That is one reason education is so difficult to establish, but only one reason.’ He sighed. ‘There are so many problems, and it seems that each one must be solved before the others can be approached. As for me, I was very fortunate. I am a Christian, and went to a school led by an English priest. That is very unusual. Most of the missionaries are French, but this school was closer to me than any of the others, and it was free, so I could go to it more easily.’

  He sipped his coffee. ‘It was still not easy, you understand. I worked all day with my father, who had a small farm, with chickens, some sheep and cattle, a few crops. We were very poor, and I was the only son to help my father. I was tired at the end of the day, but I walked to the school and worked hard there, too. The teacher stayed behind until night to teach me. Sometimes I had to sleep there, because it is not always safe to walk the roads at night.’