The Crocodile's Last Embrace

by Arruda, Suzanne

  “There’s beauty and then there’s beauty,” said Harry with a sidelong look at Jade. She scowled and he quickly looked to the ground. “Two sets of tracks,” he said. “Then maybe he went back with someone else.”

  “But why leave his vehicle here unless it was broken down?” She jerked her head towards Miller. “It started up fine for him.”

  “That’s true enough,” said Harry. “Perhaps—”

  “Shh,” broke in Percival in a whisper. “I saw a slight V-shaped ripple out to the right. Our friend might be about to take the bait. Get ready.”

  He spared a brief glance for Jade, who positioned herself at the winch. The crank itself had notches, like a gear, and a ratchet that prevented the wheel from running the other way. Jade had donned leather gloves and took hold of the crank.

  “Wind it in nice and slowly at first, miss. We want to lure him up out of the water for a clear shot.”

  Jade started the crank, listening to the slow tick-tick as the ratchet bobbed up and over each of the wheel’s wooden notches. The rope line crept along.

  “Have you ever shot a crocodile before, Hascombe?” Percival asked.

  “Twice.”

  “Did you kill any?”

  “Once.”

  Percival nodded. “The brainpan is a tiny target even in a big croc.”

  “And the skull only gets thicker as they grow,” Harry added.

  The constables stopped their investigation to watch. Miller slipped his sidearm from his holster and held it in front of him like a talisman to ward off evil. His hands trembled, and Jade wondered if he’d ever fired his weapon before. For all she knew, this might be his first look at a crocodile. Not that she’d seen many herself, and none this close.

  “Easy, easy,” called Percival. “I think he just dove down. Reel it in a little faster.”

  Jade turned the wheel at double the speed, listening to the ratchets clack clack. The rope came up dripping and smelling of fish and ripe organic mud. Bits of vegetation clung in spots.

  Suddenly she felt the wheel resist her efforts, no matter how hard she pushed on the handle. “He’s taken the bait!” she called. “I can’t budge him.”

  “Nakuru,” shouted Harry, “help Simba Jike.”

  Nakuru, a large man, rested Harry’s heavy rifle against the front tire and took hold of the crank opposite Jade. Leaning his entire weight and considerable muscle into it, he forced his lever down as Jade pulled up on hers. The winch spindle jerked around a half turn and locked again. This time Jade felt the jolt reverberate through the truck.

  “He’s going to drag the truck back!” she shouted. “Somebody shove some rocks behind the wheels.”

  Mukassa and Constable Singh both raced around, gathering large stones and shoving them behind the rear tires. As soon as Jade and Nakuru felt the slightest release in tension, they turned the crank, managing one and a half revolutions before the handle again refused to budge.

  The strength of the crocodile is in the water. Is this what the old man meant by his warning?

  Her biceps burned from exertion as she strained into the handle. The groaning of nails ripping through protesting wood sounded as though it came from her own limbs.

  “He’s pulling the winch out of the truck!” Jade shouted.

  “The bait’s coming up,” yelled Harry. “I can just see the knot we made for the one-foot marker. Nakuru, push!”

  The African whom Harry trusted with his life as gun bearer threw himself at the winch with a bellow. Jade’s handle flew up at her, tossing her backwards. She hit the ground just as bait, line, and a monstrous mottled demon welled up out of the river.

  The beast thrashed, sending spray high into the air. It obscured his head, the dingy water blending with his own washed-out colors.

  “I can’t get a clear sight on him,” shouted Percival. “Reel him in. Get him on shore.”

  Jade scrambled to her feet and did her utmost to assist Nakuru in turning the winch. The fore nails were exposed by an inch already, bent back from the pressure. They screeched again as the croc fought to retain his prize. From behind her, Jade heard the thrashing and felt droplets of water strike her back. She imagined the creature suddenly lunging towards her exposed back and prayed that Harry and Mr. Percival could get in a kill shot before that happened. She knew that they were closer to the beast than she was, but it didn’t make the fear any less real.

  The wheel turned another half revolution.

  “He’s nearly there,” yelled Percival. “Hascombe, have you got a shot?”

  “Almost,” shouted Harry.

  Suddenly the rope went slack and Jade knew that the reptile had come ashore. She turned and saw the unnatural-looking animal whose blotches of gray, white, and olive reminded her of a howitzer she’d seen painted in dazzle camouflage during the war. If such patterns were intended to disrupt the outline and confuse a predator, this one was living proof. Jade had a difficult time following the animal’s head outline and wondered if Harry was having a similar problem from his angle. The only obvious feature was the chunk of zebra haunch and rope still protruding from the partially open maw. A hiss like a hundred snakes issued from the beast’s throat.

  “He’s going to kill us all!” screamed Miller. He fired three times, striking the bait twice and the croc’s jaw once.

  “Get back, you idiot,” yelled Hascombe. “Jade, get in the truck!”

  But the bullets had already served to further irritate the animal, and he jerked his massive head just as Harry and Percival fired. Their shots pierced the nose and the fleshy jowls, respectively. Percival fired again while Harry chambered another round. This shot struck the skull, but hit half an inch behind the brainpan.

  By then the croc’s head jerk had snapped the rope, and the animal dove back into the water, Harry’s last bullet blazing ineffectually at the armored back.

  In a moment, the water was still, as though the brute had never been there.

  Harry’s mouth hung open as he stared at the winch, now attached by one nail. “He’s gotten bigger.”

  “Did we get him?” asked Miller.

  Harry’s face darkened and he wheeled around with a quickness that belied his big frame. “Damnation!” he roared as he stormed over to Miller. He grabbed him by the shirt collar and shook him like a big dog shaking a rat. “Get him? I could have had him. What the hell were you doing?”

  “You weren’t shooting,” Miller squeaked in between shakes.

  “I was about to. You don’t just shoot at a croc and expect it to fall down dead.”

  “Harry, let him go,” said Jade. She noticed that Miller’s face was turning purple.

  Harry dropped him, and the constable gasped. “I could have you arrested for that, you know.”

  While taking a deep breath, Harry’s chest expanded until he resembled the Cape buffalo for which he was nicknamed. Miller apparently saw the danger, for he quickly added, “But I won’t.”

  Harry threw a menacing look at the reporter, who was feverishly scratching down every movement and word in his notepad. “And if you print a word about what just happened between the constable and me, I’ll—”

  The reporter held up his hands in a “don’t shoot me” pose. “I promise. You have my word.”

  “That and a couple rupees wouldn’t buy a shot of gin,” grumbled Harry.

  “You made a foolish mistake there, Constable,” said Percival. “Besides ruining our chances at a good shot, you’ve possibly driven the animal away from here. Now we’ll have to watch for it and see where it turns up next. And I don’t have the manpower to patrol every foot of this river.”

  “Do you have any idea where that crocodile will go next?” asked Jade.

  Percival shrugged. “It could be anywhere. He could stay here, though I doubt it. He could go back downriver. That’s more likely, since it will get shallower up here as the dry season progresses.”

  “Any chance he’ll move to the Kikuyu village?”

  “It�
�s a possibility. I’ll pay them a visit and warn them.” The game warden considered Jade for a moment. “You were planning to take some young ladies out for a safari, weren’t you?”

  Jade nodded. “We’ll be camping above the falls, though.” She rubbed her upper arms, trying to ease out the burning pain from her recent exertion. “I’ll make certain that they don’t come down below.”

  “You’ll be safe enough up there,” Percival said. “But stay up top. I can’t imagine any croc waiting in those rocks and pools under the falls, but one never knows with animals, especially hungry ones.”

  “How big was that animal?” asked the reporter. “Fourteen feet, did you say?”

  “He’s sixteen if he’s an inch,” said Harry. He moved closer to Jade and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Are you all right, Jade? If I’d known that croc was that big, I’d never have put you at the winch.” He smiled. “You’re a brave woman. You didn’t run. But you should have gotten into the truck.” His hand grazed her cheek and hair.

  Jade moved away from his touch. “I’m fine, Harry.” She turned to Constable Singh and changed the subject. “Did you find anything of interest in or around the vehicle?”

  Singh shook his white-turbaned head. “Nothing unusual, memsahib. We shall see if there are any interesting fingerprints when I drive it back to Nairobi. I cannot tell if there was blood on the ground or not. There was a dark spot of dirt there.” He pointed to a shallow hole. “I dug it up and put it in a jar. Perhaps we shall see blood under the microscope.”

  “I’d think there should be a lot of blood,” said the reporter.

  “Not necessarily,” said Percival. “A crocodile is an ambush predator. It lunges forward and pulls the prey into the water, drowning it.”

  “And then what happens?” asked the reporter, scribbling as fast as he could.

  “If he’s hungry enough and he can swallow his prey, he’ll bolt it down then, but most often he stores his meal in some underwater lair,” said Harry. “Tucks it under a root or something until it softens up enough that he can pull off chunks of meat.”

  “How long does that take?” asked the reporter. His face had paled.

  Harry shrugged. “A few days maybe, a week perhaps.”

  From the river came the sound of rising gas bubbles. They burbled and popped in a frenetic series that ended only when a corpse suddenly bobbed to the surface. Chalky white flesh protruded from torn khaki, and a bloated hand flopped in a mock wave, beckoning them. The body rolled and settled on the surface, one glazed eye staring from the ghoulish face, the swollen lips pulled back in an expression of horror.

  They stared at the body in stunned disbelief, mouths agape, eyes wide.

  “Unless,” Jade said, “a lot of thrashing makes the dinner pop back up.”

  The reporter was the first to move, hurrying away to gag. “Ulp!”

  “Gentlemen,” Jade added as she looked at each of them, “I think we found our victim.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Crocodiles do not swim or run down their prey. They ambush,

  lying in wait, invisible. Then suddenly, that harmless log attacks

  with tremendous speed and power.

  —The Traveler

  “IRONIC NAME,” murmured Inspector Finch later that day. He and Jade were standing outside police headquarters, watching as Constable Singh dusted and photographed fingerprints on the victim’s car. The victim, Bradley Waters, lay inside on a table in a back room. He’d been identified by some soggy, folded papers in his pocketbook.

  When Jade didn’t reply, Finch explained, “Waters. I mean to say that it’s rather ironic that he died in the water, drowning in a crocodile’s death roll.”

  Jade only nodded. While she didn’t feel as edgy today as she had in previous days, her skin still twitched and crept along her arms and legs. Exhaustion from lack of sleep and this morning’s exertion at the winch had also taken its toll. She’d returned to Nairobi with Miller to give her statement, leaving Singh to bring back the victim and his vehicle. Blaney Percival, who’d driven Jade to the river, had gone on to Jelani’s village, and Harry—well, frankly Jade had no idea what Harry did afterwards; nor did she care to know. His caress back at the river said that his interest in her hadn’t waned. It was as unwelcome as it was unreciprocated.

  “We do not know for a fact that he drowned, Inspector,” said Dr. Dymant, stepping outside to join them. With Mathews away again for a few weeks, he’d offered his services to perform the autopsy.

  “But isn’t that what crocodiles do?” asked Finch. “Grab their victims and pull them under until they drown?”

  “Yes,” said Jade.

  Finch nodded, as though he had been vindicated.

  “But,” continued Jade, musing to herself, “perhaps he was dead before the crocodile pulled him under. Maybe he’d been drinking and passed out in the water. Or maybe . . .” She let her thoughts trail off.

  “Maybe what?” asked Finch.

  Jade snapped to attention, his question startling her out of her reverie. It wasn’t unwelcome either, since she’d started seeing images of David, bloodied and dying, in her mind’s eye. “Oh, nothing,” she said.

  “Miss del Cameron raises some interesting considerations,” said Dymant. “The man may have suffered a heart attack and fallen before the crocodile found him. But considering the condition of the body, I’m not at all sure we’ll ever know the answers.”

  “Do what you can with him, Doctor,” said Finch. “And quickly. We need to get him in the ground soon enough. Singh, accompany the good doctor.”

  “I shall get right to it, Inspector,” said Dymant. “As you see, I have my medical bag with me. Thank you for entrusting me with this examination.”

  “I’d like to know what you find out,” said Jade. Dymant bowed and hastened inside, leaving Jade and Finch by the vehicles. “You called him in?” asked Jade.

  “No. In point of fact, he came and offered his services,” said Finch. “Seemed most eager.”

  “Curious,” said Jade.

  “How so?”

  Jade shrugged. “Well, for one thing, how did he know there was a body to be examined?”

  Finch waved a hand in a motion of dismissal. “The question is, who doesn’t know? Once we made the call earlier for the chief game warden, everyone knew something was up. I had to notify the chief inspector just now and the secret was out.” He snorted. “Blasted telephone operators tattle to everyone and their aunt about everything.” Finch wagged a finger at Jade. “I swear the newspapers pay them to report anything of note.”

  “I suppose that explains it,” said Jade.

  “Yeeeesss,” drawled Finch, “but it doesn’t explain your interest in the results. Somehow I don’t think I can put it down to feminine curiosity.” He folded his arms over his chest and watched her.

  Jade responded with her own question. “You don’t think finding a body is enough to warrant interest?”

  Finch’s lips tightened. “Don’t evade my question, Miss del Cameron. Why are you so interested? Months ago, you were furious at being pulled into the investigation when that body was found in your friends’ coffee dryer.”

  She arched one brow. “You tricked me into that one, remember?” She suddenly pictured Sam scowling at her, his arms folded across his chest, unhappy about her tendency to charge into danger. She gave her head a quick shake and sighed. What difference does it make now?

  “To answer your question, Inspector, I suppose it’s because this is the second body I’ve found this week. I don’t like coincidences.”

  “You suspect foul play then? Is there something in particular that you’re not telling me? Because it doesn’t matter that you’re an American. You’re obligated to report to the police everything you know about this incident.”

  “I told you all I know. I have nothing beyond a . . .” She paused, searching for a way to describe her suspicions. “Call it a gut feeling, if you like. Perhaps I�
�m reacting as much to these taunts I’ve received as anything else, but this man Waters’ fishing tackle was not left near the shoreline. It was by his truck. So he wasn’t standing at the shore fishing when a croc surprised him. And we didn’t find any flasks or bottles lying about, so I doubt that he was drunk.”

  Finch nodded as he pondered her assessment. “Those are good points, miss, and they are the very reasons I wanted an examination of the body. Otherwise I would have simply ruled it death by crocodile and moved on.”

  Jade’s brows lifted in surprise. “So you agree with me?”

  “Yes. Don’t be so shocked, Miss del Cameron. I’ve come to have some respect for your perspicacity. And since you’ve brought up those disagreeable items you’ve received, I must tell you that we’ve had no luck tracing their origins. Other than those from a postal clerk, there were no other prints on either the letter or the packet with the scarf. Of course, I cannot do anything at all with the last fragment you found in your chop box. It’s too charred. And even if there were prints, to what would I compare them? My records are limited.”

  “Balderdash! You collected prints from half of Nairobi last July,” she said. “At the Agricultural Ball, remember?”

  Finch looked at his shoes and frowned. “Hmm, yes, well. I was ordered to dispose of most of that collection. A few gentlemen with the ears of the governor were affronted by the entire episode.”

  “Lord Colridge?”

  “I believe he spearheaded the complaint, yes.”

  Jade smiled. She’d first met the old pioneer settler just after the war. She could imagine him puffing out his bushy white mustache as he broached his concerns to Governor Northey. Even in Colridge’s advanced years, he was still a force to be reckoned with.

  “What you tell me makes no sense, Inspector,” said Jade. “At least one of those parcels came from France, according to the postmark. It should have been handled by any number of people and have innumerable prints on it.”