The Leopard's Prey

by Suzanne Arruda

  “I’m Sam Featherstone and, yes, I’m an American.” Sam extended his right hand, but the Inspector didn’t offer to shake it.

  “Mr. Featherstone is our friend and guest,” said Madeline. “He is an engineer, and he has been helping my husband develop a more efficient coffee washer.”

  The inspector walked over to Sam’s motion picture camera and tripod, still where he had left them after they discovered the body. “And is this part of the equipment, too?”

  “No,” said Sam. “I’m also making a moving picture about coffee farmers. The Thompsons are letting me film them at work. In return, I do handyman jobs in payment for room and board.”

  Finch turned away from the camera and Sam as though he was uninterested in Sam’s answer. His seemingly casual stroll took him toward Jade and Biscuit. “You are Miss Jade del Cameron, are you not?” Jade nodded. “Did you also touch the dryer, Miss del Cameron?”

  “Nope.”

  Finch arched his brows. “Indeed? I’m rather surprised. The commissioner, whom you met when you first came to Nairobi and found that dismembered corpse on Lord Colridge’s estate, told me about you and how . . . helpful you were.” The tone of his voice suggested otherwise.

  Biscuit, perhaps hearing something he didn’t like in the man’s voice, chose that moment to stand and wrap his lithe body around Jade’s legs. She stroked the cat’s broad head and decided that Inspector Finch’s comment merited nothing more than a slight inclination of her own head.

  “Interesting pet, miss,” said Finch.

  “Indeed. You should know that Biscuit actually found the body first, Inspector. Madeline only opened the door to see why he was pawing at the drum. I’m only telling you this in case your officer finds a set of prints that don’t look human. Just trying to be ‘helpful,’ you understand. You might need to take Biscuit’s set while you’re collecting ours.”

  Mr. Finch smiled, making a soft chuckle. “Charming.” He turned back to Neville. “You said you purchased this dryer from the deceased. When might that have been?”

  “Early last week. I can show you the bill of sale.” Neville went into the house to get it. Finch didn’t follow. Instead, he took in the stockade of milling zebras and Percy’s distant pen.

  “We’re selling the zebras and the lion to that zoological company,” said Madeline. “Anything to help pay off the overdraft.”

  Finch nodded. He spied a more distant fenced area and pointed to it. “What is over there?”

  “My airplane hangar,” said Sam.

  The inspector turned toward Sam and arched his eyebrows. “Ah, you have a flying machine. I should imagine it would be hard to get aviation fuel out here.”

  “The OX-5 engine uses gasoline,” said Sam. “One of its advantages.”

  Neville hurried out of the house, paper in hand, and gave it to the inspector. “Purchased June twenty-fifth,” he said.

  “I see. And he delivered this coffee dryer soon after?”

  “No. I expected delivery this week,” said Neville. “When it didn’t come, I assumed he had gotten busy elsewhere. I drove into Nairobi and picked it up yesterday. Not an easy matter either.”

  “And with him already inside,” mumbled Madeline, still fixated on the horror of her husband hauling the corpse. “Oh, Neville, he must have killed himself just before.”

  “I’m sure the doctor will be able to estimate when he died,” said Mr. Finch, his gaze on Sam. “Only then will we know if he came with the dryer or was added later.” He turned and waved to the doctor. “I feel certain we can leave as soon as you and Miller are ready, Doctor.”

  Constable Miller had quickly removed the door and treated the metal surrounding the opening with a fine, pale gray powder. He set a camera on a tripod and laboriously took photographs of any smudge he found. Jade watched with a keen interest and longed to ask him about his equipment. She restrained her curiosity, however, and contented herself with observing from a distance.

  The doctor, too, waited for Miller to finish. No sooner had the constable taken his last image than Dr. Montgomery stuck his head in the dryer, using a flashlight to survey the interior. “Most curious.”

  “Why is that?” asked Jade.

  “There’s not very much blood pooled down here.” He pulled out his head and turned to the body, now covered with half of the blanket. “Perhaps most of it soaked into his clothes.”

  “I must ask all of you to come into Nairobi to be fingerprinted,” said Finch. “Merely a formality, you understand. Tomorrow or the day after will be fine.” He helped the constable load the body into the back of his truck and drove off, leaving four relatively stunned faces behind him.

  Neville broke the silence first. “You two probably have more experience with this than I do. How long does it take before you aren’t shocked anymore by the sight of a dead body?”

  “The shock is always there,” said Jade. “You just learn to hide it better.”

  “It helps a little,” said Sam, “if you don’t know the person.”

  Jade decided Maddy would do better to remove herself from the scene of tragedy. To facilitate the change, she walked toward the ponies that still waited with their saddles on. Jade unbuckled Tea’s saddle and slid it off his back. As she had hoped, Madeline and the others followed her lead. “So why would this Mr. Stokes kill himself?” Jade asked.

  “I think it might be because his wife ran away,” Maddy said.

  “He told you about that?” asked Sam.

  Maddy shook her head. “We never really knew him socially, but there was that very curious insert in the personal ads of the Standard,” said Maddy. “Let me find it.” She ran into the house and emerged shortly with the thick weekly edition to which so many of the settlers subscribed. She flipped pages while Jade watered the pony. “I know I saw it here somewhere. Aha! Here it is, under the ‘wanted’ section.” She handed the paper to Jade.

  Jade read aloud, Sam following silently over her shoulder: “ ‘Wanted: information regarding the whereabouts of Alice Stokes, 24-year-old woman, 5 foot, 3 inches, blond hair. Reply to box 342.’ ” She lowered the paper. “That is odd. Do you know if her husband placed this ad?”

  Neville and Madeline both shook their heads. “One just assumes. We could look in the Red Book,” Maddy said, referring to the colony’s official directory, “and see who owns that box number.”

  Sam took the paper from Jade and reread the notice. “How long has she been missing?”

  “I don’t remember seeing the notice before last week,” said Maddy. “Do you, Neville?”

  “No. And I never heard anyone speak of it either. But then, we don’t go into town very often. Mr. Stokes made regular visits to the farms to see what was needed,” added Neville as he started on Crumpet. “He was very attentive to all the farmers, but he never talked about anything with us except farming equipment.”

  “He was very accommodating,” agreed Maddy. “Always very polite and so neatly dressed, even when delivering supplies. Such a cheerful man.”

  “Maybe he was away from home too much,” said Jade. “All that attention to customers and none left for the missus? I wonder where Alice went.”

  “Possibly home to England like this lady,” said Sam. He pointed to another notice and read it aloud. “ ‘Woman with two young children seeks someone to watch children while she returns to England for four months.’ ” He slapped at the paper. “Sounds as if someone needed a vacation from the kiddies. Maybe Mrs. Stokes also needed one away from Mr. Stokes. Chances are she’ll be back on a return boat in a few months. He probably knew about it, too.”

  “An interesting theory, Sam,” said Jade. “But if Mr. Stokes knew his wife had taken a vacation, then who placed the ad?”

  Sam shrugged his shoulders and continued reading. Jade finished rubbing down Tea and turned him loose in a pen just as Neville finished with Crumpet.

  “This part of the paper is very interesting,” said Sam. “At least from a would-be filmmaker’s p
oint of view. So many possible stories here.”

  Madeline came up beside him and tried to see the paper over his arm. “What do you mean? I read this every week, and except for the wanted notice for Mrs. Stokes, I can’t say I’ve seen very much of interest.”

  Sam shifted his shoulder so Madeline could see the paper better. “Well, take this one for example: ‘Lost, one brown parcel. Please return to box 16. No questions asked.’ Doesn’t that make you wonder what’s inside? And here’s another: ‘Lost, one white Somali pony disappeared from Alwyn Chalmers’ farm.’ ”

  “He lost that pony two weeks ago,” said Neville. “I saw the notice in last week’s paper.”

  “That’s where we just caught that last leopard,” said Jade. “Probably killed the pony.”

  “Here’s my favorite,” said Sam. “ ‘Young woman desires situation on a farm keeping house for a bachelor farmer.’ Now that’s a young woman looking to get hitched.”

  Jade tried to stifle a yawn. “Maybe she’d like to be in your moving picture, Sam.” She yawned again, only this time her mouth gaped wide.

  “Mercy,” said Maddy. “You’re certainly a sleepyhead. Did you have to wait a long time last night for the leopard to show up?”

  Jade nodded. “Till almost dawn.” She rubbed her hands across the back of her neck and rolled her shoulders, working out the kinks. “After I stop at home I’m going to Chalmers’ farm and try to get a few hours of sleep before we try for the other leopard tonight.”

  Sam’s head drooped, and he frowned. “I’d hoped to give you another flying lesson today. Have you practice your takeoffs and landings one last time before I give you more altitude.”

  Jade hesitated, tempted by the delights of flying. Then another yawn forced her jaws apart. “I’d love to, Sam, but as tired as I am, I’d probably wreck your plane.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” he teased. As he came closer, he noticed a few scratches on her hand and a short rip in her shirt-sleeve near the shoulder. “That must have been some prickly blind you sat in last night.” His dark, coffee-colored eyes searched hers, trying to read anything she might be hiding from him. Jade, able to stare down everyone but Sam, winced and looked away. The action was so unlike her that it told Sam all he needed to know. He pounced. “You said you switched baits. Don’t tell me that you were the bait last night.”

  Jade remained silent.

  “Jade?” asked Madeline. “Were you?”

  “Sam just told me not to tell him that. So I’m not answering.”

  Madeline put her hands to her mouth in shock. “Oh, Jade,” she murmured, “you could have been mauled to death.”

  “I could have been trampled by a runaway rhino, too, or had any number of things happen to me, but I wasn’t. And we saved one leopard from a death sentence.”

  “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not the bait again tonight, Jade,” said Sam, his voice low and cool. “Otherwise I’m hog-tying you in Maddy’s parlor.”

  Jade shook her head, pleased by his concern and irritated at his demand. “We’re using a goat tonight, Sam,” she said. “On my honor.”

  Sam nodded, accepting her sworn promise. “Good. I own you, you know,” he added, referring to how he’d saved her from being sold in a Marrakech slave market that past spring by “buying” her. “Paid out perfectly good gold, too, Madeline, and what did I get? A scrappy cat. Still, I’d hate to lose my investment.”

  “You never finished telling me that story,” whispered Madeline so Jade wouldn’t hear.

  She heard anyway. “Did he also tell you that my mother gave him the gold? So if anyone owns me, it’s Mother and not you, Sam.” Jade poked his chest for emphasis. “She and I have come to terms with that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some sleep.”

  Jade climbed onto the motorcycle. Her Winchester was strapped in a leather side pocket and her personal belongings rested snugly inside red leather panniers slung over the rear seat. She readjusted the aviator’s leather helmet, worn over her short black curls, and pulled a pair of goggles down over her eyes.

  “Wait,” called Sam. “Where exactly are you and the rest of the crew going to be tonight?”

  “Mr. Daley had a team of natives dig a pit trap at the northern side of Chalmers’ farm, on the edge of Charles Harding’s property. He thinks a different approach might prove less hazardous than the double cage, especially since these cats have been wary of the cages.” Jade yawned again. “I’m going to join them just before nightfall but mostly to take photographs unless they need me to rope something.”

  “I’ll fly over tomorrow morning and see how you fared,” suggested Sam, “if I can find a place to put down.”

  Jade smiled, feeling guilty for her previous grumpiness. “That sounds nice. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She started her engine and roared off toward Nairobi to check the post and, in particular, to stop at Lord Avery and Lady Beverly Dunbury’s estate on the fringes of Parklands.

  The Dunburys, Jade’s closest friends from the Great War, had purchased a beautiful stone house and sizable grounds after their first visit to East Africa in 1919. Since then, they’d erected stables and constructed an exercise ring for training horses. For Jade’s benefit, and in an effort to keep their friend from roaming too far from them, they’d added a complete film-development laboratory and a guest cottage. The Dunburys were now in London awaiting the birth of their first child, due sometime in late August or early September, so Jade had taken up residence in the main house.

  As she sped along, she couldn’t help but notice the difference in the landscape that a little over a year had made. What had once been an empty stretch of road now teemed with traffic. She passed two automobiles and a truck going in her direction, and met three other autos and one motorcycle in the span of thirty minutes. Unheard of. And Nairobi itself seemed to grow farther out every month, as settlers built their homes in the upland, parklike districts, each with its own country club.

  The first time she’d traveled this route, she’d seen herds of zebra and antelope grazing nearby. She’d watched native women work small plots of sweet potatoes. Now the women were confined to their villages and the wildlife had fled in the face of noisy vehicles. The few natives who walked along the road all wore around their necks a small metal cylinder. It held their kipande, a paper with a set of their fingerprints, employment contract, and travel permit. The cylinder had become synonymous with the documents, earning it the same name.

  Gone was the smooth-skinned warrior striding along in a monkey-skin loincloth or nothing at all, answering to no one but himself in his native land. No doubt about it. The Africa of old was dying. But, like any wild animal, it would not go down without a struggle. Jade wondered how many others would also die in the battle. Was Mr. Stokes one of the early victims?

  And what about me? Is there still room here for me?

  COMPARED TO THE previous night, this night’s venture was a cake walk. The entire African crew slept peacefully, wrapped in their blankets on the ground, while the small retinue of Americans lounged in hammocks or on Chalmers’ veranda. They sipped coffee or dozed, as the mood struck them. On Jade’s advice, they decided not to wait in blinds, lest they scare off the leopard. With them was the senior partner of Perkins and Daley, Bob Perkins. The tall, white-haired gentleman, impressed by Daley’s account of the first capture, had decided to drive out from Nairobi for this one. He had insisted on bringing Jade along with him.

  The sides of the deep pit trap had been cut so they tapered inward toward the top, making it impossible for the agile cat to jump out once it fell in. There was only one route of access to the kid goat, and that was across the trap, beautifully disguised with thin bamboo and grass and doused with goat urine and dung in the hopes of masking any lingering scent of humans. They had nothing to do but wait back at Chalmers’ house for the inevitable.

  Besides, they would know when something went into the pit. Jade had rigged up a night-flash picture to be triggere
d by the animal once it stepped on the trap. The magnesium flash and subsequent boom would carry the distance and report their success.

  Jade sat apart from the others near the back side of Chalmers’ house. She’d arrived at nightfall, slung a hammock from the veranda rafters, and slept for five hours, but now she felt restless. She wished the cat would just fall into the trap and be done with it. Didn’t it know that it was doomed? That it had a price on its head?

  Her thoughts went back to the first leopard, and she immediately envisioned his blazing yellow eyes. She shook her head and tried to think of something else; unfortunately what came to mind was Mr. Stokes’ body. While she accepted the idea that the loss of his wife might have driven him to suicide, she didn’t understand why he’d crawl into the coffee dryer to kill himself. Why not do the deed in his own home? Was he afraid no one would find him there?

  She shifted position and heard the crinkle of paper in her shirt pocket. Beverly’s letter. Another, addressed to Maddy, was in Jade’s day pack. Jade had picked them up that afternoon. Wanting to think happier thoughts, she took her letter out and reread it by the campfire’s glow.

  June 7, 1920

  Dearest Jade:

  I was so happy to receive your letter telling me that you were safely “home” in Nairobi and that your mother was on her way home to America. And how positively wonderful that she got the stud horse she’d wanted in Spain. I was under the impression that the Andalusians never gave up their precious horses. It makes me all the more curious to know how you and your mother managed that. Somehow I think there’s a story there that you’re not telling me. You didn’t shoot anyone, did you?

  Impending motherhood does not become me. My feet are swelling along with my midsection. Not that anyone will see me like this except Avery, and the dear man still says I’m glowing. I think the correct spelling should be “glowering.” I’m quite put out by this needless sequestration. Why do we still pretend that pregnant women of social standing must be hidden? Are we trying to fool the common folk into thinking we come by children magically?