The Leopard's Prey

by Suzanne Arruda

  Jade waited a moment while all this registered in Mrs. Berryhill’s mind. Then she added more gently, “You placed that ad, didn’t you, Mrs. Berryhill?” Jade found that direct statements often got better results than questions. She wasn’t disappointed.

  The woman nodded. “Yes.” She fidgeted with the locket a moment, then tugged at her dress bodice. “I’m sure you can see that the child needed a decent home.”

  “You seem to be the only person who knew Alice Stokes or cared about her, Mrs. Berryhill. When did she leave? Where did she go?”

  Mrs. Berryhill toyed with the locket and looked everywhere but at Jade. “I don’t know when or where she went. I just know she made plans. You see,” she explained, meeting Jade’s eyes, “I knew when her husband would be away on his calls. Most of those times I couldn’t leave the store, but on a few occasions, I could see her, make certain she was all right. I’m the one who brought the doctor, or she’d have delivered that baby on her own.” Mrs. Berryhill glanced away again. “Then not long ago, my husband and I found her baby in a crate in back of the store.”

  “Why do you suppose she left her child behind?”

  “Secrecy, I suppose,” said Mrs. Berryhill. “If she disguised herself, she could probably board a train and not be noticed as she would with an infant.”

  “So you don’t believe Mrs. Stokes is coming back?” asked Jade. Mrs. Berryhill shook her head. “Who adopted the boy and how did they manage to get him so quickly?” Seeing the woman’s hesitation, Jade added, “Please, it would help my friend if she knew the child went to a loving home.”

  Again, the woman played with her locket. “There was a . . . farmwife. From up north. She was in town getting supplies and took the child straightaway.” Mrs. Berryhill raised her chin again, as if defying Jade to contradict her.

  “She replied to the newspaper office right after reading the ad?” Jade couldn’t keep the skepticism from her voice. According to the secretary, no one had applied to the paper.

  “Well . . . no. She came to the store and saw the baby. She admired it. Said she wanted one herself. So I let her take him.”

  “You gave the baby to a total stranger?”

  “Of course not! I’ve done business with this woman before. Not often, but enough. You may assure Mrs. Thompson that this lady is a clean-living, decent woman.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Berryhill. This will certainly help my friend.”

  “You’re welcome, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Berryhill. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it is getting late. I must find my husband and be going home.”

  Jade watched her leave just as the band struck up “Broad-way Crawl,” and Anderson appeared at her elbow.

  “How ’bout we share this dance, Jade?” he asked.

  Jade didn’t see Sam or the Thompsons anywhere, but she did spy Mr. Holly weaving uncertainly in her direction. While she really wanted to find her friends, she decided it would be rude to outright reject Wayne. After all, she did need to work with him, and it was just a dance. Better to dance with him than to deal with Holly again. Besides, she wanted to ask him about his earlier statement.

  “Certainly,” she said. Wayne took her right hand and pulled her close for a fox-trot. He wasn’t a bad dancer, but Jade didn’t like to be held so close. She slid her left hand to the front of his shoulder to give herself a little more breathing room.

  “I’m curious as to why you felt the need to warn me about Sam,” she said. “He didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Hasn’t that inspector told you? Featherstone was spotted giving that Stokes guy a wallop to the jaw.”

  “Really? I’m not sure I believe that, and anyway, it doesn’t prove that Sam killed him.”

  “Makes him dangerous in my book. I think you should steer clear of him, that’s all. Guys like that can blow up pretty quickly once they get in a lather.”

  “Guys like what? Do you mean pilots? Is that why you dislike Sam so much?”

  “Hey, I’m no apple knocker,” he said, referring to an unworldly country bumpkin. “I’ve been in Chicago a long time. I’ve seen some characters.”

  “I’m sure you have, but you’re wrong about Sam.”

  The song ended; Jade thanked Wayne for the dance and excused herself to find her friends. Where the blazes is Madeline? Jade saw her on the far side talking to a pretty young woman barely out of her teens. Neville and Sam were near the bar having a drink. Luckily, the orchestra announced it would take a brief respite, which meant no one would tug her onto the dance floor in the next fifteen minutes. As Jade made her way to Madeline, she studied the room. Jade had to hand it to the New Stanley Hotel for hiring and training efficient staff. The five white-gloved waiters, all native Africans, were busy taking glasses from people as soon as the glass was empty. The overall effect was immaculate without the usual party residue. Shame they can’t move some of these people out of my way. After several “pardon me’s” Jade arrived just as the girl left.

  “There you are, Jade. I was looking for you,” said Madeline. Neville and Sam joined them. “I wanted you to meet that nice girl. I had the most interesting conversation with her.” All male eyes turned to the departing young woman in her very modern, low-cut dress of green taffeta with puffy tulle sashes at each hip. The entire dress was held up by two thin straps.

  “She’s a ‘hello girl,’ ” said Madeline.

  “I can see that,” said Sam to no one in particular.

  Jade tossed a sidelong look at him, but he was still staring after the girl. “What was this conversation about, Maddy?” she asked.

  “She overheard me speak to Mrs. Palmer about Mrs. Stokes’ disappearance. Everyone talks of it, but no one knows anything. Nobody really knew the woman at all. So, Nancy—that’s her name—she approached me and said she had an idea about who placed the ad looking for her.”

  “How did she find that out?” asked Neville.

  “She overhears a great many things in her line of work,” replied Maddy.

  “I can imagine,” said Sam.

  Jade, impatient, urged Madeline on. “What did she say?”

  “Well, she’s very good at recognizing voices, and she said this man had a high-pitched, reedy one. She thought it sounded like Alwyn Chalmers.”

  “She didn’t see him?” asked Sam.

  Maddy shook her head. “No. Why would she?”

  Sam scratched his head and stammered a bit. “Well, it just seems . . . I mean, I would assume. . . .” He shook his head. “But I’m surprised at you, Maddy, talking to her.”

  Madeline opened her eyes wider and placed a hand on her chest. “Why shouldn’t I? Of course there is a difference in our ages, but she seemed very polite and nice.”

  “But, Madeline . . . ,” sputtered Sam. He turned to Neville. “Surely you don’t approve of your wife chatting with her?”

  Neville drained his scotch and soda and shrugged. “Spoken with her myself several times.”

  “Sam,” said Jade, “I think you’re confused. The title ‘hello girl’ is just a cute name for the telephone operators.”

  Sam blinked twice, slowly, like a startled owl. “A telephone operator?”

  “Of course,” said Madeline. “Because they always say ‘hello’ when you place a call. What did you think she was?”

  “Never mind,” muttered Sam, red faced.

  Neville chuckled. “Very good. Very good, indeed.”

  Madeline, still confused, looked to Jade for an explanation. Jade leaned in closer and whispered, “He thought she was a woman of ill repute, a streetwalker.”

  Madeline’s hand flew to her open mouth; then she giggled. “Oh! Hellooooo,” she said.

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Honest mistake. Sorry.”

  Jade smiled and turned the conversation back to the more important revelation. “That’s really very intriguing, Maddy. Why would Chalmers place an ad to find information about Mrs. Stokes?” No one had an answer to that, but thinking of Chalmers made Jade recall the leopard cubs and,
consequently, her job. “By the way, I think we’re collecting Percy and the zebra tomorrow afternoon.”

  Neville nodded. “Good.”

  “Perkins hired me to fly over close to the Maasai reserve to scout for a young rhino,” said Sam. “I’m going up early Monday morning. Will you come along, Jade?”

  “Yes, as long as Perkins doesn’t need me.” She saw the orchestra members return to their seats and pick up their instruments. Soon talking wouldn’t be possible. “Quickly, before they start up: I learned that Stokes drowned in some animal dip after being hit. They found arsenic traces in his lungs. Did anyone else discover something?”

  “I just reported my news,” said Maddy.

  Neville shook his head.

  “Stokes may have been blackmailing someone,” said Sam. “That’s according to the Berryhill kid and another man, a Mr. Griswell. Neither would be more explicit, though, which makes me suspect that Griswell, at least, was being blackmailed. Other than that, I overheard a lot of men rehash the same material we’ve all heard before: good football player, solid in cricket, but nothing much about him personally. I got the distinct impression that one old man, Lord Colridge, knew a lot about everyone else but kept his cards close.”

  “You met Lord Colridge?” asked Jade.

  “I filmed him,” said Sam. The orchestra tuned their instruments in the background. “You know him?”

  “I met him when I first came to Africa,” said Jade. “He took me along on that hunt for the man-eating hyena.”

  Sam nodded. “He seemed fond of you two,” he said to Neville and Madeline. “Once he knew I was your friend, he was tickled pink to let me film him.” He still held his empty scotch glass and looked around for a place to deposit it. There were no trays or waiters nearby. Sam nudged Neville and pointed to a distant tray by the back wall, then to himself.

  By now the orchestra had jumped into “Oh, by Jingo” and the couples took to the floor. Further serious conversation was at an end as everyone else around them practically shouted to be heard over the music. Jade motioned to the door. “Shall we leave?”

  Maddy nodded. “I agree, don’t you, Neville?”

  “What?” Neville asked over the noise.

  “We want to leave,” repeated Madeline.

  “Fine,” said Neville.

  Jade looked around. “Where’s Sam?”

  “He went to put his glass down over there.” Neville pointed to the back wall, but there was no Sam nearby. “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t see him anywhere,” said Jade as she stood on tip-toe and turned a slow, complete circle, scanning the room.

  They each searched the ballroom, looking for Sam, but after fifteen minutes, they still hadn’t found him. Cutter stopped Jade as she was about to look outside, and asked her for the next dance.

  “I’m sorry, Frank, but I was about to leave as soon as I found my friend.”

  “Are you looking for that pilot fellow?”

  “Yes, Sam Featherstone. Have you seen him recently?”

  Cutter nodded. “Saw him go out the back way with some man ten minutes ago.”

  Jade thanked him, grabbed Maddy and Neville, and headed for the back door. But when they went outside, all they saw was the empty alleyway.

  CHAPTER 9

  Lions are the scourge of the Maasai herds. A warrior is insulted by a lion

  boldly roaring by the kraal at night. But as long as a lion still eats raw meat

  instead of roasted like a man, he cannot challenge a Maasai.

  —The Traveler

  JADE LAY AWAKE, listening for Sam to return. After hearing he’d left, Neville had gone up and down the dark alleyway while Jade and Madeline searched out front. Next they waited by the Thompsons’ car for an hour. Still no Sam. Finally, Maddy suggested that he’d missed them somehow and gotten another ride back to Parklands. They drove to the Dunburys’ residence, but Sam wasn’t there either. Neither was his motorcycle. His camera and tripod, however, were still in the back pantry, where he’d left them. He must have come back and driven off.

  Where did he go?

  For that matter, why would he go and not tell them? What had anyone said that drove him off? Or had he seen something suspicious and followed it? Had something happened to him? He hadn’t looked too well recently, but with typical male reticence, he kept claiming that he was fine.

  Exasperated with chasing sleep, Jade got up and slipped her trousers and a shirt over her linen camisole and drawers. She shook out her boots and tugged them on over a clean pair of socks. She needed something to occupy her time and mind, and developing pictures was as good a plan as any. She took her flashlight and padded out to the outbuilding the Dunburys had built for her lab. After unlocking the door, Jade went in and lit a lantern fitted with a red glass chimney. Next she mixed a fresh batch of chemicals and started the process, focusing on her watch’s second hand, and the careful rinsing of each roll in the developing can.

  Finally, she studied the negatives by the dim lantern light, looking for the exceptional picture among the blurred or mediocre shots. Jade felt a stirring of pleasure and relief to know that the picture of the hyena in the pit showed promise. Her bosses would be glad for it in their advertising packet.

  She clipped each of the developed rolls on a line to dry, cleaned up the lab, and went back to the house. It would be dawn in a few hours. Since she’d taken up residency in the Dunburys’ home, she’d been attending Sunday mass at St. Joseph’s in Nairobi, but today she felt the need for additional spiritual help. She decided to lie down, still dressed, for an hour before motorcycling to St. Austin’s, the French mission church in the care of the Fathers of the Holy Ghost.

  The mission, with its coffee farm and school, lay tucked between the confluence of a seasonal tributary and the Nairobi River in the beautiful highlands east of town. The drive would help her think, and she loved visiting the French Fathers there as she’d done when she first met them, looking for help. Maybe Sam would be back when she returned, but by this time, he’d probably gone back to his room at the Thompsons’.

  SAM FOUGHT THE urge to punch his fist into a wall. First Inspector Finch had pulled him from the ballroom and then had the unmitigated gall to “suggest” that Sam spend the rest of the night at the police headquarters rather than disturb his friends by coming in so late. Finch even had one of his constables retrieve Sam’s motorcycle for him so he’d “have it in the morning” when they turned him loose. And why? Because they had found his partial thumb print on the corn-husking glove.

  Well, why the hell wouldn’t they? He’d hauled the blasted body out of the dryer, for Pete’s sake. He’d also admitted in his interview that he’d looked at one in the store and handled it. So had a lot of other people, he imagined. Sam told Finch what he’d learned about Stokes: how the Berryhill kid and Mr. Griswell both seemed to think he was blackmailing someone. Finch only seemed mildly interested and countered by asking if Stokes had blackmailed Sam as well.

  “Was that why you were so angry with him?” Finch had asked. “Is that why you hit him?”

  Sam repeated that he hadn’t knocked Stokes down. That he’d been upset about being charged five pounds more for the barrel of fuel, waved a billing in his face, and grazed him. He wanted to know who this so-called witness was who claimed to see him punch Stokes. Finch said he couldn’t divulge that, making some claim that it was to protect the witness.

  “Am I under arrest?” Sam asked.

  “The case against you is looking better, but no, not at this point,” Finch had replied. “But we would suggest that you don’t go flying off anywhere.”

  “I’m supposed to fly early Monday,” Sam said. “I have a job for that Perkins and Daley outfit. They want me to scout a young rhino for them.” When Finch didn’t respond, Sam added, “Jade is planning to go with me.”

  “Ah, Miss del Cameron,” said Finch. “A most interesting young woman.”

  Sam couldn’t tell if Finch’s comment about Ja
de was geared to provoke a response or intended to suggest that she might be involved in Stokes’ death as well. He decided not to reply. Anything he said would be misconstrued anyway.

  “What does she think about your being seen arguing with Mr. Stokes?” asked Finch.

  “You told me not to tell her about my previous interrogation.”

  Finch smiled. “So I did. But women are generally so curious.”

  Sam kept his mouth shut and his eyes on Finch’s.

  “She told me you rescued her and her mother in Morocco,” continued Finch. “I checked into that and learned that Miss del Cameron had been held by the police as a murder suspect in Tangier.” He cocked his head and watched Sam. “What I found most interesting was that she slipped away from them during the night.”

  Sam felt his jaw tighten and forced himself to remain calm. It’s all an act. He’s trying to provoke me. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair.

  “Of course, we have applied to Lord Avery Dunbury about all this, as Miss del Cameron claims he is a character reference,” said Finch. “It is curious, isn’t it, that Lord Dunbury has not deigned to reply?” He leaned forward, looking to Sam for an answer to the implied question.

  “Maybe he’s simply not at home right now,” said Sam.

  Finch put his palms flat on the table. “Perhaps.” He gave the tabletop a slap and stood. “Well, I should imagine that you are very tired, Mr. Featherstone. It is rather late.”

  “I’m free to leave?” asked Sam.

  “If you insist, of course,” said Finch. “But when the constable brought your motorcycle to the station, he noticed that your lamp was out. Of course it would be out of the question for you to drive it at night. After six o’clock headlight rule and all, you know. You would get arrested for operating a vehicle without the proper lighting. You could walk, but we have a perfectly comfortable bunk here at the station.” He smiled as though he were offering a friend a spare bedroom with a bath.