by Parnell Hall
I still wasn’t completely sure, because in the bush it wasn’t easy to know what day it was. Asking Alice would only invite scorn. By the time I did a calculation only slightly less complicated than E = mc2 and figured out I hadn’t taken my Malarone and duly took it, the tape had rewound all the way.
Now I was totally screwed in the opposite direction. The way to find the bull was to fast forward a few minutes, then hit play to see how close I thought I was to it. I knew what Alice would think about that. Another was to put the camera on play, hold the fast forward down, and skim through the footage while at least seeing where I was on the tape. I wondered how much battery that would take. More to the point, I wondered how much battery Alice would think that would take.
The easy way was just to turn the tape on and watch it. I wondered if I should do that.
The camera solved the problem for me by shutting off. The screen went dark. I looked for the icon to see how much battery was left. The icon was gone. The camera was stone dead.
I switched it off, looked over at Alice. She had that triumphant I-told-you-so/married-a-moron look. Any wife can do one. It takes sheer artistry to do both at once. I hate to brag, but Alice is second to none.
“Is the battery dead?” Alice said.
“I was almost there.”
“Well, if you hadn’t turned the camera on and off so many times.”
“Sorry. I’ll show you the bull tomorrow.”
“Water buffalo,” Alice corrected. She got no points for it. Clemson had ID’d the beast for us once the peril was past. “Assuming you pointed the camera at it. Considering how obsessed you are with your right leg.”
“Did you get any shots of it?”
“They’re no good.”
“Let’s see.”
Alice had already transferred them to the iPad. I could see what she meant. The shots were in focus, but all they showed was the buffalo’s hindquarters vanishing into the bush. I was sure mine wouldn’t be any better.
“Well, now you know to charge your camera,” Alice said.
I said nothing, sat and took it.
“Knock, knock.”
It was a voice outside our tent. I looked at Alice, said, “Come in.”
Clemson ducked under the flap. He didn’t look happy. No surprise there. He hadn’t looked happy in some time.
“Something up?” I said.
“Yeah. I’ll have to tell the others tomorrow. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Tell them what?”
“Alice Ardsdale was poisoned.”
“That’s not surprising.”
“Maybe not, but it’s certainly bad news. A lot will depend on how it’s handled. I was hoping you could help.”
“By keeping my mouth shut?”
Alice shot me a warning glance. I took the point. Antagonizing Clemson was probably not in our best interests. “What do you want me to do?”
He grimaced. “It’s an unfortunate situation. I can’t have people panic, but I can’t withhold this from them. It all will depend on how it’s presented. You can help me with that. Because you have experience in this area. You’ve dealt with homicides before.”
“You’re conceding it’s a homicide.”
“It’s hard to deny in the face of the medical findings.”
“That she was poisoned?”
“Yes.”
“And not accidentally?”
“I’m afraid not. I had hope for the poison plant. Unfortunately, someone slipped her a whacking dose of arsenic.”
“What?”
“I’m afraid that’s right.” Clemson exhaled. “You mind if I sit down? I’m exhausted.” Without waiting for permission, he sat on the end of my cot. “So the accidental theory doesn’t fly. It was murder. You see why I need to count on your discretion?”
“Wait a minute,” Alice said. “You come in here, you tell us a woman’s been murdered, and you ask us to be discreet? Are you out of your mind? This is not something you hush up. People who hush up murders go to jail.”
Clemson put up his hands. “No one’s asking you to hush up anything. People must be told. Nothing must be withheld. That’s what I said to begin with. It just matters how they’re told.”
“We’re not spin doctors either,” I said.
“Of course you’re not. We’re getting far afield. You ought to hear me out before you raise your objections.”
That remark seemed dangerously close to criticizing Alice for jumping in. She bristled, but held her tongue.
“Fine, give us the spiel,” I said. “We’re promising nothing, we’re just listening. Okay?”
“Okay. Alice died in her sleep. She was poisoned the night before. She went to bed, never woke up. At first glance it would appear that she was poisoned at dinner, and nothing in the medical report contradicts that. But there are many other possibilities for the poison.”
“For instance?”
“Her water bottle, for one. We all have individual water bottles. They all have our names on them. Easy enough to poison her water bottle, knowing she’d get it.”
“Or I would,” Alice said. “The bottles are not distinctive enough. I’ve taken her bottle off the table more than once.”
“Well, thank goodness you didn’t. We don’t know if the poison was in the bottle, but it’s certainly likely.”
“Likely?” I said. “How can you say likely? Was there poison in the bottle or not?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“What are you talking about? Can’t you tell?”
“Not without drinking some,” Clemson said. “We have no testing facilities in camp. The bottle’s on its way to the lab in Lusaka. We should have results by tomorrow.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes.”
“But that’s just one possibility. There are others. Someone could have given her the poison. In a drink, in food, or even as a medical dose.”
“Medical dose?”
“We’re in the wild. Bathroom facilities are limited. People underestimate what a change in diet, climate, even time zone will do to their digestive system. Pepto-Bismol should mask just about anything. People tend to chug Pepto-Bismol right down, rather than sip it.”
“Did she have Pepto-Bismol?”
“No. That doesn’t mean she didn’t borrow some. That’s what I mean by being unprepared.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“She’s investigating a murder, and she asks one of the suspects for a dose of medicine?”
Clemson beamed. “See? That’s why I need you to interpret the evidence. You have the experience to point out how certain things are illogical. The whole borrow-the-dose-of-medicine theory, for instance.”
“It was your theory.”
“It’s not my theory. It’s one possible explanation. It happens to be a bad one, as you so ably pointed out.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to suggest a better theory?”
Alice put up her hands. “Boys. Boys. Let’s not make this a pissing contest. You were trying to tell us about the evidence. Not some wild interpretation of it that you don’t even believe. Am I correct in my assessment that the woman was poisoned with arsenic, and there’s no concrete evidence indicating how the poison was delivered?”
“Your wife has a good grasp of the situation,” Clemson said.
“That makes one of us. I still don’t know what you want.”
“I want an investigator on the inside. I want someone who can talk to the others without arousing suspicion. It won’t be hard. Once it gets out that she was poisoned, it will be the topic of discussion.”
“No kidding.”
“I want to take advantage of that. I want you to conduct interrogations without anyone knowing it.”
“Everyone knows I’m a PI. I’ve already been asking questions.”
“Yes, but they won’t know you’re doing it for me.”
“Wait a minute. Won’t the police be conducting th
eir own investigations?”
“What police?”
“Didn’t you say with the murder of an American citizen the consulate would step in?”
“They will. But they’re not here. And they’re unlikely to send anyone until an analysis of the evidence is complete. In the meantime, Duke is in charge.”
It was all I could do not to scoff. Duke might have the authority, but I knew damn well who was in charge.
“Duke will be questioning us?”
“Absolutely. There is another area where you could help. You’ve been involved in police investigations before. The others haven’t. You could reassure them that just because a policeman is asking them questions doesn’t mean they’re under suspicion.”
“So tomorrow’s hike is canceled?”
“Not exactly.”
26
INTERROGATIONS
IT WAS THE TALK OF breakfast.
“I don’t understand,” the other husband said. I still had to remind myself his name was Simon.
The news had spread like wildfire. Not that Alice and I had leaked it. Someone else had found out from some other source. It was impossible to know who, but by the time I got to breakfast after a visit to the straight-drop toilet for a hearty rendition of The Twelve Days of Malarone, everybody knew. Not an auspicious start to my career as a clandestine investigator.
“There’s nothing to understand,” Trish said. She looked exasperated. She also looked good this morning in a crisply ironed safari shirt. She must have had it in her bag. No one was doing any ironing. “She was poisoned. We thought she was, now we know she was. Same difference.”
“It can’t have anything to do with us,” Hells Angel #2 said. I temporarily relegated her to the status of Non-Edith Librarian.
“Why?” I said.
“Why? Because it’s got nothing to do with us. Do you think I killed her? Do you think Edith did?”
“Of course not. But an outsider, who doesn’t know us, might think anything.”
“Like what?” Annabel said. “You mean like someone’s after us?”
Victoria rolled her eyes.
“No one’s after us,” Keith said. I could practically see him seizing the opportunity to ingratiate himself with Victoria. “We’re not the ones making trouble.”
“You think Alice was making trouble?” Non-Edith Librarian said.
“Do you think she was killed for poking into Daniel’s death?” Victoria said.
Non-Edith Librarian shrugged. “That makes more sense than anything else.”
That prompted a rash of conversation, several people talking at once. So far, the only one not to venture an opinion was Keith’s roommate, Jason, who looked sullen. It seemed to be his default position.
Clemson came walking up with a piece of toast, a useful prop that grounded him in reality, made it seem like this was just another day. “I gather you’ve all heard,” he said. “The rumors are true. Alice was poisoned, we have to investigate it, and yes, our schedule is changed. But let me assure you that no one thinks any of you had anything to do with it. Duke will be asking questions this morning. Try not to take offense. It doesn’t mean he suspects you. It means he wants to get whatever information you might have that could shed some light on this dreadful situation. It affects our schedule. The morning hike is canceled.” That announcement produced, if not a protest, at least a murmur of dissatisfaction. “I know, I know. These things happen. We’ll have a game drive instead. It’ll be shorter than normal, but we have to get back here in time.”
“In time for what?” Keith said.
“In time to pack up and move out of our tents.”
That announcement was greeted with shock and hostility.
“You mean the rest of the trip is canceled?” Keith said.
“Not at all. We’re just changing the schedule. I checked with the next camp. They’re set up to receive us. We’re moving the canoe trip up a day.”
The murmurs this time were of approval. The canoe trip was the highlight of the tour.
“So,” Clemson said, “after the morning drive you come back, you pack, you go to lunch. Be completely packed, because during lunch everything will be moved to the jeeps. After lunch we head out.”
“Where?” Annabel said.
“Zimbabwe,” Clemson said. “It’s in your itinerary. Just move everything up a day. We drive to Victoria Falls, cross over the border. Tomorrow morning we have canoe lessons and set out on the river.”
“Just like that?” Annabel said. “But we’re not ready.”
“We’ll practice with the canoes. If you can paddle, fine. If you really can’t do it, you can go with me.”
“They’re two-man canoes?” Simon, the other husband, said.
“That’s right,” Clemson said. “It wouldn’t be safe for singles. We have too large a group. We’d be too spread out to supervise. But we’ll go over all that when we get there. Finish your breakfast, then hang around here so Duke can talk to you.”
“I need to go back to the tent,” Trish, the other wife, said. I figured that was a euphemism for straight-drop toilet.
Clemson heard it that way too. “No problem. Go back to the tent, visit the bathroom, take anything you need for the drive, and come back here and talk to Duke. Just don’t wander away.”
That set off a stampede. Half the people bolted for their tents, whether to use the facilities or just to get away from Duke. I found myself sitting next to Alice.
“Going back to the tent?” I said.
“I don’t have a guilty conscience.”
“It doesn’t mean they do.” I looked around at who was left. “By those standards, the other husband and you and I and the two librarians are all innocent.”
“Speak for yourself,” Alice said. She got up and headed for the tent.
Simon got up and left too. Leaving me with the two librarians. That wasn’t good. The librarians were mystery readers. Alice 2 had been a mystery reader, and Alice 2 wound up dead. That didn’t mean the librarians were next to go, but the fact that they hadn’t exhibited a guilty conscience cast them in the role of victims.
“Stanley?”
I looked up.
A staff man, one of the two who brought shower water, was standing in front of me. I was surprised he knew my name.
“Yes?” I said.
“Come.”
It took a moment to process the information that he wanted me to go with him. I got up, followed him through the underbrush to the staff campsite.
Duke sat in a folding chair in front of one of the tents. There was another chair facing it. He pointed to it, said “Sit.”
I sat, waited for my interrogation to begin. I wondered what it would be like. So far I hadn’t heard Duke say much more than sausage fruit.
Duke watched my escort walk away. He turned back to me, flashed entirely too many white teeth for an interrogation, and said, “Why do you think it’s one of you?”
27
DUKE
I COULDN’T BELIEVE HE’D SAID that. I’d expected some monosyllabic interrogation of no consequence whatsoever. Instead, he’d jumped right to the heart of the matter.
“What?”
“The guests. The tourists. You think they killed Daniel.”
“I never said that.”
“Alice said that. Now she is dead.”
I struggled to adjust to the embarrassment of my prejudices kicking me in the ass, assuming Duke wasn’t particularly sharp.
“You think that’s why she was killed?”
“I’m interested in what you think.”
“It seems logical,” I said.
“Logical?”
“That means it could happen.”
“Yes, it could happen. Do you think it happened?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Two people are killed on the same tour. I don’t think one is a murder and one is an accident.”
He nodded. “Yes. You think there i
s a killer. You think the killer is one of the guests.”
“She was questioning the guests.”
“Yes. She was questioning the staff too.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“Clemson tells me I can talk to you.”
“Oh.”
“Clemson says you have experience. That does not mean you are not the killer.”
“Yeah. Well, I happen to know I’m not, which gives me an advantage.”
“What?”
“I didn’t do it. Go on. What about her questioning the staff?’
“I can tell you things if you do not tell the guests. If you tell the guests, it would be very bad.”
“You already told me about her questioning the staff.”
“Yes. And you should not tell the guests.”
Duke had something to learn about getting a promise of confidentiality before divulging information, but I wasn’t about to make an issue of it.
“Fine,” I said. “What else am I not supposed to tell the guests?”
“Daniel sold drugs.”
My mouth fell open. “Is that true.”
“Yes. Some boys do. They are poor. Pay is not high.”
“Clemson knew this?”
“He did not know then. He knows now.”
“How did you find out?”
“I asked.”
“And they told you?”
“They did not want to.”
I waited for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. I was becoming increasingly impressed with Duke’s interrogation methods.
“You think he was killed over drugs?”
“It happens. Does it happen in your country?”
“All the time. Who told you Daniel sold drugs?”
“David is bad liar.”
“David?”
“The boy who brought you. His name is David.”
“Does David use drugs?”
“He says no.”
“Do you believe him?”
Duke shrugged. “Boys use drugs.”
“Was Alice talking to David?”
“David, and Daniel, and Phillip, and Carl.”
