Tall, Dark And Deadly

Kantana continued without missing a beat. “With the exception of Mademoiselle Weston and Monsieur Al-Aram, who were together—so they say—and my friend Alex, who was in his office.”

“I often stay up late,” came Alex’s response.

Kantana got to his feet. “Now I must ask your further indulgence. At this time we will search your rooms.”

Millicent reacted immediately. “Search our rooms? Surely, you joke, Sergeant. Why in the world? The man was killed with a blow dart. Obviously by someone right here in Porte Ivoire—”

Kantana’s reply was as smooth as silk. “So it would seem, as you say, considering the murder weapon. But we have reasons to look elsewhere.”

“Why?” Millicent shot back.

“We found a passport and a wallet filled with cash on the body. What does that mean to you?” he asked the room in general.

Longongo responded, speaking for the first time that morning in his high nasal voice with his impeccable clipped syllables. “It negates the prime motive, perhaps the only one, for murder by a local person, namely robbery. Which means one of us must have another motive. What would that be?”

“I do not know yet,” Kantana admitted, “but I expect to uncover the motive along with the means and the opportunity. And when all three come together, I shall have my killer.”

He snapped his notebook shut, and Dana shivered again. She’d pulled on shorts and a T-shirt when the clerk awakened her. Now, in the cool of dawn, she needed something warmer.

“If I could go to my room for a moment first—” she said to Kantana.

“No, mademoiselle. That would defeat our purpose.”

“I don’t understand. I just need to get something warm to put on—”

“Nothing will be removed until after our search.” His voice had a sharp edge.

Once again, she was made to feel guilty. And just because she was cold.

“Each of you will remain here until the search is completed.” With a slight bow, he turned and went out, followed by his aide.

* * *

THE MORNING seemed interminable. The hotel cooks prepared and set out breakfast, but no one seemed to have much of an appetite. Dana picked at a bowl of fruit, and everyone else did, too. Most of them drank innumerable cups of coffee, including Alex, who had switched from cognac.

When Kantana came downstairs from his search of the guests’ rooms, he commandeered Alex’s office to interview the guests—or suspects, as Dana had begun to think of herself and the others. She tried to give the word a sardonic twist in her mind because it was ridiculous, of course, to think any of them might have murdered Louis Bertrand, but she was still nervous.

Someone had murdered him, and Kantana seemed convinced that it wasn’t a citizen of Porte Ivoire but one of the guests in the Stanley Hotel, or Alex himself, or even Father Theroux.

Slowly they went into the office one by one. First Longongo and then Millicent completed their interviews and returned to their rooms. Yassif was next.

Dana waited silently while Alex disappeared into the kitchen, apparently to communicate with his staff, and Betty paced nervously up and down, glancing at the closed door.

“Don’t worry,” Dana assured her, “Yassif is a big boy. He can answer his own questions.”

Betty puffed out her cheeks and then fell down onto the love seat. “It’s just that he doesn’t speak English very well. His French is worse.”

“Kantana is very patient,” Dana said, wondering suddenly why she should be attempting to pacify Betty, of all people.

“I’m also concerned because our relationship is so new. I’m a little overprotective of Yassif.”

Dana couldn’t find anything encouraging to say about that. She really didn’t want to talk about Betty’s romance with the surly Yassif.

But Betty did. “We met at a party in Brazzaville just before the trip upriver.”

“Did Millicent introduce you?” Dana was curious about that.

Betty bristled. “Yassif and Millicent? Of course not, he’d never be seen with someone like her.”

“I saw them together on the Congo Queen, several times.” A little perverse of her to mention that, Dana realized, but she couldn’t resist.

“And I saw you talk with Louis. Yet you and he weren’t friends, or so you say.” Betty raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

“Give it a rest, Betty.” That was Alex, appearing at the doorway. “You’re not going to get a story out of this.”

“That’s what you’re after?” Dana asked, confronting Betty. “You want to write about Louis’s death!”

She shrugged. “Why not? A good juicy murder is certainly more interesting than a piece about wildlife of the Congo.”

Dana couldn’t control her disgust. Betty was thinking about this whole horrible episode as a magazine story and had no feelings at all for poor Louis, dead less than twelve hours. Dana mentally took off the gloves. Betty wasn’t going to get any sympathy from her.

Apparently, no one would get sympathy from Alex, who leaned against the lobby doorway, his face unreadable. Dana avoided his eyes, but Betty glared angrily at him. Then she was called by Kantana, and Dana was left alone with Alex.

She felt awkward and uncomfortable around him, with the remembrance of their scene in the garden fresh in her mind. But there was something else going on that she couldn’t put her finger on. He seemed to be studying her intently, as if he was sizing her up. Could he possibly think she was involved in Louis’s death?

Deciding that the best defense was a strong offense, she asked, “Did you go directly to your office last night after you left me in the garden?”

“Playing detective, Dana?”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” she replied. Which was true. She was curious about Alex and where he’d been while she and Louis were by the river. He easily could have followed them.

Alex strolled to the buffet table and poured a cup of coffee. “I’ll answer your question because I have nothing to hide—unlike some of the guests.” His smile was ingenuous. “After our rendezvous in the garden where you obviously misunderstood my overtures of friendship—”

Dana gritted her teeth at his cynical misrepresentation of the episode.

“—I went to my office, spurned and saddened, to bury myself in work.” His eyes sparkled with humor as he watched her surprised reaction. “Good story, isn’t it? In fact, I don’t have an alibi, but neither do you. And you were the last to see Louis alive,” he added softly.

Dana quickly defended herself. “But you were the one who argued with him.”

Before Alex could respond, the office door opened and Betty emerged. The supercilious look on the redhead’s face caused Dana’s heart to sink; it was a look that bore her no goodwill.

An aide ushered Dana into Alex’s office to face the sergeant. Her knees were shaky, and her heart was pounding like a drum. For no reason! She had nothing to be afraid of.

Kantana sat behind Alex’s desk looking solemn and official. The tall, sullen-looking officer dressed in khaki stood behind Kantana staring straight ahead. The sergeant gestured to a straight-backed chair. Dana sank onto it, wiping her damp palms against her shorts. What more could he ask her? What more could she tell him? The silence became ominous and oppressive. And when Kantana finally spoke to her, she jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Do you know what this is, mademoiselle?

Dana leaned forward to look at what he held in his hand. She recognized it immediately, a long wooden tube, intricately carved. She recalled pictures in her father’s notes, descriptions of an ancient weapon still used by the Pygmies. What Kantana held in his hand was a blowgun.