Tall, Dark And Deadly

“I know what it is, but I’ve never seen that one before.”

“Ah, yes.” Kantana put down the weapon and carefully touched his fingertips together, forming a kind of tent with his elegant hands. He leaned back in his chair and spoke in a low voice. “Then how, mademoiselle, do you explain its presence in your room?”

Dana couldn’t believe the question. “You couldn’t have found that in my room. I’ve never seen it in my life!”

“But it was found in your room, mademoiselle.”

“No. There’s been a mistake. That isn’t mine. Someone else left it in the room, maybe a previous guest—”

“No,” the sergeant said crisply. “I have interviewed the maid on your floor. She cleaned the room thoroughly before you moved in. There was nothing, certainly not a weapon. No blowgun.”

Dana was totally confused. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Sergeant. Are you trying to say that this blowgun, which you claim was found in my room, was the weapon that killed Louis?”

“I cannot positively say that. But here are the facts. A dart from a blowgun killed Monsieur Bertrand. Such a gun was found in your room. And you deny any knowledge of it.”

“I certainly do!” Dana’s confusion had turned to anger. “Your accusation is absurd. I hardly knew Louis Bertrand and had no reason to kill him, certainly not with a blowgun. I’ve never touched such a weapon, never even seen one. As far as I’m concerned, this interview is over.”

She started to get to her feet, only to be stopped by a quick move from the aide, whom Kantana controlled with a nod of his head.

“This is...ludicrous,” Dana insisted, even as she sat back down, adding defiantly, “you’re accusing the wrong person, and you’re going to be very sorry.”

He raised skeptical eyebrows. “Oh, do you think so? I show you further evidence, mademoiselle.” He placed a stack of notebooks and papers on the desk. “Detailed notes on the Pygmies. It would seem that you came very well prepared.”

Dana’s anger was replaced by a deep dread. “Those are my father’s notes. He knew about the Pygmies, not I.”

“But you brought them with you,” Kantana said smoothly.

“That was my choice.” She felt suddenly invaded, and she refused to put up with it.

“Not if murder was the result. Now tell me, why did you bring the notes with you?”

Dana chose her words carefully. “I am a language teacher, a professor specializing in rare and exotic tongues. For that reason, my father’s work with the Mgembe interested me. When I had a chance to travel a route he’d taken years before, naturally, I jumped at the opportunity.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “There’s nothing illegal about that.”

“Certainly not,” Kantana agreed. “But it is interesting, to say the least, that both you and Monsieur Bertrand shared a fascination with the Mgembe, that you carried with you notebooks filled with information on the Pygmies, and that he was killed in a way that they are known to murder.” He held up the weapon.

“I didn’t have a blowgun—either that one or any other!” she cried adamantly. “We’ve just arrived here. Where would I have found one?” She knew the answer to that question even before it was out of her mouth.

“In the market. When you went shopping with Mademoiselle Kittredge. She tells me that you were not together throughout that trip.”

“Well, no, we weren’t. I was tired and—” Dana realized that the overly friendly Millicent had passed on information that could seem incriminating. “But I didn’t buy a blowgun then or ever. Even if I had, how do you suggest I poisoned the tip?”

“The poison is also readily available, alas,” he replied with apparent sadness.

“And of course, I know exactly how to administer it,” she said sarcastically.

Kantana placed his hand on top of her father’s notebooks. “It is all here, easy for a clever woman to understand. Indeed, you are a clever woman.”

Dana didn’t like the insinuation in his voice. “Someone planted that blowgun in my room.”

Kantana shrugged, seemingly no longer interested in the topic. “I also have corroborating information that you and Monsieur Bertrand became very close friends during your voyage on the Congo Queen. Do you deny that you spent much time together?”

More incriminating information, this time from Betty’s mouth, which didn’t surprise Dana in the slightest. She was surprised about Millicent’s betrayal, though. So much for the support of her fellow tourists.

“Louis and I spent time together,” she answered finally, “but he was with Father Theroux much more often. Why don’t you question him?”

“As I mentioned, I intend to,” Kantana said coolly “But of course that is my business, the concern of the authorities. Now I ask again, could it be possible that there was a romance of some kind between you and Bertrand? Something that might have caused you to quarrel with him—”

“And to kill him? No, Sergeant. No! The idea is absurd. And you said yourself that you needed a motive—”

“Motive, means and opportunity,” Kantana said, quoting his own earlier remarks. “The latter two, we have established, have we not?”

“No, I—”

“Of course, you had both the means,” he said, touching the blowgun, “and the opportunity. You knew Louis was alone by the river, and you could have approached without alarming him. And of course, you were the last person to be seen with the victim.” He heaved a satisfied sigh. “Further, I now realize that you are an expert on the Mgembe, who have made the blowgun into an art form.”

He settled back comfortably, crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to respond.

That’s when Dana realized that she was caught up in a nightmare too horrible for her to contemplate. It couldn’t be happening, but it was. “You believe I’m guilty,” she blurted out.

He didn’t respond. His face was expressionless.

She suddenly realized was was happening. Kantana was going to arrest her!

Dana struggled to keep her voice calm. “I demand to talk to a lawyer.”

He almost chuckled. “There is no lawyer in Porte Ivoire, mademoiselle.”

“Then I demand my phone call. Surely, even here, an accused person gets at least one call. I want to talk to the American Embassy in Brazzaville.”

“This is not the United States, Mademoiselle. French law is somewhat different from yours. And as much as I would like to oblige you with a phone call, there are no phones in Porte Ivoire.”

“Then use the shortwave radio on the boat,” Dana demanded.

“I shall do this much for you,” Kantana said in noxious tones. “After I interview Father Theroux, I shall send him to talk with you in jail—”

“Jail? No!” Dana was on her feet. “You can’t do that. You can’t put me in jail—not on circumstantial evidence. You’re insane. You’re—”

She saw his face then. Cold, hard, implacable.

“I’m not guilty of this horrible crime,” she said. “I’m not guilty!”

He sat watching wordlessly.

“Why don’t you look where the guilt really lies.” She leaned forward, her hands on his desk, and spoke carefully with all the confidence she could muster. “It belongs on Alex Jourdan.”

As soon as Dana made that statement, she realized her total belief in it. His obnoxious behavior last night had sent her rushing into Louis’s arms—almost as if the whole meeting had been arranged—by Alex. And today, he’d been watchful, mysterious, not just dangerous, but possibly deadly. She’d been suspicious from the beginning. Now she knew why.

“Listen to me,” she demanded. “Alex and Louis were on the outs. Something had gone wrong between them. Everyone knew that. And I overheard them just last night, arguing about a deal of some kind. I heard them!”