The Leopard's Prey (28 page)

“I’m sorry,” said Jade, noticing that Tajewo didn’t speak Ruta’s name.
Taboo?

“Never mind. Engai is still present,” Tajewo replied, invoking the Maasai’s belief in God’s watchfulness.

“But you are traveling alone now,” Jade observed.

“I will be back before sunset,” he explained. Tajewo’s own curiosity apparently got the better of him, too, for he began to pepper Jade with questions as they became more comfortable conversing in their blend of Swahili and English with occasional sprinklings of Maa. “My brother’s friend, Bwana Nyati, the man you call Hascombe, told us of you when he came with news of my brother. He said you could shoot a rifle well.” He glanced at her shoulder to indicate that she didn’t carry a rifle now. “You do not hunt anymore?”

“Only for meat when it is needed,” she said.

“Then why do you want this
kifaru toto
? It is not meat.”

Jade tried her best to explain the concept of zoos and people paying to see animals they had never seen before. She heard him grunt once and wondered if he had experienced something similar in his own life. After all, more safaris seemed to be intent on seeing the “wild natives” and their villages as much as the animals. Ever since the cattle sicknesses had hit the Maasai’s herds, the once feared tribe had been reduced to living in their own reserve, unable to raid for the cattle promised them by Engai, the Maker. To do so would mean the loss of their spears and they’d be unable to defend from lions what herds they had left.

“There are no
kifaru
in your land?” he asked her.

“No. No
kifaru
and no
simba
. We have a smaller
simba
in the mountains.” She held her hand out to indicate the general height of a mountain lion. “But it is shy and does not come down to people very often. We have no
chui
either.” She told him about her experience as bait to trap the fierce male leopard and about his rage when he saw her.

“Engai did not give
chui
the strength in his jaws that he gave the lion. But he gave him fierce, raking claws and a wildness in his heart. He does not have
simba
’s roar, but he has mad yellow eyes to strike terror in his prey’s heart. Some say it frightens the soul so it cannot flee. Such is often the way. Animals often possess something to make up for the strength they do not have. Even some men are like this. Those that are not strong of body may have fierceness of heart. Those that lack the arm to throw a spear may use poison or secret weapons.”

He cast another, longer look at Jade. “And do you still hunt witches?”

Jade let out a breathy
huff
and her shoulders twitched. “In a way. I hunted for a man who killed the great
tembo
for their ivory tusks, a man who sold slaves and guns. And I hunted for a witch who stole my mother far to the north.”

Tajewo nodded. “You are a lioness. The male lion is bigger and very dangerous, but it is the female that hunts for the pride. Who do you hunt for now?”

Jade started at his insight. It was true—she was hunting again, although less actively than before. She remembered trying to explain this to her mother when she’d finally told her about the adventure on Mount Marsabit. Jade had summarized it in the following words: “There was a great evil that ran rampant during the War. I couldn’t do anything about it, but I could do something about the one on Marsabit.” She still believed it, too. In a way, she felt she was doing her part to rid the world of some of its cruelty. But this time she hunted for a killer to clear an innocent man’s name.

“A man was killed in Nairobi. I hunt for his killer.” Perhaps it was the fact that she knew he wouldn’t tell anyone else, perhaps it was the strength he radiated, but for some inexplicable reason, she felt the need to unburden herself to this strange man. “His wife is missing, too. I would like to find her.”

“Why do you seek the woman? Did she kill her husband?”

“No.” Jade paused and shrugged. “She left her
toto
. Why would a mother do that? Maybe she was also killed. Or maybe she hides from the killer.”

“So you hunt for animals for the white men to take, you hunt for a killer, and you hunt for his wife.” Tajewo shook his head. “It is not good to do too much at once. We have a saying. A man cannot walk on two different paths at the same time. It will crack his buttocks.”

Jade tossed back her head and laughed. “That would explain a lot, Tajewo.” The fresh coolness of the morning air joined with the exhilaration of being alive in the company of Africa to renew Jade’s strength. She became impatient with her own pace and fell into an easy, loping run. Tajewo released his thigh bell and matched her step as they ran across the plains, startling an occasional ground bird or antelope. The metallic jangling of Tajewo’s bells gave most animals ample warning and cleared the way of anything potentially dangerous.

They soon passed the first set of warriors, now returning with a confused young rhino trotting between two of the men and in front of the third. Jade waved at them as they went past and they saluted her with their spears held high. The new pace ate up the ground and very soon the old farmstead appeared. Window curtains hinted that the home had once again become inhabited. Tajewo was not impressed.

“I will not leave until I know you are safe. But I will hide here.” He pointed to a distant stand of euphorbia trees, which looked like candelabras hoisting green tapers atop bare trunks. A clump of thick succulents clustered at the base.

Jade stepped up onto the rickety veranda and knocked at the weather-beaten front door. No one answered, but she thought she heard a noise from within. A quick glance to the window revealed a small woman trying to spy on her. Jade waved and smiled. The curtain dropped, and the door opened a foot, enough for the woman to step out but not enough to give any appearance of hospitality.

The young woman stood several inches below Jade. She had fiery red hair with a touch of orange pulled back in a tight bun. The color reminded Jade of the hennaed hair she’d seen in some of the Berber women of the Atlas Mountains. Wearing a sacklike dress of navy blue cotton and stout work boots, the woman looked haggard and frightened. Her pale skin showed no freckling, indicating she’d seen little sun, unusual for a farmwife. If she had just recently taken up residence, Jade reasoned, she probably still saw every person or noise as a potential threat. Jade guessed her age to be somewhere in the twenties. Something about her face seemed familiar.

“Good morning. My name is Jade del Cameron. I’m an American living in Nairobi. I was flying an airplane and had to set down west of here. I was hoping you could give me a ride to Naivasha. I would pay you, of course.”

“Can’t help you. I have no automobile.”

“Then the truck behind your house doesn’t work? Perhaps I could see what’s wrong with it. I’m a good mechanic.” Jade could have sworn she had seen vehicle tracks leading to the house when she flew over before.

“It’s out of petrol.” From behind her came a faint gurgling coo. The woman started to turn to listen, then quickly snapped back and faced Jade again. “If you need water, you can help yourself to the pump out back.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you. It’s been a long walk,” said Jade. “When I get to Naivasha, should I tell someone that you need petrol? Do you need food, too?”

“No! I have what I need already. Now you’d better get moving on, elsewise you’ll still be walking when the sun gets high.” The woman started to close the door, but Jade stopped it with her hand.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a tin cup or something that I can drink from, would you?”

The woman considered the question a moment, then nodded. “Wait here.”

She left the door a few inches ajar and went into a back room. Jade stepped in closer and surveyed what little she could see of the house’s interior. An idea had come to her when she heard what sounded like a child’s voice. The front room was sparsely furnished with one chair near a fireplace and a small square table. In the near corner stood two crates labeled NESTLÉ’S MILK FOOD and WEBLEY’S TINNED BEEF. Both were stamped STOKES AND BERRYHILL. Jade stepped back outside just before the woman returned with a battered tin cup.

“Here,” she said as she handed the cup to Jade. “Just leave it hanging on the pump when you’re finished.”

“Thank you,” said Jade. “Is your husband hunting right now?”

The woman blinked twice, her blue eyes mirroring the brilliant sky. “Yes. Hunting. He’s hunting now. Should be back tonight.”

“That’s good. I’d be worried about you alone out here otherwise. Are you sure I can’t send someone out to check on you? Maybe someone from Nairobi?”

“No! Goodbye.”

The woman shut the door in Jade’s face, and she heard the bolt slide across the door on the other side. Without waiting, Jade went around back to the well pump and used the cup to refill her canteen. Tajewo joined her, but declined the use of the cup, preferring to dip his head and drink directly from the flowing stream of water.

He straightened and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. “This person will take you to Nai’posha?”

Jade shook her head, all the while looking at the grasses behind the truck. “No. The woman says the truck does not work.”

Tajewo leaned on his spear. “I think perhaps she lies. The grasses are bent close by.”

It didn’t take a great hunter to notice the recent track left by some wheels. But they ended a few feet behind the old truck. “No, I think another automobile has been here instead.” Jade longed to check the fuel level, but decided it was pointless. She hung the tin cup on the well pump and walked away, following the tire tracks. Whoever drove in hadn’t come straight to the house. Instead, he’d bypassed it and doubled back, reminding Jade of how a protective mountain lion mother would avoid a direct path to her den lest she lead another predator to her cubs.

“Why would this woman lie to you?” asked Tajewo, falling in step beside her.

Jade knew now why the face had looked familiar despite the severely styled red hair. She’d seen it before in two different photographs. “Because she is the woman I told you about. The one who is missing. I do not think she wants to be found.”

SAM LEANED BACK in Avery’s car and stared at the ceiling. How did one deal with knowing that the woman he’d come halfway around the world to meet might be lying in a broken heap in the African wild? You took action and found her—that was how. He wished he could have jumped on his motorcycle and gone off immediately, but at present he felt as limp as a soggy scarecrow and even more useless.

What the hell is keeping Avery and Neville?
He glared at his watch. He’d been waiting outside of the hotel for an hour.
To hell with this.
He got up and made his way into the front parlor, where he promptly collapsed into a leather easy chair.

We should have left on our own. We’d be halfway to
Naivasha by now.
He wished he’d gone to the rooms to rouse the men with Avery, but Avery had warned that he’d be back in the hospital if he pushed himself too hard. So he’d let Avery and Neville organize the search while he watched precious time slip past him.

Avery reappeared in a moment, alone. “Sorry, Sam. Not much luck there. Must have put on quite a bender at the dinner last night. They’re by and large in no condition to go anywhere.” He snorted derisively. “A host of drunken sots. I don’t know what the Volunteer Mounted Rifles amounted to in their heyday, but right now it’s an excuse to get a snoot full. I was astonished by how rapidly I could galvanize these men into doing nothing.”

Sam’s eyes widened with the realization that they’d just wasted valuable time. “You couldn’t rouse a single man out of a host of former soldiers?”

“One, a farmer named Harding, seemed cogent enough, especially when he learned it was a woman who was flying.”

Avery and Sam moved to the car while Avery continued his account. “I asked him if he could recommend any other men from his group. He said Berryhill had gone home drunk last evening. Thought a Mr. Chalmers could be of use, but he didn’t come to the meeting. I hope Neville has more luck, but it seems the governor returned yesterday to declare us the Kenya Colony and everyone else ran off to see him. I told Harding we’d regroup at the Naivasha Hotel,” he continued. “We can see if anyone there heard an airplane fly over or fly back.”

“Then we’ll split up and patrol the area south of the lake where I’d planned to fly,” said Sam as he got back into the car to wait for Neville. “If anyone finds her unharmed, they should fire three shots in rapid succession, then bring her back to the hotel. Four shots will mean …”

“Keep a good thought, Sam. We’ll only need to fire three shots.”

“I WILL WALK with you to Nai’posha,” said Tajewo, “since this woman will not help you.”

Jade heard the disgust in his voice. “Do not be too hard on her. She is afraid of someone.”

“Her husband? But he is dead. You must tell her. Then she will not be afraid.”

“I think she already knows,” said Jade, remembering the boxes labeled STOKES AND BERRYHILL and the black truck she’d seen from the air. Mrs. Berryhill had probably made a supply run recently, and brought more than canned foods. Jade was certain she’d heard a baby, and there had been a lot of canned milk. The question was, who was Alice Stokes hiding from now? Her husband’s killer? And why would someone want to kill Stokes?

Several ideas came to mind. Winston Berryhill found out Stokes was skimming money from the store. Or a blackmail victim had killed Stokes. Or Chalmers, who kept Alice Stokes’ picture and had apparently placed the ad looking for her, was in love with her. Maybe he had killed Stokes to protect or free her. But none of those reasons threatened Stokes’ wife. If Avery or Beverly hadn’t already talked to Harley and convinced him to tell what he knew to Finch, she’d have to talk to him when she got back. In the meantime, she’d keep Mrs. Stokes’ secret.

“When you return home,” asked Tajewo, “you will still hunt the killer, even though the woman did not help you?”