Love and Death Among the Cheetahs

by Rhys Bowen

  At that moment Jocelyn bumped into the tea table, causing tea to slop into saucers.

  “Crikey. Awfully sorry,” he muttered. “Tend to be a bit clumsy when I’m rattled, which I am right now.”

  I observed him. Surely both of my suspicions seemed ludicrous. He was the classic bumbling upper-class idiot, not unlike my darling brother. He and Freddie were invited to join us for tea.

  “I won’t say no to a cuppa,” Freddie said, “and some of your delicious scones, Diddy, but I have to get back to Gilgil tonight. There are cables that need to be sent to London.” He glanced across at me.

  Jocelyn worked his way through the rest of the watercress sandwiches with great speed.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night, Freddie, darling?” Diddy asked.

  “You are most kind, but I really have some pressing matters to attend to. I’ll be back tomorrow, I’m sure.”

  “Everyone is going on safari except me,” Diddy said. “Come and keep me company. We can work our way through that good claret you brought.”

  “We’ll escort you back to your car,” Darcy said and we walked beside Freddie.

  “What do you think?” he asked Darcy, glancing back at the group around the tea table. “Any ideas yet on who might have done the dirty deed?”

  “Someone needs to establish where that phone call was made from,” Darcy said.

  “The phone call?” Freddie frowned. “The wife didn’t make it?”

  “She claims she didn’t.”

  Freddie nodded. “And those cables to London. I thought I might ask the chaps at home to find out a bit more about Jocelyn Prettibone.”

  “Good idea. We were thinking the same thing,” Darcy agreed. “He has arrived on the scene very fortuitously, hasn’t he? And surely nobody can be such a hopeless upper-class twit as he is.”

  “My brother comes pretty close,” I had to say.

  Freddie grinned. “And about that other matter. I’d like to know if we’ve any updates on that too.”

  Darcy nodded. I remained silent. We waved as Freddie drove off.

  “Frightfully decent chap,” Jocelyn said as we returned to the tea table that he had now pretty much denuded.

  Then we went off to change. At dinner a great many ideas were exchanged on who could have committed the murder. I noticed that the subject of Lord Cheriton’s political ambitions and far-right leanings did not come up. So either the others didn’t think these could have any bearing on his murder or they were also staying wisely away. Cyril and Diddy knew he had been elected to the assembly. They had heard him expound admiration of Herr Hitler at dinner the other night, but the most widely expressed opinion was that the murder had to have been committed by a native outlaw. So much tidier that way and none of the people we know at all implicated. Justice didn’t seem to enter into their reasoning.

  We had just started to dig into a gooseberry fool (the food in the valley had been excellent so far) when there was a loud knock at the front door.

  “Who else can be fleeing to me for sanctuary? I wonder,” Diddy asked. “Am I the only person in the valley who is above suspicion and thus a good place to hide out?” She hailed the servant who was standing on duty behind the table. “Hakim, you had better make sure the rest of the bedrooms have beds made up in them. It seems we might be having an invasion.”

  “An invasion, memsabu?” The servant looked alarmed.

  “Not that kind of invasion. Just an awful lot of people wanting to stay here.”

  “As you say, memsabu.”

  Another of the servants had opened the front door. I could hear a man’s voice and then the servant returned, followed by Detective Inspector Windrush and his sergeant.

  “Sorry to trouble you at this late hour, madam,” he said, removing his hat as he came in. “Inspector Windrush of police headquarters in Nairobi.”

  “How do you do, Inspector,” Diddy said, holding out her hand to him. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”

  “You are no doubt aware of the serious crime that has taken place, namely the untimely death of your neighbor, Lord Cheriton.”

  “I have been apprised of this, but I believe you have already taken statements from Lady Georgiana and Mr. O’Mara, who tell me that they discovered the body.”

  The inspector focused his gaze on us. “Oh, you are staying here,” he said. “I thought you said you were part of the Prince of Wales’s party at Lord Delamere’s.” He said it in a way that hinted he was delighted to have caught me out.

  “I think I said that I am the prince’s cousin, but we are currently visiting Mrs. Ruocco,” I said, trying to keep my voice smooth and even.

  “I see.” He sucked in through his teeth. An annoying habit, if you ask me. “You are Mrs. Ruocco and this gentleman is Mr. Prendergast, correct? He also lives here?”

  “At the moment,” Cyril said. “You presumably have seen me in Nairobi from time to time. I go to deliver my newspaper column.”

  “Ah yes. I thought the face was familiar. The famous Gossip from Gilgil. I’ve never read it personally. So you did not attend the party last night at Lady Idina’s house?”

  “We did not,” Diddy said. “Mr. Prendergast and I were here on the property all night—since I had lent the young couple my only vehicle.”

  “Precisely,” he said. “Oh, and Mr. Van Horn is now here, and of course he is in no way connected to this case. But . . .” He stopped, having spotted Jocelyn at the other end of the table, in the process of taking a second helping of dessert. “Mr. Prettibone, isn’t it? But I was told you were employed by Lady Idina.”

  “I was, Inspector,” Jocelyn said. “At least, I was helping her out, doing her a good turn, don’t you know? But my father would not take kindly to any blemish on the old family escutcheon and all that.”

  “What?” The inspector looked at him as if he was a trifle barmy.

  “You know, blackening the family name, so I’d rather, if possible, that he didn’t find out I had been staying in a house where all sorts of things were going on, and one of the guests was murdered. So I hightailed it out of there quam celerrime.

  “Quam what?”

  “Latin, old chap. Means as quickly as possible. Now I just have to pray that when the news gets back to jolly old England my name is not mentioned.”

  “I see.” The inspector sucked in a long breath, his eyes considering Jocelyn. “Well, I must ask you to let us know where you will be staying and not to leave the area without permission until this case is solved.”

  “Surely you don’t think I could have anything to do with it?” Jocelyn’s voice rose to an alarmed squeak. “I don’t even know anyone here yet. I only arrived a few days ago. And you should know that I faint at the sight of blood. And if I was going to kill someone I’d probably want to steal his motorcar, not just leave it.”

  That, of course, was a very good point. If a bandit, Kikuyu outlaw, or even white criminal, had ambushed Bwana, they would most certainly have made a getaway in his car. Unless they didn’t know how to drive, that is. But they would probably have stolen the items on the seat of the car. I was sure this was not a holdup, in the traditional sense. This was a deliberate, planned killing by someone who wanted revenge or had some sort of reason for silencing Bwana.

  “I was planning to take our visitors on safari tomorrow,” Cyril said. “Is that still permissible?”

  “And where would you be going?”

  “Only a couple of hours north of the valley. Not as far as the Mara.”

  The inspector thought then nodded. “I don’t see why not. You can’t run off anywhere from there. You’re not planning on staying away long?”

  “Only one overnight,” Cyril said. “Just to give them a taste.”

  “That’s all right, then.”

  “So what exactly can we do for you,
Inspector?” Diddy asked, ever the gracious hostess. “May my servants pour you a drink?”

  “I don’t drink when I’m on duty, thank you, Mrs. Ruocco,” he said.

  “A cup of coffee, then? Some lemonade or water?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee, thank you kindly,” Inspector Windrush said.

  “And your sergeant?”

  I suspected the sergeant would have not said no to a glass of wine or a beer but he glanced at his chief and murmured that coffee would be lovely. They pulled up two chairs and joined us.

  “I just have a couple of questions—things I need straightened out,” he said. “We have been speaking with the dead man’s widow and children.” He paused, waiting for us to react to that, then continued, “I’d be interested to know your feelings about Lady Cheriton, as I’m told she is now. Would you say she loved her husband?”

  “What a strange question,” Diddy said. “Who could possibly make a judgment about whether somebody loved a person.”

  “Would you say it was a happy marriage?”

  “I wouldn’t say Angel was completely happy,” Diddy said carefully, glancing at Cyril. “She didn’t really take to Africa and this sort of lifestyle.”

  “From your observation, would you say that her husband treated her well?”

  Diddy hesitated, then she said, “I would say he didn’t treat her how she would have liked to be treated.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Bwana Cheriton could not resist other women, Inspector. I think Angel would have preferred a husband who was more devoted to her.”

  “I see. And I presume now she’ll be able to leave Kenya and go back to America if she wants to.”

  “She could have done that at any time, Inspector,” Cyril said. “She is a wealthy woman in her own right. She stayed here. That must be some indication that she was fond enough of Bwana.”

  The inspector nodded, digesting this. “She might not believe in divorce,” he said.

  “I don’t know why. Bwana was an expert. He had already gone through it several times before. I’m sure he could have made it painless for her had she so wished.” Cyril grinned.

  I could see what Inspector Windrush was trying to imply—that Angel had a good motive for wanting her husband dead. And, I thought, the money to pay someone to accomplish this. Interesting theory.

  “And these children of the dead man.” The inspector accepted the cup of coffee and stirred several spoonfuls of sugar into it before going on. “What do you know about them?”

  “Nothing at all. We heard only a few weeks ago that Bwana was bringing his children from his first marriage out to Kenya. We gathered it was because his son would inherit the title and he wanted to encourage the boy to learn to love what he was doing here. Bwana made it clear he had no interest in going back to the property in England that went with the title.”

  The inspector took a long sip of coffee. I wondered if his mustache got in the way. “You people,” he said. “Someone is always giving you property and titles. Must be nice.”

  “In Bwana’s defense,” Diddy said, “I have to point out that he came out here with nothing. He lived in a shack. Everything he has now he has built up with his own hands.”

  “And Angel’s money, darling,” Cyril added. “Don’t forget Angel’s lovely money.”

  The inspector smirked. “And one gathers he has fallen out with quite a few of his fellow settlers. . . . Cheated them? Stolen their wives? Quite a few people with a grudge against him? Makes it quite complicated for me.” He took another sip of coffee. “So much simpler if the wife orchestrated the whole thing.”

  “The only argument against that,” Diddy said, “is that she was at home, in bed with a migraine, as her servants and stepchildren can attest.”

  The smirk broadened. “A woman like that wouldn’t do her own dirty work. She’d hire someone to do it for her. And as it happens her husband sacked one of his workers a few weeks ago. The man let one of his cows eat something that made it sick. He dismissed this person on the spot, even though he’d been a good worker for years. Someone with a grievance might well take Lady Cheriton’s money and do the deed. And a native would be more likely to have something like a panga to strike with. The wound was too broad for most kitchen knives or even hunting knives.”

  There was silence. This seemed all too possible. A native after all, not one of the white settlers. I almost heard the sigh of relief all around. They were glad it was not one of them. It seemed jolly unfair. The inspector drained his coffee cup. “Of course we can’t overlook his son, who now inherits a tidy fortune. We’ll know more when we question the other workers, I suspect. And visit the native villages.” He got up, putting his cup down noisily. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer, but nobody is to think of leaving the area without notifying me. Oh, and one interesting thing”—again he paused—“Cheriton’s daughter said something significant. She said her father had made a pass at you, Lady Georgiana. And that you’d rebuffed him angrily and quite violently.”

  He was staring hard at me. I’m afraid I found it rather funny and tried not to laugh. “Are you suggesting that gave me a motive to want to kill him? I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that, Inspector. If I went around killing men who had tried to make a pass at me, there would be a trail of dead bodies across Britain.” An image of my mother flashed into my mind. There had certainly been enough men who made passes at her. “When he left the party I was actually already asleep in bed beside my husband, and I am certainly not the type who would wield a large knife, even if I knew where to find one.”

  The inspector actually took a small step back at my onslaught. I suppose the heightened emotion of the day had come pouring out. I was actually surprised at myself. “Oh no,” he said. “I wasn’t for a moment suggesting that you would have killed him. Of course not.” He actually looked rather embarrassed, which pleased me no end. “Well, I should be on my way. I expect this will all sort itself out when we’ve questioned the natives. I thank you for your time and the coffee, Mrs. Ruocco.” He gave a nodding little bow and left, his sergeant in pursuit.

  Darcy looked at me. “Well done,” he said with a smile. “Most impressive.”

  * * *

  “WELL, IT’S BEEN a strange day, hasn’t it?” Darcy said when we finally retired to our room. “Not exactly the blissful honeymoon far from the stresses of home.”

  “Oh my goodness,” I said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.” I flopped down onto the bed. “If anything else happened tonight I think I’d scream.”

  “The inspector likes the scenario of Angel hiring a killer, doesn’t he?”

  I nodded. “I don’t think she’s the sort to do that. If she wanted to go home to America, she’d go home, don’t you think? And Bwana wouldn’t stop her.”

  “I don’t know. In America they are used to having gangsters fix things for them.”

  I laughed. It sounded so absurd. “I’m going to try not to think about it anymore,” I said. “Let’s go to sleep and enjoy our outing tomorrow. With any luck Mr. Van Horn will be chased by a rhinoceros.”

  “You see, you do have an evil streak.” Darcy sat beside me and stroked my hair. “I can see I’ll have to make sure I never offend you.”

  We got into bed and I fell asleep immediately. I woke to pitch-blackness and Darcy doing something strange, bouncing on my feet—an awfully heavy weight. “What are you doing?” I murmured, still half-asleep.

  “What are you talking about?” Darcy’s voice came from the pillow beside me.

  That made me instantly wide awake. “Darcy,” I whispered, shaking him. “Wake up. There’s someone in the room.”

  I have to say I was impressed by the way he leaped out of bed. I heard him curse as he hit his foot on something, fumbling for the light switch. There was a click. The room was flooded with
electric light and I screamed. A large monkey of some sort was sitting a few feet from me, at the bottom of the bed. The shutters were wide open and cold night air blew into the room.

  “Shoo. Scram. Go!” Darcy hurled a pillow at the monkey and came toward it. It bared horrible yellow fangs but then reluctantly retreated. Darcy slammed the shutters behind it.

  “How on earth can it have got in?” I asked, my heart still pounding. “The shutters were closed, weren’t they?”

  “I closed them myself,” Darcy said. “You saw me. I opened the window for fresh air then I latched the shutters.”

  “It’s quite windy tonight. Could the wind have blown them open?” I asked.

  Darcy tried shaking them. They remained firmly latched.

  Then I said, “What’s that on the bed?”

  He went over, looked at it and then prodded it. “It’s a piece of meat,” he said.

  I stared at Darcy as the truth began to dawn. “Someone wanted a leopard to come in here, not just a monkey.”

  “That’s more than a joke,” Darcy said quietly. “Someone wanted to kill one of us.”

  “Or at the very least to make us so frightened that we left instantly.”

  Chapter 31

  TUESDAY, AUGUST 13

  EARLY MORNING, ABOUT TO SET OFF ON SAFARI

  After last night’s encounter with the monkey I’m not sure that I want to go. The thought that somebody in the house wants us dead is very alarming.

  We were awoken with a tap on our door. Darcy got up and opened it, cautiously. One of the servants came in bearing a tray.

  “Memsabu said I should wake you because Bwana Prendergast wishes to depart early on safari,” he said, putting the tea tray on the table beside the bed. He bowed and left us. Darcy handed me a cup of tea, then opened the shutters. The world was blanketed in mist. The air that streamed in was icy cold. I shivered and the events of the night came flooding back. “After that monkey I’m not at all sure I want to go on a safari,” I said to Darcy. “Someone wanted to kill us. How do we know that person isn’t coming on safari with us?”