Father Theroux’s smile was gentle. “We are all guilty of many things, in many ways,” he said profoundly. “And now, before I leave, let us pray that the Lord will rid us of our unfounded guilt...”
“And punish those on whom the guilt is not unfounded,” Dana added.
The priest opened one eye and looked at her forgivingly as Dana closed her eyes and prayed.
He left her with a crock of cooked chicken, a Bible and some information that stunned her. Louis was to be buried in Porte Ivoire—and Alex Jourdan was paying for the funeral!
* * *
DANA WASN’T HUNGRY but forced herself to eat the chicken and rice. It was all Father Theroux left; certainly no hope. So she ate the food. It was either that or fight the roaches and ants for it later in the evening. She had just finished when she heard a familiar voice echoing in the hall.
“This place is disgustingly dirty! Someone needs to get in here with a mop and scrub brush.”
Dana caught a glimpse of Sergeant Kantana making a quick escape into his office and out of Millicent’s way as she breezed by, her face red from the heat and her gray hair standing out in tufts around her face. To Dana she looked like an angel of mercy. A lot more decisive than the good Father.
“Oh, Millie, thank heavens you’re here. Did you get through to the American Embassy in Brazzaville? I asked Father Theroux to remind you, but who knows where his head was when he left here. So what happened? Did you talk to them, did you—”
“Calm yourself, Dana. Take a deep breath and slow down. Getting overwrought won’t help anything,” Millicent ordered.
“Overwrought? You’re damned right, I’m overwrought. Look around! I’m in jail, Millicent, in case you haven’t noticed. Sergeant Kantana has taken all my money and my passport, and I’m being held for murder. Murder, Millicent! It’s enough to make anyone overwrought. Besides which, Father Theroux offered me no encouragement whatsoever.”
“He can be somewhat ineffectual,” Millicent agreed.
“Ineffectual? He mouthed accusations that came straight from the sergeant.”
“Like?”
“Like a blowgun was found in my room. I’m not a complete idiot, Millicent.”
“No, indeed, you’re not.”
“And only a fool would kill someone and then keep the murder weapon in her room. I would have thrown it in the river, for God’s sake.”
“Of course,” Millicent agreed. “And as for your supposed love affair with Louis on board the Queen—”
“There was nothing between me and Louis. I was probably less friendly to him than anyone—except Alex.” Dana leaned her forehead against the bars of her cell. “To make things more confusing, Father Theroux tells me Alex has offered to pay the funeral expenses.”
“Well, obviously, in this heat, the body can’t be returned to Brazzaville.”
“That’s not the point, Millicent. The point is, he’s paying—Alex, who was supposedly Louis’s enemy.” Dana covered her face with her hands. “This is so awful. I can’t even believe the man is dead, much less that I’m accused of killing him! It’s like a terrible nightmare.”
Millicent patted Dana’s hand that grasped the cell bar. “I’m sure things will work out once I get through to the American Embassy,” she said soothingly.
“You haven’t reached them yet?” Dana was dismayed.
“The radio is down on the Congo Queen. Just temporary, I’m sure.”
Dana beat her fists ineffectually against the bars. “What kind of a place is this? No phones, no lawyers, no working radios...”
“It’s the Congo, dear. That’s just the way things are. And you must accept it—at least for a while.”
Dana gave her a hard look. “Not on your life. I’m going to fight like crazy, Millie, and I need your help.”
“You’ll have it, I guarantee. After all, I’m the leader of this tour, and I feel responsible. For everyone,” she added quickly. “Are they treating you well?”
Dana gave a bitter laugh. “Look around. I’m sharing a cell with half the insect life of Central Africa. I’m locked in a space eight feet square with no running water. I’ve only been here a couple of hours, but I can assure you that I’m not being treated well.”
Millicent pushed a bundle through the bars. “I brought you some fresh clothes.”
“Thanks,” Dana said, taking the clothes and tossing them on the cot. She suddenly lost her spunk and felt the tears building. Slowly, they trickled down her cheeks.
“We’ll think of something,” Millicent assured her. “I’ll talk to Kantana.”
“Please,” Dana begged. “Ask him to let me out. Father Theroux says I can come to the mission until the investigation is over. I won’t try to escape,” she said a little pitifully.
“I’m sure you won’t.”
“And when you get through to the embassy, have someone call my brothers in Colorado. Kurt and Andy will fly right over. Do you have something to write on? I’ll give you their numbers.”
Millicent produced a pencil and notebook, and Dana wrote down the information. She had no doubt they’d drop everything and come to Africa as soon as they heard about her plight. Dana and her brothers had become even closer after the death of their parents. Nothing would keep them from helping her.
“Now, what else?” Millicent asked sympathetically. “Father Theroux brought you dinner...”
“Yes, and promises my next meal. Well, I don’t intend to be in here that long.”
“And I’m sure you won’t, my dear.” Millicent offered another pat.
“Meanwhile, Betty has a real hook for her story—’Murder in the Congo, America teacher arrested.’ I can just see it—”
“That slut,” Millicent said emphatically.
Dana did a double take, not believing her ears. Admittedly, Millicent was an outspoken woman, but Dana never had heard such a remark from the Englishwoman’s lips.
“That’s just what she is,” Millicent reinforced.
“I thought you liked her. You invited her on the cruise—”
Millicent waved a dismissive hand. “I ran into her at a party and felt a momentary empathy because she was out of work.”
“Well, she’s working now,” Dana said sarcastically. “Just keep her away from me. I can’t be responsible for what I might do.”
“Admittedly, I made a mistake bringing her on the tour. Her behavior with Yassif has been disgusting.”
Again, Dana was surprised at the emotion in Millicent’s voice. “Hardly to be compared with murder,” she snapped.
Millicent’s eyes brightened behind her thick glasses. “Do you think Betty—”
“No,” Dana said firmly. “There’s only one viable suspect, and that’s Alex.”
Millicent was thoughtful. “I’ve known Alex for a long time, and I understand what he’s capable of. A little larceny here and there, lying when it suits him, womanizing, it goes without saying. But murder—”
Dana felt a burst of anger. “I don’t believe this! No one wants to admit that Alex could be guilty—not you, not Father Theroux, certainly not Kantana. In spite of the fact that the man’s practically a criminal. Whereas everyone immediately assumes I’m guilty when I’m the least likely person in the world to commit murder.”
“But you, my dear girl, are a stranger here.” Millicent’s response, meant to be kind, sent cold chills down Dana’s spine. “The rest of us know one another, our capabilities as well as our frailties, while you are an unknown element. Of course, you’d be an obvious suspect.”
Dana felt sick. She was a stranger in a far-off land—with no one to stand up for her, no one to take her side. “You will help me, won’t you?” she asked in a shaky voice.
Millicent’s voice was strong and reassuring. “Of course. I’ll get on it right now. I’ll keep after that captain until he gets the radio working.”
“Thank you.” Dana couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice.
* * *
NIGH
T FELL over Porte Ivoire like a thick, heavy cloak. Strangely, as I’d noticed often, the darkness didn’t muffle sound; noises seemed to intensify. The beating wings of a raptor swooping down on its prey; the rustle of a night animal in dry grass; the rumble of laughter from the waterfront. It had been that way the night Louis died. All the sounds magnified. I remember distinctly the whisper of the dart. The sharp intake of Louis’s breath. The sound of his body falling across the path.
Too bad he had to die. He had such a love for life, for fine wine and good food. And women. Most of them fell for his world-weary, French dilettante line. Few women knew what Louis was really like or what he was up to.
* * *
DANA PUT ON the clean slacks and shirt Millicent brought and tried not to be intimidated by the darkness that was creeping into her cell. It was hard to ignore when the animals outside increased their frantic calling. And the shadows lengthened...her heartbeat accelerated.
It was the rapid beating of her heart that told Dana she was in trouble; getting through the night was going to be hell, and she wasn’t sure she was prepared for it.
Kantana made a last visit before leaving for home and dinner. Victor, his aide, was left in charge. And that was not comforting, particularly when he came to the office door every few minutes and looked down the hall at her. After the third time, she crawled onto her bed in the corner of the cell, out of his view.
The black night was illuminated by a single bulb swaying in the hall, casting its crazy shadows on Dana.
I could die here, she thought.
And the only thing that could prevent her death would be action on Dana’s part. She needed a plan of some kind. But what? She had no money, no passport. She couldn’t even bribe her jailer!
Dana drew her legs to her chest and tried to make herself into a little ball. Tried to disappear. She was too tired to think and too scared to sleep. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She felt alone and very sorry for herself.
Against her will, she dozed off. Voices awoke her, two men speaking French in whispers. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. It seemed like déjà vu, that conversation, so similar to what she heard—or thought she heard—between Alex and Louis that fateful night.
Then it was quiet, and she heard only the noises of the night, those terrifying sounds that kept her on edge, huddled on the bed, ready for anything.
“I wonder how many stars Louis would have given this place?”
The voice came from the window, and at the sound of it, Dana bolted to her feet. “Who is it?” she cried. Then she saw his face, briefly, as the bulb cast a quick illumination on the cell window.
“Alex Jourdan! What the hell are you doing here?”
“Keep your voice down,” he ordered, “so Victor doesn’t hear you. Wait until he turns the tape recorder on. There...” he said as the music wafted from the jail office.
Dana listened for a moment to the sound of jazz. “You brought him a tape recorder?”
“Sure. He loves jazz. I brought him some beer, too. that’ll help him pass the hours while he guards his dangerous prisoner.”
Dana shot him a long, hate-filled look. “Are you crazy?”
“I needed to talk with you. The jazz and the beer will give me that chance, keep him occupied while you and I make a deal.”
“A deal? You are insane! There’s no way I’m dealing with Louis’s murderer. Now get away from the window or I’ll scream for Victor.”
“No, you won’t,” Alex said calmly. “You’ll listen to what I have to say because, lady, I’m your only hope.”
“Then God pity me,” Dana said flatly, “if I have to depend on the likes of you.” She moved into the corner and climbed onto her bed, as far away from him as she could get. Even though he was on the other side of the bars, she felt safer away from the window.
“You don’t have to depend on me,” he said, “but I think you’ll want to when you hear what I can do.”
“And just what is that?” Dana asked.
“I can break you out of this place,” he answered in a hoarse whisper.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied loudly.
“Be quiet or I’ll never get a chance to show you. I can get you out of here now. Tonight. We can cross the border into Zaire and then fly to Kenya. You can go to the American Embassy, get a new passport and be out of this part of the world before Jean Luc gets organized enough to put together a chase. You can be free, Dana.”
Free. The word sounded wonderful, but there was no way freedom would come from Alex Jourdan. There was no way she could trust him.
“Come here, Dana. I don’t want to shout. Come here so I can tell you what I have in mind.”
Curiosity got the best of her. Whatever he had to say, listening to him would be preferable to cowering uselessly. She went to the window. When she was within two feet of him, she stopped.
“Come closer,” he urged.
“No, this is good enough.”
“What I have to say is for no ears but yours. If you don’t come close, I can’t speak.”
Warily, she approached. She was obviously the crazy one for even talking to him. Their encounter in the garden the night before, the perplexing mixture of emotions it aroused in her, was all too immediate. She didn’t just remember those feelings; she felt them. Attraction. Excitement. Anger. And danger; it had been there in the garden, and it was here in the jail.
But she’d already taken the first step toward him. She took another. His face was in shadow, but she could make out his features in the dim light. The look in his eyes was dark and intense, and the seductive whisper of his voice drew her on.
“I can help you, Dana.”
She kept her voice low. “You don’t strike me as the altruistic type. There must be something in this for you.”
He flashed a smile, and she caught a glimpse of his even, white teeth. “No, I’m not altruistic. Let’s put it this way. I’m meeting a mutual need. But I can’t explain unless I can see you. Step a little closer, into the moonlight.”
Dana hesitated. She knew Alex was a charlatan and a rogue with the ability to draw people into his orbit, use and discard them. But in spite of the peril surrounding him, Alex had her attention. She felt a connection with him, something intangible but powerful, that kept her senses whirling. He was manipulating her. She knew that, but she didn’t know why.
“Just one more step,” he urged.
Common sense warned her to keep her distance, but hope tugged fiercely. Should she risk listening to him? Yes! a voice inside told her. Maybe he really could help her. And dammit, she was intrigued. She stepped to the window.
“Good,” he said. “Now I can see you clearly.” His eyes softened. “This experience has taken its toll. You look worn-out, Dana.”
“Don’t bother with the sympathy, Alex,” she snapped. “Just tell me why you’re here.” She wasn’t going to get emotionally entangled with him. That could be as deadly as being locked in the Porte Ivoire jail.
He grinned sardonically at her brusqueness. “Okay, here’s the bargain. I need to get out of the country; so do you. I know how to stay alive in the bush, and you know how to deal with the Pygmies. We can get out together.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Alex Jourdan.”
“Just hear me out. Zaire is the logical destination, and to get there, it’s necessary to cross the Mgembe territory. You and Louis were among the few people who had knowledge of the Mgembe. Now he’s gone. I need you to help me communicate with them.”
“Communicate? I can’t speak the language,” she said flatly. “So if that’s all there is to your bargain, then good night.”
“Wait,” he said. “Maybe you can’t speak to them, but you can learn. You have tapes, notebooks. You know as much as Louis and a hell of a lot more than I do. You can do it.”
“No,” Dana repeated adamantly. As the sound of melodious American jazz drifted toward them on the hot humid nig
ht air, she began to put two and two together.
“You can talk to them, get them to take us to the border,” Alex persisted.
She listened to the song, a familiar New Orleans jazz melody that she’d heard often years ago. It only added to the unreality of her situation. Arrested for murder. Held in a squalid jail, listening to a proposition from a man who was probably the real murderer while in the background a haunting piece of American music played. It took her another moment to review his proposal before the answer came to her.
“You and Louis were only pretending to be angry with each other!”
His silence confirmed her remark.
“You two had some kind of deal going—illegal, I imagine—and you needed to flee the country together. He was your contact with the Pygmies.”
“Yes, in fact—”
“But then you argued—for real,” Dana said suddenly. She felt as if a cold finger had touched the back of her neck. “You killed him,” she whispered. “I’m sure of it now. You murdered him over the deal, and now more than ever you need to get out of the Congo.”
“You’re partly right. I do need to get out of here, but I didn’t kill Louis. He was one of the best friends I ever had.”
His voice had the ring of honesty, but she didn’t believe him. A man like Alex Jourdan was obviously an accomplished liar.
Alex saw the look of disbelief flicker across her face. She was bright, there was no denying that. She’d caught on quickly to his deal with Louis. How long would it take her to catch on to the rest? He decided to change his approach, to let her believe she was in on the scheme. “I’m going to trust you, Dana, because I have to.” He paused dramatically.
She said nothing.
“Louis and I did have a deal going, but not the kind you think. He was an agent of the French government, and certain documents had come into his hands—”
“Louis? An agent?”
“Think about it. He had the perfect cover. A dilettante with his finger in many pies, a man who knew everyone.”
Standing there in the tiny cell listening to what seemed like an absurd tall tale from a possible killer on the other side of the barred window, Dana couldn’t believe any of this was happening. But it was. And she’d better pay attention. What Alex said about Louis could be true. He’d been an extremely sophisticated man, with contacts at all levels of society. Maybe, just maybe...
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