Safari

by Parnell Hall

  “You don’t have to, of course. But if you don’t, you’ll be the first one the police question. And guess what’ll be the first thing they’re gonna ask?”

  His defiance evaporated as quickly as it came. He sank back in his chair.

  “So, if we could all roll up our sleeves, hold out our arms.”

  Everyone did. Some more grudgingly than others, but they all complied. Even Simon. Even Edith. I felt sorry for her having to do it, but I couldn’t make an exception. She held out her arms stoically. Her expression was not kind.

  Her arms were clean.

  So were everyone else’s.

  With one exception.

  One person had not rolled up his sleeves.

  “You too, Jason,” I said.

  He looked surprised. Jason had reverted to his own persona, discarded the hat and shades. His hair hung proud and free. “Why?” he said. “You know I have tracks.”

  “So you say. But what if you don’t? What if that’s just a cover story to keep up your bad-boy image?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Yes, I am. That would be utterly whacky on the one hand, and wouldn’t help us at all on the other. I have no doubt you have tracks. But are they fresh? If you ripped off Daniel’s stash, you’d have been shooting up ever since. I think we could tell.”

  “I think you could tell without looking at my arm. If that were the case, I’d have trouble getting out of bed.”

  “Then you won’t mind showing us.”

  Jason rolled his left sleeve up past the elbow, extended his arm. “Here. Knock yourself out.”

  I picked up his arm, inspected it. “Pretty impressive. I think you’ve earned your reputation as a card-carrying addict. Yes, these all look pretty old.”

  “Of course they are. You think I’d travel with a hypodermic? How dumb is that?”

  “Pretty dumb,” I said. “Some junkies are. Let’s see your right arm.”

  His smile faded. “Why? I’m not ambidextrous. I can’t shoot up with my left hand.”

  “That’s probably true. But this is a murder investigation. You’ll forgive us if we don’t take your word for it. Come on, roll it up.”

  Jason rolled up his right sleeve.

  I took his arm, looked at it. “You’re right. Pretty clean. Except for this.”

  “What?”

  I pointed.

  There was a little tiny scab right in the crook of his elbow.

  “This right here.”

  “It’s a bug bite. No big deal.”

  “You don’t get bug bites. You never roll up your sleeves.”

  “Come on, you got long sleeves. You telling me you don’t get bug bites?”

  “I do, but they don’t look like needle marks. You wouldn’t mind letting a doctor have a look at that?”

  “Oh, for god’s sake!” Keith exploded from his chair. “Will you give it up already? It’s a bug bite. It’s not a needle mark. I mean, what’s your theory? He killed the guy, shot up once, and threw the drugs away? How dumb is that?”

  I looked him over. “You’re pretty upset about it.”

  “You’re damn right I’m upset about it. Your grand theory fell apart, now you’re accusing him of murder on the basis of a mosquito bite. I’m responsible for getting him back to LA in time to start the tour. I’m not going to blow it because of the absurd notions of some amateur detective playing cop.”

  “I’m actually a professional detective,” I said. “I get paid for it. I’m not getting paid in this instance, but back in the states that’s my job. I do it and I get paid.

  “Just like you do. You’re getting paid for this vacation, aren’t you? You’re on the job right now. I knew it, but I wanted to hear you say it. Getting Jason back to LA clean and sober is your responsibility. One you don’t take lightly. Witness this outburst. If you blow it, not only do you lose your job, but you never get another one. You get a reputation for not being able to deliver the goods.

  “Jason got out of rehab. Your job was to pick him up, take him to Africa, keep him on the straight and narrow till you get back to LA. And what happens? You get to bush camp and run into a drug dealer. Jason escapes your vigilance and manages to hook up. He doesn’t have a hypodermic, but Daniel does. Daniel shoots him up. In the right arm, because Jason knows you’re monitoring his left.

  “Only Jason can’t help giving himself away. You’re trained to look for such things. The more he tries to act like he’s not high, the more you realize he is.”

  I glanced around confidently, as if I knew what I was talking about. I didn’t, of course, I was making it up out of whole cloth. I just hoped my wild theory was close enough to work.

  “You sneak out, hook up with Daniel, pretend you want to score. Nail down the fact he is the dealer. Then you read him the riot act. Jason is off limits, he’s not to go near him again. Daniel is nodding and smiling and couldn’t be more agreeable, and you can tell he doesn’t mean a word of it, he’s laughing at you. Furious, you grab the stick and hit him over the head.

  “You ditch the body and start covering your tracks. You ditch Daniel’s stash. So if the police figure out it was murder, they’ll think he was killed for his drugs. Which, in a way, he was.

  “The police never suspect, but others do. Alice and Pam get on the scent, and you have to kill to cover it up. I don’t know where you got the arsenic, it’s used in mining, maybe Daniel got ahold of some, I don’t know why, but maybe you found it in his stash, and decided to hang on to it. Until you used it, of course. Then it had to go.

  “The next weapon of choice was Clemson’s knife. He waved it in your face, so it was nice to pay him back. You really do have a cruel streak. But the knife was a nice touch.

  “Too bad you left fingerprints on it.”

  Keith sneered. “There’s no fingerprints on the knife.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “The police told me. In the interrogation.”

  “No, they were withholding that fact. But you knew it anyway.”

  His eyes faltered. Just for a second, but it was enough. “No, no,” he protested. “I heard it from the cops.”

  The senior policeman pushed his way into the circle. This time he had two officers with him. On his signal, they stationed themselves on either side of Keith.

  “If you would come with us please, I have a few questions.”

  The policemen took Keith by the arms and led him away.

  It all happened so fast, everyone sat there stunned.

  I shrugged. “Well, let’s have some breakfast and get out on the river.”

  48

  VICTORY DRINK

  CLEMSON COULDN’T HAVE BEEN HAPPIER. Or more grateful. I think he would have given me a full refund, if he hadn’t been faced with the prospect of refunding a couple of days’ worth to everyone. Considering that, the man was ecstatic.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said. “Five minutes. It took you five minutes to trap him. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Second time around,” I said. “Which is the basis of my technique. Keep accusing people, eventually you’ll be right.”

  “What I can’t understand is the bit about the fingerprints on the knife.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “It didn’t make any sense. If the police were withholding it, they wouldn’t have told you.”

  “Yeah. Well, no one mentioned any fingerprints, so I figured there weren’t any.”

  “You made it up.”

  “I had to.”

  “Because there’s no way you could have known.”

  “You know that and I know that. Keith isn’t as quick as you. And he was that type of guy. Impulsive. Street-smart. But not swift. Remember the missing stick?”

  Clemson frowned. “What about it?”

  “At the time, everyone except me thought Daniel’d been killed by a sausage fruit. I was asking questions, and you came to my tent to tell me to knock it off.

  “Keith m
ust have listened in. He followed me to the crime scene, and followed me back to staff camp where I found the murder weapon. That scared the hell out of him. When I went to get you and Duke, he ditched it. Without it, I couldn’t prove Daniel’s death was a murder.

  “But that proved it to me. The minute the stick disappeared, it confirmed my theory.”

  “Sorry I wouldn’t believe you,” Clemson said.

  “You had good reason not to. But it just goes to show Keith wasn’t thinking clearly. If Daniel’s death is deemed a murder, the stick showing up behind that tent would be a good indication someone on the staff did it.”

  “Well, you solved it in spite of me,” Clemson said. “I can’t thank you enough. Join me in a victory drink?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “That’s a shame. A victory cup of coffee then.”

  He poured a couple. We added milk, clinked cups. Sipped our coffee. Looked out at the river.

  “How bad a hit you gonna take on this trip?” I said.

  “I don’t know. Insurance will cover most of it. My rates will probably go up. My wife will have to wait on her alimony. She’s used to that. Her lawyer will have a coronary. But in the long run?” He shrugged. “It’s a toss-up. At first people won’t want to book a trip where people get killed. On the other hand, they love horror stories. I never tell ’em until the last night, but they always want to hear. The woman who got bit by a croc. The guy who got mauled by a lion. I imagine after a while people will want to go on the one where all the murders happened.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Anyway, thanks again,” Clemson said. “If there’s anything I can do for you. Anything at all.”

  I considered. “Well, now that you mention it.”

  “What?”

  “I’d kind of like to paddle.”

  49

  COACH

  ALICE COULDN’T WORK HER MAGIC on the way home. There were seats for us in economy, and they saw no reason why we shouldn’t sit in them.

  Alice didn’t agree, and the ensuing argument was the stuff of legend. I’m sure Alice would have won had the woman at the ticket counter spoken any English, but her request to talk to her superior had fallen on deaf ears. Either that or the woman was as good as Duke at feigning ignorance. Which is why we sat in coach.

  And why I didn’t see my teenage dream, Victoria/Lolita on the plane. She and Annabel, who were legitimately in business class, sat alone. Jason was in business class, but he was going to California.

  Keith wasn’t going anywhere. Zambia and Zimbabwe were already fighting over him, and the United States would probably join the party. He had, after all, killed two American citizens, albeit one in Zambia and one in Zimbabwe. I don’t know who that gave jurisdiction, but luckily I didn’t have to figure it out.

  The rest of the trip had been good. My boast had been a little cocky—we actually didn’t get on the river until after lunch—but no one complained.

  And Clemson made good on his offer. I finally got to paddle. Not Alice, thank goodness. That would have been unpleasant for all concerned. I got to paddle Trish. Simon went with Bono. He didn’t feel emasculated, he was happy to let me. He must have felt relieved.

  I was able to keep up, so Bono was happy too.

  We saw lions from more discreet distances, with cubs that actually played instead of slept.

  And not one person got killed. I hate to be flippant about that. I felt sorry for Alice 2. And the librarians, both the live and the dead. Pam left behind a husband. And Edith lost a friend. Even if they only met online, they were good together. I wondered if Edith would post about it on Dorothyl. Or if they only discussed fiction, not true crime. She’d have to be tactful. Pam subscribed to Dorothyl. Her husband would still get the e-mails. Not that he’d necessarily read them. Even if he didn’t, could Edith bear to do it? Or would she feel she was trivializing the death of her friend?

  Anyway, she rallied, finished the trip, didn’t cut it short and go home. I think she genuinely enjoyed the lion cubs. Everyone loves cubs.

  So, in spite of everything, the trip ended on a positive note.

  Except for the flight. Having tasted business class, economy didn’t sit well with Alice. I was reminded of the song that goes, after you’ve been eating steak for a while, beans, beans taste fine. I didn’t quote it to Alice. She would not have been amused.

  To Alice, economy was a personal affront. She was not happy, and she didn’t care who knew it. Including and especially me.

  I could have done without a cranky wife, but aside from that, I was perfectly happy with economy.

  As far as I was concerned, it was luxury.

  It had a working toilet.

  SAFARI

  Pegasus Books LLC

  80 Broad Street, 5th Floor

  New York, NY 10004

  Copyright © 2014 by Parnell Hall

  First Pegasus Books cloth edition November 2014

  Interior design by Maria Fernandez

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review in a newspaper, magazine, or electronic publication; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other, without written permission from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-60598-637-1

  ISBN: 978-1-60598-717-0 (e-book)

  Distributed by W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.