The Serpent's Daughter

by Suzanne Arruda

  “He was dressed like a Moroccan Arab in a long white djellaba with a black sash around his waist and a white turban on his head.”

  “And you say he had a scimitar?” He made a notation in his little book.

  “No. I did not say that. I said he had the scabbard for a small knife tucked in his sash. He wore the knife in his back.”

  Monsieur Gervais ignored her sarcasm. “I see. And how long was this knife?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t pull it out of his back. But the scabbard was about twenty centimeters long.” She held out her hands like a fisherman does to depict the size of the catch.

  “And this man spoke to you?” He held his pencil poised, ready to write.

  Jade scowled. He’s mocking me. “How could he speak to me? I told you he was dead.”

  “But you said he told you to go down one of the tunnel passages?”

  “His arm lay stretched out, pointing down the right-hand passage. But I went down the other branch. I heard voices and thought it might be my mother.”

  “And these voices, Mademoiselle, they were not attached to any people?”

  That’s it! “Monsieur. I’m sure they were, but I didn’t see them. I was hiding. Now, if you don’t care about the dead man, will you at least help me find my mother?”

  The Frenchman closed his little book and pocketed it in his shirt. “Mademoiselle del Cameron,” he said, his voice patronizing, “I’m sure you can now see the bad judgment in an impressionable girl such as yourself wandering alone in such dangerous passages. Of course the experience would over-stimulate any untrained mind of a romantic turn. I would suggest you go back to Tangier and you will most likely find your mother waiting for you at your hotel.”

  Jade wouldn’t hold back her temper any longer. It was one thing to suggest she had made up her story to feel important, but to accuse her of being a silly twit of a girl fresh out of finishing school? She stiffened into a military posture, staring over the man’s head. “I am a decorated ambulance driver of the Great War, where I served the French Third Army. I pulled simpering, babbling soldiers from the trenches and drove them under shell fire to the hospital and earned the Croix de Guerre. You are an idiot, Monsieur, and I shall report you to your superior officer.”

  She drove back to Tangier in a furor; angry at the French representative in Azilah for treating her like a child, and at her mother for wandering off without letting her know where she was going. When her conscience prickled and suggested she should be angry with herself for causing their argument the other morning, she pushed the thought aside and focused on her mother’s antiquated notions of propriety as the root.

  She drove past the Bab el Kasbah, or “Gate of the Fortress,” and followed the Rue de la Kasbah southeast to a smaller gate into the Medina. Eventually, after wending her way through the tangled, narrow streets cluttered with people, stray dogs, and a few donkeys, she turned the car into the side alley by Madame Laferriere’s residence. No one answered her knock, so Jade ripped a page from her notebook, scribbled a brief thank-you in French and shoved it under the door. Then she hurried as quickly as she could back to her hotel.

  Jade was taking the front steps two at a time when a slender man in a French military uniform stopped her at the door.

  “Mademoiselle del Cameron?” he asked.

  “Oui.” She supposed that the officer at Azilah, thinking better of her, had sent a wire to his colleague in Tangier. “Have you found my mother?”

  “You must come with me,” he said, gripping her left arm.

  Her stomach lurched as she envisioned identifying her mother’s dead body at some barracks headquarters. “Answer me, please. Have you found my mother?”

  “We are hoping you will tell us where your mother is, Mademoiselle. She is under suspicion for murder.”

  Jade jerked her arm free. “What?”

  “And,” the officer continued as he grabbed her arm again, “there has been a complaint filed against you for stealing an automobile.”

  “That is ludicrous,” she retorted, her voice sharp with anger.

  “Which charge would that be?” asked the officer as he led her to a waiting car and gently pushed her into the backseat. He slid in beside her and tapped the driver, a private, on the shoulder.

  “Both charges,” replied Jade, as the car raced through the crowded streets. The driver honked the horn continuously as pedestrians scrambled out of the way. Jade saw a few tourists point at her and recognized the Tremaines. Libby, in particular, watched with a smirk pasted on her pretty, insipid face. Wonderful. That should fuel the gossip.

  “If you go to Madame Laferriere’s home, I can prove I did not steal her Panhard.”

  “Ah, then you do know her car.”

  “Of course I know her car. I drove it. Only I did not steal it; I hired it out for the day. She probably became concerned when I didn’t return it yesterday evening.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I was in the underground tunnels of Azilah all night. I was looking for my mother.”

  “And you hid her away in these tunnels after she murdered a man?”

  Jade’s emerald eyes opened wider. “Mother didn’t murder anyone.”

  “That remains to be seen, Mademoiselle.”

  “Please, Monsieur . . .”

  “I am Captain Réné Deschamp.”

  “Captain Deschamp. If you will allow me to explain. I am not trying to hide anything. On the contrary, I need your help. My mother is missing.”

  “I am aware of that, Mademoiselle del Cameron.” They stopped in front of a clump of crumbling houses that Jade recognized from this morning. “We will first pay a call on Madame Laferriere.”

  Captain Deschamp led Jade to the door, keeping a firm grip on her right arm with his left. He rapped on the door several times, but received no reply.

  “If you look in that alleyway,” said Jade, “you will see her Panhard. And there,” she pointed to the slip of paper peeking from under the door, “is the note I left for her.”

  Captain Deschamp ordered his driver to inspect the alley and then the automobile itself once the man verified that the vehicle was parked there.

  “It appears to be in order, Captain Deschamp,” said the private.

  “Hand me that note,” ordered Deschamp. The private did, and Deschamp read it. He handed it back to the underling and motioned for him to replace it.

  “It seems that you are guilty of nothing more than tardiness in returning Madame’s car. At least,” he added, “in this matter. There still remains the issue of your role in your mother’s crime.”

  “My mother didn’t commit a crime,” Jade said.

  Captain Deschamp escorted her gently but firmly back to the car and ordered his driver to proceed to headquarters. “Perhaps,” he said as they sped along the narrow streets of the Medina, horn honking, “you should tell me everything.”

  Jade flinched as one white-robed Moroccan dodged their Peugot, dropping his basket against her window as he stumbled. Cucumbers sprayed into the air, several bouncing against the glass. “I’ve been trying to ever since you arrested me.” She explained yesterday’s events quickly and concisely, omitting nothing but the owl pellet, and that only because she hadn’t given it any more thought after pocketing the charm. By the time she’d finished, they’d arrived at a tidy, two-story building outside the Medina walls.

  “A most interesting tale, Mademoiselle. But you will pardon me if I do not believe all of it. This overheard conversation, for instance, is most fanciful.” He looked sidewise at her and pursed his lips as though amused. “Please come inside. I have something to show you.” As he led her past the front desk, several privates and one sergeant saluted. All stared at Jade as though they’d never seen a woman before. “In here,” he said, indicating a back room.

  Jade stepped inside, her attention immediately arrested by a shrouded figure lying on a long mess table. Captain Deschamp pulled back the sheet.

  �
��That’s the man I saw dead in the tunnel,” said Jade. “Who the hell is he and how in thunder did he get here?”

  “Both are interesting questions,” said Deschamp. “We believe he is Achmed ben Sayid, a local guide for hire. A maid found him in your rooms this morning. He had this in his hand.”

  He held out a blue leather pocketbook, engraved in gold with the letter I.

  “My mother’s pocketbook! But it wasn’t in his hand before, and he wasn’t murdered in my room.”

  “And you are certain of that?”

  “Dead certain. I saw him in the Azilah tunnels. His knife was in his back. He had no pulse. His arm was just starting to stiffen, but not his lower body.”

  “As you can see, Mademoiselle, this man’s arms are by his side, which makes me question the veracity of your statement. ”

  Jade thought for a moment, her mind replaying the events in the tunnel. “How was he lying when you found him?”

  Deschamp made a point of consulting a report. “Lying facedown.”

  “Then he was moved,” Jade said, triumph in her tone. “Look to see where the blood pooled in his body. I think you’ll find it wasn’t where you’d expect if he died facedown in our room. You might also discover that his left shoulder is dislocated where someone forced it back down after rigor set in.”

  The captain inspected the corpse briefly, then snapped his head around to Jade. “You are right. It is pooled on his right side, and his arm has been forced. Such a thing does not change when a body is moved. But how is it a young lady such as yourself knows of these things?”

  “I drove an ambulance during the war, Captain, so I am on intimate terms with blood and death. Even before that, I hunted and I know what happens to the blood in game animals if they are not bled out.”

  Deschamp studied Jade’s face as if seeing her for the first time, taking her measure. “It would seem that you are a remarkable young woman,” he said. “One would assume that your mother is equally remarkable.”

  Jade caught the tenor of his statement. “She is not a murderer, Captain, if that is what you’re suggesting. She would consider it unladylike.”

  “Perhaps. But would she kill in self-defense? What if this man attacked her? I have made inquiries. Your mother hired this man to be a guide and translator for her.”

  Jade studied her words carefully before speaking. “Have you considered all the inconsistencies here? You suggest this man was brash enough to assault my mother in her hotel room? Then my mother stabbed him in the back to escape, but the man fell to his right side, where he lay long enough for his blood to pool before he rolled over onto his face? That my mother would then not have the presence of mind to retrieve her pocketbook from him before running away?” She shook her head. “No, I am convinced someone abducted my mother, possibly in the Azilah tunnels. I beg you to help me find her.”

  “We will find her, Mademoiselle, but I must ask you to remain in Tangier until we do.”

  “You still think I have something to do with this man’s murder? Do you think I killed him?”

  “I do not know what your role was, but I would prefer not to have two fugitives to search for. There is more at stake here than just the murder of this man.” He stopped and studied Jade again, locking his brown eyes on her green ones. “Why were you meeting your mother in Tangier?”

  “Mother planned to spend time at her old home in Andalusia. She wanted to acquire a horse stud for our ranch in the States. She asked me to join her.”

  “That does not answer my question. Why did you meet in Tangier? Why not in Spain?”

  Why indeed? “I was in British East Africa. North Africa seemed a good place to meet. Someplace neutral.”

  Deschamp made a notation in his notebook. “So you spend quite a bit of time in East Africa? Do you travel to Mombasa often?”

  Jade’s senses again went on alert. What was this man fishing for? “No.”

  “I have been given a dossier on you, Mademoiselle del Cameron. It is a most interesting read.”

  “The devil, you say,” retorted Jade, outraged at the idea. “Who in tarnation sent you that?”

  Deschamp ignored her question. “Am I correct that drugs were once found in one of your safari vehicles?”

  “It wasn’t my vehicle.”

  He looked up and arched a brow. “No?” He turned a few pages back in his notebook and read. “You hired a Harry Hascombe to run your safari, did you not?”

  “Yes, and he hired Roger Forster and Roger hired the cars.”

  “And you shot Forster?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” He made another notation. “Apparently you do not consider such an act unladylike.”

  Jade took a deep breath and struggled inwardly for a grip on her temper. Losing it would not help her position. “I presume, Captain, that you are making some sort of connection, but I’ll be deuced if I can see what it is.”

  Deschamp closed his book. “We searched your rooms, of course, and found a packet of hashish in your mother’s luggage. There has been quite a lot of hashish entering my native country of late.”

  “What?” Jade felt as if the bottom had fallen out of her world and she’d been sent plummeting into hell. Her mother was missing, possibly injured or dead, and now they were accused not only of murder, but also of smuggling drugs. Her head ached and a sudden pain gripped her stomach. Finally she felt enough in control of her voice to speak. “Captain, I told you I found a note for my mother, which I thought came from the Tremaines. Perhaps you should question them. If nothing else, surely someone noticed a person or persons entering the hotel with a dead man.”

  Deschamp didn’t answer immediately. He just watched Jade as if evaluating the truth behind her reaction. “I shall contact you at your hotel as soon as we know anything more.” He bowed stiffly, dismissing her for the moment.

  Jade didn’t budge. “I’m not convinced, Captain, that you have the authority in Tangier to confine me to the city, much less my hotel. The American Consulate will likely have something to say about this.”

  “As you wish, but I assure you, the consul would prefer not to be involved in a murder investigation in a French city.”

  “Tangier is not a French city. It doesn’t appear to be any government’s city.”

  “No, but Azilah is, and you have been most insistent that the murder took place there. I thank you. You have given me all the authority that I need.” He smiled, his head bobbing slightly in smugness. “Should you try to do anything rash, you should know that we hold all your travel papers. You cannot leave.”

  Jade stormed back toward the hotel, stopping once when a sound or a shadow or some unidentified sense alerted her to another presence. She pivoted, hoping to catch sight of whomever dogged her steps, but saw only the usual assortment of white-robed men. Deschamp probably has someone watching me. Once in the hotel, Jade ignored the desk clerk and gave a cursory glance to the lobby. Empty. She took the steps two at a time up to her room, feeling the need to think and sort everything out before deciding her next move. She didn’t have the chance. There on the desk was a typed note.

  Missed you in Azilah. Come into Marrakech to the Jemaâ el-Fna and come alone.

  The note was signed with a picture of a full moon eclipsing the sun. The picture troubled Jade, but not nearly as much as knowing that Jemaâ el-Fna translated into “the Square of the Dead.”

  CHAPTER 5

  One would expect the Moroccan peoples to be upset about handing over a major

  port city to foreign interests. But it may be the Sultan’s way of herding the

  scum into one location and keeping the majority of the infidels out of the

  rest of the country. All things considered, it is not a bad plan.

  —The Traveler

  A MOON ECLIPSING THE SUN. Jade’s right hand went to her skirt pocket and retrieved the charm she’d pulled from the owl pellet. They matched. She’d taken the trinket out of the owl pellet as a curiosity, the mouse
’s attraction for something shiny perhaps having drawn the owl’s attention. At the time it merely struck her as an ironic lesson, applicable to human greed and demise. And now? Now it took on a far more sinister meaning. Whoever had hidden in the tunnel had waited for her. I took the left fork. That’s why they missed me. Jade hadn’t followed the dead man’s signal. She’d followed the voices instead.

  Then who were the people she had heard talking in the left tunnel? Were they connected in any way to her mother’s abduction or to the Moroccan’s murder? Did the charm belong to one of them? It could have fallen from a man’s watch fob, a woman’s bracelet, or it may have even been a protective talisman worn by the dead guide. If the latter, Jade thought, it ended up being as useless as a lucky rabbit’s foot was to the rabbit.

  One thing seemed certain. Someone in the right tunnel had something to do with her mother’s disappearance. This note in her room proved that. Someone had wanted her to take the right-hand fork. She hadn’t; they had waited, then left. Probably hauled the dead man back with them. She imagined them toting the corpse back to the hotel, perhaps pretending the man was drunk rather than dead. That alone told her they were not waiting to warn her. Was she supposed to be kidnapped, too, or were they going to demand ransom? Whatever the question, the answer waited in Marrakech.

  Jade ransacked her and her mother’s belongings for anything of value that she could use to barter for her mother’s freedom. It didn’t amount to much, just her mother’s opal necklace and earrings. She rolled the results in some dark hosiery and shoved it in a carpetbag along with a clean dress for her fastidious mother. Then she exchanged her filthy skirt for a pair of trousers, decided that might be too scandalous for the Moroccans, and pulled her old ambulance corps skirt out of her trunk to wear over them.