“Of course,” Nenet said, and we stepped back outside. She pointed to a house several doors down. “It is the one with the trash in the yard.” She wrinkled her nose. “We ask Radwa to clean up, but he does not.”
The house was in a state of disrepair—I could see where corners of the foundation had begun to crumble, and the roof looked the worse for wear. I was sure a rainstorm of any size would cause an indoor flood. Stray bricks and other building materials littered the side yard.
We went back inside and chatted for a few more minutes. Nenet invited me to stay for dinner, but I declined. I didn’t want this kind woman to go to extra trouble simply because I had been nosy enough to appear on her doorstep. I did take her up on her offer to find a bit of grain for Bibi, after I explained that I had parked my horse in her yard. When I asked if I could leave Bibi for a while longer, she said it was no trouble. She even offered to take her back to the hotel for me, but I assured her I would return.
I just needed to wait until nightfall to go poking around Radwa’s house.
When Nenet realized I intended to stay in the village but had no destination, she insisted that I stay for dinner. I finally gave in, but on the provision that I help her in the kitchen. Together we made a delicious dish of grilled chicken, stewed vegetables, lentils, and flat bread. The spices were delicious, and I made a mental note to pick some up at the market to take home with me. We ate and chatted and had a lovely time together. Nenet was very easy to talk with, and the time slipped quickly away. By some unspoken agreement, we avoided mention of our marriages, and I was grateful she never brought up the scars she had seen.
Darkness fell, and I wished Nenet a warm good night. She wished me the best of luck. I could tell she was concerned about my plan for the evening, but she did not ask what it was. I left Bibi tied where she was, and Nenet promised to take good care of her until I returned.
A dim light shone from Radwa’s front window, so I moved around to the back of Nenet’s house and crept through her neighbors’ backyards. I was lucky no one kept a dog—the only animals I came across were a few disgruntled chickens, and they clucked their irritation at being disturbed from their roosts.
I slowed my steps as I neared Radwa’s house and kept to the dark angular shadows. The backyard was just as cluttered and unkempt as the rest of the yard, and I had to place my feet carefully to avoid tripping and making noise. The back windows beckoned, and I carefully sidled up beneath them, the area mercifully free of the debris and crates littering the rest of the yard. I positioned myself below a window and listened for several minutes.
The house was silent.
I popped my head up quickly, and, seeing no one in that first glance, I carefully poked my head up again to peer inside. I was looking into a room that was obviously used as storage. I could see through the kitchen to the front room—the setup largely the same as Nenet’s house. The room I stood outside of had several tall stacks of wooden crates, but I couldn’t see what was in them, or if there were any markings. The light was too dim and I wished I had thought to bring a flashlight.
A noise in the yard behind me dropped me into a crouch and I froze there, blood pounding. A brown chicken strolled by, contentedly scratching and clucking, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My pulse began to slow and I went back to peering through the window, straining to see.
The blow from behind came quickly and turned everything to black.
CHAPTER FORTY
I came to slowly, my eyes opening to complete darkness. In those first few moments, I worried that I was now blind, but as I tested my limbs, I realized I was tied up. And in a tight, dark space. My body immediately flew into a panic, and I struggled against the ropes that held my arms behind my back. My knees were near my chest, and my ankles were bound as well. I was curled into the fetal position and I could feel rough-hewn wood against my limbs—a packing crate. I’d been stuffed into a packing crate. Sharp slivers pierced my exposed skin as I struggled against the close walls.
Tears rolled freely down my face as I gagged against the rag packed into my mouth and tied behind my head. I continued to struggle for several moments as I rode the waves of panic that washed through me. I prayed my body would soon exhaust itself from pumping adrenaline into my system. After a time, I was able to clamp my eyes shut and direct all my focus to forcing long, slow breaths through my nose. My breathing eventually slowed somewhat, although my panicked thoughts continued to race, and it still felt as though something enormous was crushing my chest.
If I was going to survive, I needed to regain control.
It felt like an eternity, but was probably only half an hour before the adrenaline dump started to slow and I was able to start pulling myself together. I was still frightened, but I was able to order my thoughts, and I repeated calming phrases to myself like a mantra.
Footsteps.
As they drew closer, I could hear an argument taking place between two men, and I appeared to be the topic.
“What are we to do with the girl? Now that you have knocked her out?” a deep male voice hissed.
At least they hadn’t realized I was awake yet. I continued to take long, slow breaths as I considered whose voice it was. Judging by the thick accent and where I was found lurking, I guessed it was Radwa.
A sigh. “We’ll have to get rid of her. She was a delightful girl, but I’m afraid she knows too much.” I recognized that voice at once.
Colonel Stainton.
I felt a pinch somewhere around my heart. Apparently, I had still been harboring some hope that Redvers was wrong about the colonel. And smuggling was a far cry from assault and murder—it rocked me back to think he was capable of murdering me in cold blood.
At least he sounded regretful that he was planning on disposing of me.
“I don’t want to be part of another killing,” Radwa said. My heart stopped for a moment. Another killing?
“You had nothing to do with the first one,” the colonel sneered. “I took care of that on my own.”
“Your own daughter,” Radwa spat back at him.
I stopped breathing for a moment as my brain tried to process that bit of information, then started my long, slow breaths again. When the colonel said that I knew too much, I had assumed he meant the smuggling operation. Was Radwa really accusing the colonel of killing his own daughter? I waited for him to set the man straight. I wasn’t convinced that Zaki was responsible for Anna’s death, but someone else must have been.
“The little bitch got too greedy. Just like her mother. If she had gone on any longer, she would have ruined us all.” The colonel’s voice was cold and clipped. “Don’t get any ideas yourself.”
If it weren’t for the gag in my mouth, my jaw would have fallen open. The news that the colonel killed his own daughter did not bode well for my own fate—he would have no compunction about killing me if he could murder his own child. All the cheerful friendliness and warm feelings I had felt toward the man now left me cold. I never once suspected him capable of such a thing. Perhaps he had missed his calling on the stage, after all—he had given the performance of a lifetime as the grieving father.
The panic returned twofold—this time compounded by my imminent death. Tears rolled down my face, soaking my hair and shirt. My breathing became more and more shallow as the pressure increased on my chest, and then there was nothing.
* * *
When I awoke this time, it only took the span of a heartbeat to realize the men had loaded my crate onto some sort of vehicle. I could hear the loud rumble of an engine, and I felt the bumps and jostles of a pot-marked road. Fortunately, the panic stayed manageable this time—my body had either exhausted itself of adrenaline, or I was becoming used to my confinement. I pushed with my legs, praying that the noise of the engine would be enough to drown out whatever noises I made. Now was the time to see how well this crate was built.
I kicked as much as I was able—which wasn’t a lot. I was wedged in pretty well and lying on my side, but
I thought I could feel some movement of the wood as I violently bashed my knees into the slats before me. I paused between blows to gauge whether or not my captors could hear me, but the vehicle continued bouncing on. Blood soaked my pants where my knees were making contact, but I continued slamming them against the rough slats for all I was worth.
The next time I paused, I heard a scrape above me, and I froze, mouthing a silent prayer that my luck had held and my escape attempts hadn’t been noticed.
Luck was not on my side.
I could hear the creaking of my crate’s lid above the rumbling engine. The vehicle hadn’t so much as slowed, but I didn’t have time to wonder who might be waiting outside my wooden prison. Instead, I tried to position myself so that I could throw a good kick at them—whoever they were—but I couldn’t quite swing my legs free to make the turn onto my back.
The lid swung open, and I steeled myself for whatever came next.
It was Redvers.
My eyes filled with tears of relief, and a few slipped free. He pulled me into a crouch, and then quickly pulled down my gag, allowing me to suck in great gasps of air. My muscles had cramped in the box, and Redvers had to hold me steady for a moment so I didn’t fall back over. Once he was certain I was steady on my own, he went to work on the ropes binding my hands and ankles. As each was freed, I flexed them in relief as blood rushed back to my tingling extremities. They weren’t just asleep, they were in pain—Redvers had to help me stand and step out of my cell. Blood ran from my knees, and my entire body ached, but as soon I was free of the crate, I wrapped both arms around Redvers and squeezed hard—surprising myself nearly as much as him. I had never been so happy to see another person.
“We have to be quiet,” he whispered in my ear as we jostled against each other.
I wanted to tell him that he was the only one talking, but I was too relieved to argue with the man.
Now that I was free, I could see we were on the back of a small truck—it looked like a Model T. A small cab perched in front, where I assumed Colonel Stainton and Radwa were riding. Redvers and I were in a midsized bed with sturdy wooden slats on either side. The numerous crates stacked high behind us obscured the men’s view—my crate had been loaded last, allowing Redvers easy access to it.
“How did you find me?” I whispered, leaning close to his ear.
“I heard you banging in there. I’ve been following the colonel all day, and after they loaded the truck and started to drive, I managed to run up behind and climb on without them seeing me.”
“What were you going to do when they stopped?” I asked.
“I guess we’re going to find that out together.”
We were both crouched awkwardly beside my former cell. Redvers looked me over and pulled a handkerchief from a pocket of his dark robe. He wore a native galabieh instead of his usual suit, and as he handed me the handkerchief, I cocked an eyebrow at him in question. He motioned at my knees, and I took the cloth and did my best to mop up the bloody mess. The knees of my thin linen pants had torn away, and my ragged wounds were exposed. His handkerchief nearly soaked through before I decided it was a losing battle. I would have to deal with my numerous slivers and cuts later. I tossed the handkerchief over the back of the truck.
“Hey!” Redvers’ voice was a low, indignant whisper.
“Did you really want that back?”
He stared at the sky for a moment before shaking his head. I didn’t think he was answering my question.
“Do you know what’s in the other crates?” I asked.
“More antiquities would be my guess.” He moved to the other side of my crate, away from the end of the truck, and gestured that we should replace the cover.
We did our best to put the top back on and secure it, moving slowly to keep our noise to a minimum. I was surprised the men hadn’t heard Redvers cracking it open, but our luck had held there. When we were finished, Redvers returned to my side.
I took a moment to take in our surroundings as we bumped back and forth. We were heading into Cairo, and since it was the dead of night, very few people were out and about. As we reached the city limits, the truck slowed, and despite the improved roads, the truck continued to jostle us back and forth. Redvers moved to the very end of the truck bed and climbed over the back gate, motioning for me to do the same. My eyes widened, but I followed him. I was already bleeding from my cuts and scrapes, and I supposed a few more wouldn’t hurt. Whatever Redvers’ plan was, I knew it was going to be painful.
“When we take the next corner, jump,” Redvers said. “Bend your knees and try to roll.”
I gave him a look that told him how enthusiastic I was about his plan, but I prepared myself just the same. When the truck careened around the next corner, crates sliding to the left, Redvers let go of the truck, dropped to the ground, and rolled across the road behind. I gave a brief look to the heavens before doing the same, launching myself from the back of the truck.
I wasn’t nearly as graceful as Redvers, and felt my pants give way in a few more places. I lay on the road for a moment and evaluated my person—nothing broken, but a multitude of new bruises and abrasions. When this was over, I wouldn’t be able to move for days. The truck continued on, the darkness of the street covering our escape.
“Are you okay?” Redvers helped me to my feet, looking me over.
Every part of my body cried out in pain. “I’ll live.” I tested my legs and evaluated my pants. More tears, but still not indecently. “Where are they headed?”
“To the docks, I believe.” He strode off in the direction the truck had disappeared, and I struggled to keep up with him, my battered body slowing me down. He glanced back at me, face softening, and slowed his pace, catching my elbow when I stumbled over my own feet.
“What’s your plan once we get there?” I asked. “To call the inspector? For once, I would like to talk with him—I heard the colonel confess to killing Anna.”
Redvers stopped short and I stumbled again, catching myself on his arm, but I continued talking. “We need to let the inspector know what I heard. Or maybe you should tell him. The inspector is not my biggest fan.”
“Colonel Stainton killed his own daughter?”
“I heard him tell Radwa.”
“Did—did he say why?” Redvers asked. He looked as disturbed as I felt about the matter. We were standing on a deserted sidewalk, and his words echoed slightly as they bounced off the mud brick buildings around us. “And who’s Radwa?”
“I think Radwa is the man we saw the colonel arguing with out at the pyramids. I was at his house when they captured me—that’s where they were storing the smuggled artifacts. I wasn’t terribly clear on why he killed Anna, but he mentioned that she had gotten greedy.”
Redvers sighed as he cast his eyes around us. “We need to find a telephone.” I cocked an eyebrow. “I thought we were going after a man who was simply a smuggler. But if he killed his own daughter, he’s much more dangerous than I thought.”
“It doesn’t seem like anything is open.” I surveyed the block myself. We had dropped into an area near the docks that was primarily businesses. Businesses that were closed for the night. Nothing but darkened windows to greet us. “How far is the police station? Perhaps we could make it there and bring the police back?”
Redvers considered the possibility. “It’s probably a thirty-minute walk from where we are now.” He eyed my torn pants. “Are you in any shape to make it that far?”
My answer was interrupted by the crate-laden truck careening around the corner toward us.
We had spent too much time debating our next move, and those precious minutes had given the colonel and Radwa time to discover that the first crate on their truck bed, the one that I had been bundled into, was now empty.
There would be no time for phoning the police.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
A shot pinged off the building nearest me, and Redvers and I both ducked, heads turning toward the sound. The colonel was h
anging out the window of the truck, gun pointed decidedly in our direction. The truck came to a screeching halt and the colonel fumbled his door open as we ran for the dark alley running between the squat buildings. I nearly ran headlong into a wooden cart parked just around the corner. Redvers caught my arm as I stopped short and tried to keep my feet under me.
“Where is everyone getting these guns from?” I hissed.
Redvers ignored me. “Get under there. I’ll draw their attention.”
There wasn’t time to argue as I tucked myself beneath the cart. He took off at a brisk jog, continuing farther along the shadowy alleyway, dodging obstacles as he went. I tried to make myself as small as possible in the darkness behind the sturdy wooden wheel, and I held my breath as I watched two pairs of men’s feet sprint past. They slowed slightly when the first pair tripped over something metal, a large crash and a shout bouncing off the narrow walls.
They continued away. Radwa and the colonel were close behind Redvers, but not so close that they realized we had split up.
I appreciated the gallant effort Redvers was making on my behalf, drawing the men away from me. However, if he thought I would wait quietly while these two men killed him and then doubled back to look for me, he was mistaken.
When the footsteps sounded suitably distant, I unfolded myself from beneath the cart, feeling every bruise and ache from the day. But I had no time to baby my injuries.
I had two choices as I saw it; I could go after the men, or try to find a phone and contact the police.
Finding a phone would take too much time.
I moved in the direction the men had gone, looking for something I could use as a weapon. The alley appeared to be a dumping ground for broken bits and pieces of trash. Discarded crates with vegetable remnants and broken glass littered the ground, and when I stepped in something wet and decidedly squishy, I closed my eyes rather than look at what it was. I would add my shoes to the list of lost causes.
I started to feel frantic. I couldn’t find anything to use as a weapon, even though the farther I moved down the alley, the more trash I was stepping through. I expected to find a bit of pipe or a piece of metal I could wield, but no such luck. I headed back the way I came, hoping that Redvers was faster on his feet than either Colonel Stainton or his compatriot.
Murder at the Mena House Page 23