Death in Kenya (18 page)

Lisa made no comment, but Victoria saw her eyes widen in surprise and become fixed and intent. Gilly wagged his head sagely and helped himself to yet another drink, and Drew said curtly: ‘Haven't you had enough of that?'

‘Enough of what?' demanded Gilly. ‘Women – or Em's whisky? If the former, certainly. But no one can have too much of Em's whisky. First because it's good, and secon'ly because it's Em's; on the house!
Prosit!
'

He took a deep gulp, and lowered his voice to a confidential undertone: ‘Ever struck you, Drew, that all the time Greg was talking about alibis for Em, he hadn't noticed that no one else has one either? You, for instance. You say you went off home when you left me. Did you? Mabel says she was picking pineapples. Oh yeah? Hector walked home by the path that runs along the top of the shambas – so he says. Eden's supposed to have been driving around somewhere, and Lisa's wandering round the tomato patch. But is there an alibi in the bunch? Not on your life!'

Drew said amiably: ‘That's quite a point. We might start with you. Can you prove one?'

Gilly looked startled. ‘Prove what?'

‘That you sat on that lump of concrete for half an hour or so and didn't hear a thing?'

Gilly put down his empty glass hurriedly. ‘Here! Who says I didn't hear anything? I heard Em playing – I heard that damned concerto of Toroni's.'

‘That's what
you
say. But Em had already told us what it was that she had been playing, and the evidence of three of her servants confirmed it. You might have decided to use that information as an alibi for yourself. Or you might still have heard it, but from a good deal nearer! See what I mean? So if I were you I'd lay off all these heavy hints that various people are in need of alibis. Because the obvious inference is that they must each have had a reason for wishing Alice dead, and that you know it. Which is dangerous bunkum.'

‘But I do——' began Gilly. And stopped. He made a nervous grab at his glass, and then changed his mind and pushed it away so violently that it toppled off the table and splintered into pieces on the verandah floor.

Lisa said briskly and with a trace of satisfaction in her voice: ‘Now look what you've done! That's one of Em's crystal set, and she won't be a bit pleased. Or do you think that if we just tiptoe away and leave her to find it she'll put it down to the poltergeist?'

She accompanied the remark with a high-pitched tinkling laugh; but her face as she bent to pick up the broken pieces was white and frightened, and Victoria, stooping to help her, saw that her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

A light clicked on in the dining-room behind them, and a warm yellow glow fell across the verandah from the windows and the open door. And instantly it was evening no longer, but dusk: the garden shadowy with nightfall and the sky already sprinkled with pale stars.

Lisa deposited the bits of broken glass on the tray and said: ‘Would you tell your aunt that it was an accident, and that we're so sorry? Oh, and she did say something about a picnic on the twenty-ninth. It was arranged before – before anything happened of course, so it may not be on. Would you ask her to let me know about it, because I'm afraid we must rush. Drew, you're coming over to collect those papers, aren't you? You'd better stay to supper as it's so late. It's only ourselves and Ken Brandon. He's rather in a state, poor boy, and it might take his mind off things if we had some bridge.'

Drew said firmly: ‘No thank you, Lisa. An evening spent coping with an adolescent who is “in a state” is not in my line. Besides, I must get back.'

‘Don't blame you,' said Gilly feelingly. ‘Good night, Victoria.' He nodded absently at her and followed his wife down the steps and out into the violet dusk.

Victoria watched them go, and then turned to look at Mr Stratton, who had not moved. She was unaware that at that moment her face was as white and as frightened as Lisa's had been – or Gilly's. But Drew, looking down at it, was unaccountably disturbed.

He said abruptly: ‘You're scared, aren't you.'

‘A – a little,' admitted Victoria. And having admitted it was immediately aware of a diminution of that fear.

‘Of what?'

‘I don't know. The house – the things that have happened in it. But you don't believe in ghosts, do you?'

‘Not in this one,' said Drew grimly. ‘That is, if you're referring to the poltergeist.'

‘I don't either. It all sounds too——'

She hesitated, wrinkling her brows, and Drew said: ‘Too unghostly?'

‘I was going to say, “too planned”; as though someone had worked it all out very carefully to a – a sort of pattern. I think that is what is frightening.'

‘Why? Because you think that no African would have planned something like this and carried it through? If that's what you think, you're wrong. It's just the sort of tortuous scheme that would appeal to them. But there's nothing to be afraid of now, for if there ever was a plan, or a pattern, Mrs DeBrett's death completed it. It's finished.'

He had spoken with complete confidence, but almost before the words were out of his mouth he realized with a sudden sense of shock that he did not believe them. How could anyone assert with confidence that Alice's death had put an end to the things that had happened at
Flamingo,
while her killer was still at large?
It is only the first killing that is difficult.
Greg had said that only yesterday …

A bird fluttered among the hanging creepers at the verandah edge, and Drew saw Victoria start at the sound and bite hard on her under-lip; and was surprised to find himself suddenly and savagely angry. With Em for bringing the girl out here. With Eden for permitting it. With Greg and Gilly and Lisa for frightening her. And most of all with himself – for caring whether they did or not!

11

Breakfast was barely over on the following morning when young Mr Hennessy and his police askaris descended upon
Flamingo.

Em interviewed them briefly on the verandah and dismissed them to the kitchen quarters and the labour lines in charge of Eden, there to pursue their enquiries into the disappearance of Kamau and a pair of scarlet dungarees.

An hour later Gilly had appeared with a batch of files, and she retired with him into the office, having refused her niece's offer of assistance.

Victoria, left to her own devices, fetched a hat and went out to explore the garden, and she had been following a narrow path that wound through bushes of bougainvillaea, plumbago and orange trumpet flower when she came suddenly upon a stranger. A middle-aged woman in a green cotton dress who wore a battered wide-brimmed double terai hat jammed down over a riot of grey curls, and who appeared to have lost something, for she was bending down and peering anxiously about her.

‘Can I help?' enquired Victoria.

The woman jumped violently, and said in a breathless voice: ‘Oh dear, how you startled me! I believe there's a puff adder in there. They are such dangerous creatures. You must be Victoria. I used to know your parents – oh, years ago. You wouldn't remember me. I'm Mabel Brandon. Our place,
Brandonmead,
is just over there——' She gestured vaguely to the west with one hand and began to move on down the path, still talking, so that Victoria had perforce to follow her:

‘We have a sort of mutual right-of-way between
Flamingo
and our land,' said Mrs Brandon. ‘It saves us going miles by road. There's a track that runs right round this side of the lake across at least a dozen estates. I believe it used to be a game track once. There was any amount of big game in the valley when we first came here. Rhino and lion and buffalo, and even elephant. But of course they're gone now. Just as well really. It would have made farming impossible. Of course lions still come over sometimes from the Masai territory, though they get killed off very quickly. I believe one was seen at Crater Lake only last year. We must take you there. Em said something about a picnic. But she will have cancelled that of course.'

Mrs Brandon had quickened her steps as she talked and now she was walking quite briskly. Almost as though she did not want Victoria to linger among the bushes and was hurrying her away from them, talking trivialities to distract her attention from the fact.

The path took a sharp downward curve and came out upon a long belt of open ground, where a narrow trolley line ran parallel with the shamba and carried the heavy piles of maize and vegetables and bananas up to the higher ground where the
Flamingo
lorries were loaded. Mrs Brandon paused irresolutely and murmured something about running up to see Gilly.

‘He won't be there,' volunteered Victoria. ‘He's up at the house with Aunt Em.'

‘Oh,' said Mrs Brandon doubtfully. ‘Well perhaps I might call in there: just for a minute or two. No, don't let's go back that way——' She left the path and struck upwards again, following the trolley line, and they came out among a grove of acacias, one of which was being cut up and converted into charcoal.

Mrs Brandon sat down on the fallen trunk, and removing her hat, fanned her hot face with it and enquired conversationally if Victoria was glad to be back in Kenya, and how did she find Em? ‘Personally,' said Mrs Brandon, ‘I don't think that she is looking at all well. But then all this has been a terrible blow to her. And now I hear that one of her boys has run off. Kamau.' She paused expectantly, but receiving no reply went on to ask what Mr Gilbert had made of Wambui's story.

‘What story?' asked Victoria innocently.

Mrs Brandon's pleasant face flushed and she shifted uncomfortably. But she was not to be deflected. ‘The one she told Lisa. That it was Em who had killed Alice. Quite ridiculous of course, but – well, it does raise a question, doesn't it? I was never
quite
sure that Em really liked Alice. And Africans are so quick to spot these things. They're very observant. If Kamau thought that Em disliked her, that might have put the idea into his head – that Em killed her. It would have seemed quite natural to him. The wish being father to the thought. If – if you see what I mean.'

‘No,' said Victoria, ‘I'm afraid I don't. Mr Gilbert says it's quite obvious that Kamau thought he saw her do it.'

‘But that's ridiculous!' protested Mrs Brandon.

‘Of course it is,' said Victoria cheerfully. ‘But Mr Gilbert thinks it was someone wearing the sort of clothes and hat that Aunt Em wears. He says it would have been the best possible disguise, as even a smaller person or a thinner one could have worn it, since no one would have looked twice.'

‘A thin person,' repeated Mabel stupidly. And suddenly sat bolt upright, struck by the same thought that had struck Greg Gilbert. ‘The cushion! So
that
was why— ! Oh no, it isn't possible. It isn't!'

‘What isn't possible?' enquired Victoria, puzzled.

‘Prints,' said Mabel confusedly. ‘It wasn't a plain one. It——' She seemed suddenly to recollect herself, and stopped short, biting her lip, and presently smiled a little stiffly and said: ‘It's difficult to know what to think, isn't it? One does not like to think that one's own servants may be under suspicion, and Em's have always been so staunch. It must be heartbreaking for her. For of course it must be one of the
Flamingo
servants. It could be no one else. What does Greg intend to do about it?'

‘I don't know,' said Victoria with perfect truth, and firmly changing the subject, enquired: ‘What are those odd looking mud heaps with smoke coming out of them?'

‘Charcoal,' said Mabel briefly. ‘Does Em think——'

‘
Charcoal?
But it's mud and turf!'

‘The charcoal is inside,' explained Mabel patiently. ‘When a tree dies we cut it up into lengths and then put mud all over it in a huge mound – all those trenches are where the earth and turf were dug out – and when it's covered a slow fire is started at one end which burns away for weeks, and when that's out the charcoal is ready. They're really sort of home-made kilns. Does your aunt think that whoever murdered Alice was really wearing a pair of her dungarees? I mean, surely she must know if a pair is missing? It wouldn't be easy to steal them.'

Victoria gave it up. ‘But there is a pair missing,' she said, resigning herself. ‘And Aunt Em says it would have been quite easy for anyone who wanted a pair to take them off the washing line. I had a look this morning, and it would. In fact you could have had one yourself today if you'd felt like it. That path you were on passes it quite close.'

‘Oh,' said Mrs Brandon, momentarily disconcerted. ‘Yes, I suppose it would be possible. It's very careless of Em to have her lines where she can't see them. It encourages pilfering. But the hat – is one of her hats missing too?'

‘I don't think so. But one floppy hat would look exactly like another in the dusk, wouldn't it?'

Mrs Brandon's gaze fell on the wide-brimmed double terai she held, and she dropped it as though it had stung her, and then stooped hurriedly and picked it up. She jammed it back on her dishevelled curls and stood up, and said in a rather breathless voice: ‘It's dreadfully hot here, isn't it? All those kilns— Shall we go back to the house? Em may have finished with the office work by now, and I should like some shandy.'

She led the way between the acacia trees, and across a waste of parched grass strewn with rough lava boulders towards a green belt of trees and bamboos that screened the gardens; and on arrival at the house went off to telephone her husband.

Victoria departed in search of cold drinks and discovered Eden in the dining-room similarly employed – though he appeared to favour something stronger than shandy.