The Crocodile's Last Embrace (28 page)

“And did he also examine Mutahi’s corpse?”

“Who? Oh, the Kikuyu eaten by the crocodile. No. Corpse too far gone to tell much of anything, there. Brought in another military doctor. He ruled it an accidental death by crocodile.” Finch seemed to notice the constable still standing silently at attention. “You’re still here? Get the car round, man! We’re going to take a look at Dr. Dymant’s rooms to see if there’s any family we need to notify.”

“I’d like to go along,” said Jade, as the constable sped past her.

“And why the blazes should you?” demanded Finch.

“As I told you, I thought Dymant might have been the man who tried to kidnap Cyril. I suppose I’m looking for evidence to prove he was or wasn’t.”

Finch raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? You were serious about that?” He rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger, considering her request. “Oh, the devil! Come along then.”

Jade followed on her motorcycle as they drove towards the Indian district. She had been there often enough, sometimes to buy trinkets for her parents, once to photograph the area for her magazine. While the streets weren’t as mazelike as in Morocco, they still reminded Jade of the souks in Marrakech with their exotic costumes, faces, smells, and sounds. The narrow streets were thronged with humanity as women in colorful saris pulled dusky children in shorts or in tunics past the roughly built shops and residences. The melodic intonations of Hindustani dominated over English, and the scent of sweat collided with sandalwood incense.

Extended families lived crowded in the backs of stores under some of the meanest conditions. The British citizens had expressed disgust at the Indian slums but offered very little in the way of an alternative. The city government still denied the Indians any land in the upland area away from the swamplands. Most Europeans avoided the interior of the district, especially in light of the plague incidents. Dymant had made the same choice as far as his residence went.

Finch’s driver stopped at the shop of Harisingh Valjee, a block off Government Road. Several Europeans who’d been doing last-minute business at the store stopped and stared as first Finch and the constable got out of their vehicle and then as Jade parked her motorcycle just inside the alleyway.

“He took rooms upstairs of this shop,” said Finch, handing a key to the constable. “Close enough to get to his patients, but far enough to avoid the hazards of living among them. At least, that’s what he thought.”

The constable opened the door at the end of the building and held it for Finch and Jade. Jade followed the inspector up a steep, narrow flight of stairs to a short hallway. He went past the first door, which opened into the shopkeeper’s home, and headed for Dymant’s flat at the rear of the building. They waited while the constable fetched a spare key from Mr. Valjee and opened the door. The building was wired for electricity, but the lone, bare ceiling bulb was weak and fitful.

“Please do not touch anything, Miss del Cameron,” said Finch. “You are here to look only. And to answer any questions I might care to ask you.” He turned away from her and walked into the front room, which served as both a study and a parlor. He lifted the desktop. “Kept his keys in the desk. Trusting chap.”

Jade went inside, her gaze taking in the simple appointments: one easy chair and a threadbare ottoman sat next to a small coal stove for heating the room on cold nights. A rolltop desk and wooden chair stood in an opposite corner. The wall facing the stove sported a barrister bookcase, nearly empty, and an end table beside the chair held one brass oil lamp. Finch struck a match and lit the lamp to add more light. There were no papers atop the desk, just a blotter and a pen-and-ink holder. Jade turned back to the bookcase, noting that a key also sat in the lock, and silently read the book spines: A King James Bible, a tome on tropical diseases, a Hindustani language booklet, and one anatomy text. A tall, leather-bound book propped up the others.
Photograph album?

“Not many books, but about what one would expect a missionary doctor to have, I suppose,” she said. Or were they chosen for that very reason? She longed to flip through them and see if there were any hidden notes tucked in the pages. “His other medical books must be in his office. The album might hold a clue to his family.”

“Gardner,” barked Finch to the constable, “see to that album.”

“Sir!” said Gardner. He opened the case and pulled out the book.

Jade looked over his shoulder long enough to see that there were only photographs of India in it. She peered into the second room and saw, in the gloom, a plain-looking bed, a washstand with an old-fashioned pitcher and ewer, and several open-fronted shelves of clothing. A small door near the washstand led to a tiny lavatory. Stepping in, she noted a dressing gown hanging on a hook, but left checking any pockets to Finch. She didn’t want to risk being tossed out before finding out anything she wanted to know.

Instead, she scanned the clothing on the shelves, noting several pairs of trousers and socks on the bottom shelf and a large assortment of shirts on the upper next to a stack of men’s drawers and undershirts. A shaving kit sat by the ewer. There was nothing in this room to give any insight into Dymant’s personal life. Both rooms were windowless and dismal. Jade rejoined Finch in the parlor and found him rummaging systematically through the desk.

“Have you found anything?” she asked.

“Such as?”

“I believe you said you were looking for the names of relatives.” When Finch didn’t answer, Jade tried another approach. “Perhaps he kept addresses and other information like that at his office. There aren’t any medical supplies here, so he must not have been operating out of his parlor.”

Finch slammed a drawer shut. “Thank you for that sterling bit of detective work, Miss del Cameron. I can assure you that I intend to go there as soon as I am finished here.” He glared at her as though daring her to interrupt him again. Jade leaned against the doorframe and waited, her hands in her pockets.

But her eyes and mind weren’t idle. She watched Finch’s face as he leafed through every folder, journal, box, and book. The man was fairly inscrutable. Other than showing some impatience, he gave no evidence of surprise or interest.

“His personal calendar is all but blank,” Finch said, slapping it shut. “Engaged to dine with Reverend Wright in two days. Nothing more. I suppose I should notify him. At least to say prayers at his burial.”

“How far away is Dymant’s office?” Jade asked.

“A mere walk around the corner,” said Finch. “Valjee rented out two rooms in a building just behind the store. Mathews should be finished. We might as well go there now. There’s nothing here.”

Leaving Gardner to lock up the flat, Jade and Finch hastened to the office. The door opened as they arrived and they were met by Dr. Mathews. Jade thought he looked more drawn and tired than when she’d last seen him. She noticed that he was meticulously dressed, including a pair of white gloves, lightly soiled from examining the corpse.

“Ah, Mathews,” said Finch. “Finished with the examination?”

“Yes. I was just on my way to your office to relay my report. Too tired to sit and type it myself.” He yawned. “The mortician has taken the body away in a coffin. All that can be done for him is to put him in the ground as quickly as possible before he becomes—how shall I say it?—unbearable.” He looked at Jade. “I can’t say that I approve of your bringing a young lady here, Inspector, even one as inquisitive as Miss del Cameron. She should not be subjected to the smells inside there.”

“Is he contagious?” asked Jade.

“No, Miss del Cameron. He is not, nor is the room. Plague is carried by flea bites, or in the case of pneumonic, it seems to go by air. This man had the septicemic variety.”

“What is the difference?” Jade asked.

“Any form can become septicemic if it enters the blood, but in his case, it began there. Most likely either from a knife wound I found in his thigh or one on his forearm. The former was a deep enough stab to make it very hard to wash clean. But in any case, he had no fleas on him to leave behind. You are both quite safe, though I would advise burning the rug in the surgery. There looks to be old blood on it.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

“You look like hell, Mathews,” said Finch. “Time to stop galloping all over the colony and leave that to the younger men.”

“Perhaps you are right, Inspector,” Mathews said. He looked at Finch. “But that is not for me to determine. You know how superiors are. I merely go where I am told to go, when I am told. I’m glad that they didn’t need me at Fort Hall and sent me home earlier than usual.”

Finch snorted. “Indeed. Well, I shan’t call on you again today. Go home.” The inspector held out his right hand, but Mathews merely made a lazy salute instead of taking it. “Are you certain you won’t reconsider, Miss del Cameron? I could see you home, or call for a rickshaw for you.”

“I’ll be fine, Doctor.” She smiled to reassure him.

Mathews bowed briefly to Jade, took two steps, paused, and turned back. “I nearly forgot. I suppose that’s an indication of just how tired I am. But I recall Miss del Cameron telling me that this Dr. Dymant thought he knew me. Before I left for my recent tour of the native villages, I perused my albums from my medical school days. I found a Dymant listed a year behind me, but this wasn’t him.”

Jade stifled the urge to question him, knowing it would only rile Finch, and she didn’t want to risk being sent home.

“You’re quite certain?” asked Finch.

“Absolutely,” said Mathews. “Mind you, this man had bled a great deal under the skin, so he was quite blackened in spots and very nasty to look at. But the Dymant in
my
album was taller and more slender. He might have put on weight, but unless this man found a way to shorten his height, it’s simply not the same Dymant. Perhaps a cousin? I only tell you this because I thought I might be able to help with your search for living relations. But I’m afraid I cannot.”

Finch and Jade stepped inside the office, and Jade immediately winced at the stench of death unalloyed by any cleaning. The front room of the two-room suite was a waiting area with three plain wooden chairs lined up along one wall. In front of the chairs lay a threadbare carpet, once brightly colored before countless dirty sandals and feet had ground it down to muted tones. The rest of the room was bare of decoration except the thin cotton cloth that served as a curtain over the lone window. Its saffron color lent a jaundiced glow to the room as the final rays of late-afternoon sun filtered through.

“Dymant was found in his examining room,” said Finch as he pushed aside a matching curtain separating the two rooms and turned on the single light. The putrid stench increased as the partition between the surgery and the waiting area was moved.

Jade soldiered on through, disturbed not so much by the odor as by the memories that it conjured: soldiers in muddy trenches side by side with horror. While she’d carried only the living wounded in her ambulance, she’d driven close enough to the front lines to become familiar with the sight and smell of rot that clung leechlike to the living. A stained throw rug told her that Dymant had not only fallen and died there, but lain there long enough to leave his mark. She ignored it and moved on to examining the surgery.

A bookcase matching the one in his parlor stood in a back corner, filled with medical books. Two chairs and a low, strong table occupied the room’s center, and a sturdy rolltop desk and chair dominated the other back corner. Dymant’s open medical bag sat atop the barrister bookcase. The side wall held a rudely constructed set of shelves, filled with chemicals, powders, bandages, gauze, and other medical accoutrements one expected to see. Jade studied each of the glass vials, looking for anything that resembled her poisoned tea.

“Right,” said Finch. “We’ll have at that desk, I suppose.”

The desk was unlocked, the key still resting in the lock. Finch heaved up the top, revealing a jumble of papers and a leather-bound volume. “Doctor’s log,” he announced, reading the ledger. “ ‘Catarrh, catarrh, lesions, bad teeth.’ ” He flipped past the remaining blank pages and slammed the book shut. “Nothing of interest in there.” He riffled the loose papers, scanning them as he went. “Bills pending or receipts, mostly the former. Can’t say he was making a living as a doctor.”

Jade watched as Finch pulled open a drawer. She had no idea what to expect. Obviously no one would write,
Kidnap Thompsons’ child
or
Poison Jade’s tea
in an appointment diary. “Are all these handwritings the same?”

Finch looked up. “I have yet to find any letters addressed to him, if that is what you mean.” He continued looking at her, waiting for her to explain.

“Not entirely. Someone sent letters to me forged in the hand of a dead friend and also left notes forged in Lady Dunbury’s hand. If this man was behind it, then perhaps we’ll find evidence. Maybe an old letter he’d stolen to copy and practice.”

Finch frowned. “Just because Dr. Mathews cannot place this man doesn’t mean he’s behind those . . . pranks played on you.”

Jade’s sharp and sudden intake of breath sounded like a hissing snake. Finch paused suddenly as he pulled open a drawer. “My apologies. Poor choice of words,” he said. “Ah, here’s something.” He pulled out a stationery box and set it on the desk. “Might have some addresses written down in here. Siblings perhaps.” He removed the lid and tossed it aside. “Looks like he’d begun a letter and never gotten around to posting it. ‘My dearest . . . ’ ” he began, and abruptly stopped.

“What?” demanded Jade. She didn’t wait for him to continue, hurrying to his side to see for herself. “‘My dearest Jade!’” she read aloud. “‘You won’t have long to wait before I come to take you to join me forever.’” Jade took a half step back and faltered. “And look at the hand, Inspector. It’s not the same as on these billings. This is David’s hand.” She reached for the letter, but Finch stopped her, grabbing her by the wrist.