they seem to avoid me,” Louis said with a soft laugh. “Perhaps it is the smoke from my cigarillo. Meanwhile, remember your antimalaria pills, a must here in Africa.”
“I will, but for now—”
“Yes, go to your mosquito netting,” Louis said, “and as for me, I shall stay here a while longer and smoke.”
“Then good night,” Dana said. “I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe we can find that McQuire fellow.”
“Maybe,” Louis said softly. “Au revoir, chérie.”
He watched her walk away, enjoying the soft flow of her dress as it caressed her hips and the bounce of her hair on her shoulders. He’d found Dana lovely from the first moment, and it was no wonder that Alex felt the same. Alex, Louis thought, so precipitative and aggressive. Not the kind of man to let well enough alone.
Louis took a last drag on his cigarillo and drew the thick, pungent smoke deep into his lungs. Was there anything more pleasant, he wondered, than standing near the world’s most magnificent river, replete with good food and wine, as he watched the delicate movement of a beautiful woman walking through the night?
If there was, Louis couldn’t imagine.
He sighed deeply, turned toward the river and never noticed the barely perceptible movement of the high grass on the hillside. Nor did he hear the soft, deadly sound that followed. He only felt the sting, like that of a night insect, in the soft tissue of his neck. The pain came an instant later, causing him to grasp his throat with both hands, as he choked for breath.
Suddenly he knew—he understood! But it was too late. Louis sank to his knees, fell forward, hitting his head on the stone wall, and then crumpled to the ground and lay still.
* * *
“THIS IS NOT a good way to begin a day. Not good at all,” Police Sergeant Jean Luc Kantana confided dourly to Alex. “To be awakened at three in the morning to the news that crew members returning to the Congo Queen stumbled over a dead body. And then to discover it is the body of Louis Bertrand—”
Alex stared straight ahead, his face set like granite. His thoughts were dark, as they had been since the moment news had come to him that Louis’s body had been found. But he wasn’t about to console Kantana. The policeman wasn’t his problem.
“I’m not pleased myself to learn that my old friend is dead and the Stanley has been taken over by gendarmes.”
“All proper protocol will be observed, my friend,” Kantana assured. “We will, of course, question Porte Ivoire locals, but my instincts tell me...” The sergeant’s words faded as he looked around the hotel lobby where Alex had gathered the guests.
“You think the killer is in this group?” Alex regarded Kantana curiously. “Why would you suspect that?” He’d known Kantana for five years and hoped he could use that friendship to find out what was on the policeman’s mind.
Kantana answered obliquely. “Most murders in Porte Ivoire are easily solved. Two men fight in a bar over a woman. A woman knifes her philandering husband. This, I believe, is different from the usual local crime.”
“Louis was killed with a dart from a blowgun, Jean Luc. I would suggest that’s a local weapon.”
“Such paraphernalia can be purchased up and down the Congo by any of your guests. Or by you.” His smile was cool. “Everyone is a suspect, Alex. The death of a foreigner must be carefully investigated. And now, I must get to work.”
He stepped away from Alex and addressed the room. “Mesdames and messieurs. It is time to begin. Mademoiselle Baldwin, shall we start with you?”
Dana had struggled to control her shock, but her hands shook noticeably as she raised her coffee cup to her lips. “I was with him by the river,” she said softly, almost to herself. “We were talking, making plans—”
She broke off, aware of everyone’s eyes on her. Kantana’s were alert and probing, but his dark, handsome face revealed nothing.
“Plans?” His voice was deceptively soft and gentle.
Dana attempted to explain. “Tentative plans to find a guide to take me into Pygmy territory. We talked about going together. Maybe...” Her voice trailed off.
“I see.” Kantana nodded solemnly. “You have knowledge of the Mgembe?”
The room was still, the only sound a gentle whirring of the overhead fan. Alex leaned against the arched doorway of the lobby, his lanky body perfectly relaxed, one hand in his pocket. He’d passed up coffee and was sipping a cognac and watching Kantana, not Dana. Everyone else’s eyes seemed to be focused on her.
On a rattan love seat beside the door, Betty and Yassif sat side by side, staring at her, Betty’s face sharp and unfriendly, Yassif’s sleepy-eyed and sullen. Huddled quietly in a corner, Maurice Longongo watched her with his ferret eyes. Dana felt herself shiver involuntarily. Even Millicent, who had stopped her bustle to refill coffee cups, watched and waited.
“The Mgembe?” Kantana repeated.
“I was interested in them. Everyone knew that.” Her gaze took in the whole room. “But Louis seemed to be the most knowledgeable, and certainly he was the most helpful.”
Kantana scribbled on a pad. “Now Mademoiselle Baldwin, tell me please, at what time did you walk with Monsieur Bertrand by the river?”
“After dinner. I’m not sure.”
“Immediately after dinner?” Kantana pressed.
“No, I—” Dana hesitated, wondering whether or not to mention her encounter with Alex in the garden. She glanced quickly at him, but his eyes were still on the policeman.
“About ten o’clock,” Betty said with authority. “Yassif and I were returning to the hotel and saw them heading toward the river. I guess we’re witnesses.”
Dana shot her a surprised look. Witnesses?
Kantana made a careful note. “And how long did you remain with him?”
“Not long. The mosquitoes drove me away.” Dana remembered her farewell to Louis, the sound of his soft au revoir floating on the hot night air, and her eyes filled with tears. “Maybe if I’d stayed with him, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Millicent crossed to Dana’s chair and patted her on the shoulder. “There, there, dear. No one blames you for what happened to poor Louis.”
Maybe not, but Dana felt as if all of them, even Millicent, were skeptical. “He was your friend, too, Millicent.”
“Yes, he was, for many years,” she replied.
“I’m so sorry,” Dana offered.
“It’s not your fault.”
There it was again, the release from blame that was somehow damning.
“Why would anyone want to kill Louis?” Dana asked. “He was so sweet and gentle.”
“That’s
