introduce you?” Dana was curious about that.
Betty bristled. “Yassif and Millicent? Of course not, he’d never be seen with someone like her.”
“I saw them together on the Congo Queen, several times.” A little perverse of her to mention that, Dana realized, but she couldn’t resist.
“And I saw you talk with Louis. Yet you and he weren’t friends, or so you say.” Betty raised her eyebrows meaningfully.
“Give it a rest, Betty.” That was Alex, appearing at the doorway. “You’re not going to get a story out of this.”
“That’s what you’re after?” Dana asked, confronting Betty. “You want to write about Louis’s death!”
She shrugged. “Why not? A good juicy murder is certainly more interesting than a piece about wildlife of the Congo.”
Dana couldn’t control her disgust. Betty was thinking about this whole horrible episode as a magazine story and had no feelings at all for poor Louis, dead less than twelve hours. Dana mentally took off the gloves. Betty wasn’t going to get any sympathy from her.
Apparently, no one would get sympathy from Alex, who leaned against the lobby doorway, his face unreadable. Dana avoided his eyes, but Betty glared angrily at him. Then she was called by Kantana, and Dana was left alone with Alex.
She felt awkward and uncomfortable around him, with the remembrance of their scene in the garden fresh in her mind. But there was something else going on that she couldn’t put her finger on. He seemed to be studying her intently, as if he was sizing her up. Could he possibly think she was involved in Louis’s death?
Deciding that the best defense was a strong offense, she asked, “Did you go directly to your office last night after you left me in the garden?”
“Playing detective, Dana?”
“I’ve been wondering about that,” she replied. Which was true. She was curious about Alex and where he’d been while she and Louis were by the river. He easily could have followed them.
Alex strolled to the buffet table and poured a cup of coffee. “I’ll answer your question because I have nothing to hide—unlike some of the guests.” His smile was ingenuous. “After our rendezvous in the garden where you obviously misunderstood my overtures of friendship—”
Dana gritted her teeth at his cynical misrepresentation of the episode.
“—I went to my office, spurned and saddened, to bury myself in work.” His eyes sparkled with humor as he watched her surprised reaction. “Good story, isn’t it? In fact, I don’t have an alibi, but neither do you. And you were the last to see Louis alive,” he added softly.
Dana quickly defended herself. “But you were the one who argued with him.”
Before Alex could respond, the office door opened and Betty emerged. The supercilious look on the redhead’s face caused Dana’s heart to sink; it was a look that bore her no goodwill.
An aide ushered Dana into Alex’s office to face the sergeant. Her knees were shaky, and her heart was pounding like a drum. For no reason! She had nothing to be afraid of.
Kantana sat behind Alex’s desk looking solemn and official. The tall, sullen-looking officer dressed in khaki stood behind Kantana staring straight ahead. The sergeant gestured to a straight-backed chair. Dana sank onto it, wiping her damp palms against her shorts. What more could he ask her? What more could she tell him? The silence became ominous and oppressive. And when Kantana finally spoke to her, she jumped at the sound of his voice.
“Do you know what this is, mademoiselle?
Dana leaned forward to look at what he held in his hand. She recognized it immediately, a long wooden tube, intricately carved. She recalled pictures in her father’s notes, descriptions of an ancient weapon still used by the Pygmies. What Kantana held in his hand was a blowgun.
“I know what it is, but I’ve never seen that one before.”
“Ah, yes.” Kantana put down the weapon and carefully touched his fingertips together, forming a kind of tent with his elegant hands. He leaned back in his chair and spoke in a low voice. “Then how, mademoiselle, do you explain its presence in your room?”
Dana couldn’t believe the question. “You couldn’t have found that in my room. I’ve never seen it in my life!”
“But it was found in your room, mademoiselle.”
“No. There’s been a mistake. That isn’t mine. Someone else left it in the room, maybe a previous guest—”
“No,” the sergeant said crisply. “I have interviewed the maid on your floor. She cleaned the room thoroughly before you moved in. There was nothing, certainly not a weapon. No blowgun.”
Dana was totally confused. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Sergeant. Are you trying to say that this blowgun, which you claim was found in my room, was the weapon that killed Louis?”
“I cannot positively say that. But here are the facts. A dart from a blowgun killed Monsieur Bertrand. Such a gun was found in your room. And you deny any knowledge of it.”
“I certainly do!” Dana’s confusion had turned to anger. “Your accusation is absurd. I hardly knew Louis Bertrand and had no reason to kill him, certainly not with a blowgun. I’ve never touched such a weapon, never even seen one. As far as I’m concerned, this interview is over.”
She started to get to her feet, only to be stopped by a quick move from the aide, whom Kantana controlled with a nod of his head.
“This is...ludicrous,” Dana insisted, even as she sat back down, adding defiantly, “you’re accusing the wrong person, and you’re going to be very sorry.”
He raised skeptical eyebrows. “Oh, do you think so? I show you further evidence, mademoiselle.” He placed a stack of notebooks and papers on the desk. “Detailed notes on the Pygmies. It would seem that you came very well prepared.”
Dana’s anger was replaced by a deep dread. “Those are my father’s notes. He knew about the Pygmies, not I.”
“But you brought them with you,” Kantana said smoothly.
“That was my choice.” She felt suddenly invaded, and she refused to put up with it.
“Not if murder was the result. Now tell me, why did you bring the notes with you?”
Dana chose her words carefully. “I am a language teacher, a professor specializing in rare and exotic tongues. For that reason, my father’s work with the Mgembe interested me. When I had a chance to travel a route he’d taken years before, naturally, I jumped at the opportunity.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “There’s nothing illegal about that.”
“Certainly not,” Kantana agreed. “But it is interesting, to say the least, that both you and Monsieur Bertrand shared a fascination with the Mgembe, that you carried with you notebooks filled with information on the Pygmies, and that he was killed in a way that they are known to murder.” He held up the weapon.
“I didn’t have a blowgun—either that one or any other!” she cried adamantly. “We’ve just arrived here. Where would I have found one?” She knew the answer to that question even before it was out of her mouth.
“In the market. When you went shopping with Mademoiselle Kittredge. She tells me that you were not together throughout that trip.”
“Well, no, we weren’t. I was tired and—” Dana realized that the overly friendly Millicent had passed on information that could seem incriminating. “But I didn’t buy a blowgun then or ever. Even if I had, how do you suggest I poisoned the tip?”
“The poison is also readily available, alas,” he replied with apparent sadness.
“And of course, I know exactly