Page 55 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Road Kill

Chiwara carvings are neat, aren’t they? I think I’ll get a couple for my
folks.”
“Ah, don’t bother,” Durer sneered. “They’re all fakes. Save your
money for a good meal back home. The only souvenir I want from
Jolibana is an exit stamp in my passport.”
Labelle Gramercy nodded, giving a fair impression of youth
receiving wisdom from an elder. “Well, thanks, Mr. Durer. I’ll
remember that. Good night, all.” She raised her rather prominent
eyebrows at me as she turned toward the door.
“Oh, Miss Gramercy,” I said. “I think you left your notebook in
my car. I’d better catch her, Lon. See you later.”
I ran after Labelle, who was striding rapidly out of the garden to
her motorbike.
“It’s not easy to keep up with you,” I said, huffing and puffing in
the humid air.
She put on her crash helmet and looked past me. “I’ve got to talk
to a few more people tonight. I’ll come by the embassy in the
morning and we can review the case. Would ten o’clock be good?”
“More people? What on earth for?”
“Not everyone in Falidougou was crazy about Sally Furth. But I’ll
tell you more in the morning. Good night, Mr. Tate. See you at ten,
right?”
I nodded mutely as she put the bike up on its kick stand and
pedaled the motor into loud sputtering life. Then she was off,
negotiating the corner in front of Durer’s villa like a professional
motorcycle racer.

<< 5 >>

I got to work early the next morning, anticipating a mass of cable
traffic concerning Miss Furth’s demise. Nothing outside the standard
procedures for this sort of case occurred, luckily, and I was able to
spend a few minutes briefing Ambassador Weatherall on the night’s
events. For his part, he had little to tell me about his evening at the
Hotel du Fleuve. Everyone in the international aid and development
community in Falidougou knew about the World Bank junket, and
Sally Furth could easily have learned at Len Durer’s party that the
ambassador was having a high-level night out with his fellow

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