She remembered that the official records had shown that Fossey was clearly being harassed for months before it happened. But there was no evidence of who it was.
Now if there was evidence uncovered pointing to who, the case could possibly be reopened. And perhaps the killers brought to justice.
However as they continued pushing forward through the forest, DeeAnn completely forgot in her excitement just how little political will there really was in Rwanda in seeing Dian Fossey’s case finally solved.
66
Finally, the path widened in front of them, revealing an area large enough for an old garden and even older dwelling behind it. Though not much bigger than the remains of the Fossey structure, this one was at least still standing. For the moment. The outside was composed of numerous different materials, from mismatched boards to sections of rusted sheet metal, all attached to form a large shanty.
No sooner had they emerged from the dense forest, when a pair of dark eyes appeared from a crooked doorway and shouted something in Kinyarwandan.
Everyone stopped and Janvier called back, with the only recognizable word being his name.
The loud male voice replied with a single syllable and the teenager turned around anxiously. “Please for you. Wait here. I will return very soon.”
All eyes watched Janvier as he approached the house. With hands raised, he spoke slowly and loudly. When he reached the door, it opened wide but not enough to let him in.
“I hope this guy actually knows something,” Caesare said.
“So do I,” Clay nodded. He looked at the forest surrounding them on all sides. “He may be in a world all his own here, in more ways than one.”
DeeAnn didn’t reply. Instead she and both primates watched in rapt attention as Janvier continued talking to the man. Several hand gestures motioned toward them followed by the boy shaking his head. Finally, the conversation ended and Janvier returned.
He smiled but didn’t say anything at first, leaving Caesare to lean forward with raised eyebrows.
“Annnd?”
“He doesn’t want to show you the books. But I tell him you are good people. He says five hundred dollars.”
“Five hundred?!” Caesare turned to Clay. “That’s some pretty serious inflation.”
Clay nodded. “Five hundred dollars, Janvier. And we see everything he has.”
The inside of the cabin looked even worse than the outside. Small gaps between wallboards left dozens of holes with the sun shining through. Along with the lack of insulation, there ironically seemed to be little air flow either. Providing a rather stuffy interior, the room was literally packed from corner to corner with discarded odds and ends. Surprisingly though, what looked to the three of them to be junk was relatively well organized.
The thin man had dark skin and appeared to be in his eighties. He eyed them cautiously while DeeAnn paged through one of the books. His face not hiding his irritation, he re-counted the bills in his hand several more times, making a few angry sounds while shuffling about the cabin.
Two other leather-bound books in front of DeeAnn were old textbooks, which she immediately pushed aside when she spotted the two she was looking for.
They were journals. Handwritten and faded, they were actual journals written in Dian Fossey’s own hand. And one, to DeeAnn’s stunned amazement, was the very journal she kept just before her death. Here. In possession of a recluse whom few probably even knew existed.
She looked up at John Clay, who was standing nearby, and barely managed to get the words out.
“This… is incredible.”
She dropped her eyes and continued reading while Clay held his breath in anticipation. “Is there anything useful?”
After several moments, DeeAnn nodded, squinting at a section of the faded script. “Yes. God, yes.” After finishing the page, she looked up again at him. “She knew exactly who was harassing her.”
“Enough to name them?”
DeeAnn smiled and continued nodding. After another page of reading, she stopped again, pushing a few loose pages back into place. “And there’s more.”
“More?”
DeeAnn glanced past Clay to the boy, and he took the hint.
“Janvier,” Clay said. “Would you mind leaving us for a moment? We’d like to speak privately.”
“Yes.” He spoke briefly to the old man again in Kinyarwandan and pushed through the door to where Caesare and the two primates played outside, waiting.
“John, it wasn’t just about the poaching,” DeeAnn said while reading. “That’s where it started… but it was only the beginning.” She flipped through more pages and remained quiet for several minutes. “She’d been fighting back against them for years, destroying their gorilla traps, which is when the harassment first began. Things in the middle of the night. Like her water supply being drained or rocks thrown through her windows.”
DeeAnn continued reading a couple more pages before she stopped and suddenly looked at Clay. “Over the years, things continued to escalate. But toward the end, less than a week before she died… she found something.”
“What?”
She flipped through more, scanning. “She doesn’t say specifically. Just that it was something odd, in the forest. But it looks like she told two people. A researcher back home, via letter. And a friend… in Kigali. Days before she died.”
“Did she say where this discovery was?”
DeeAnn’s lip curled, and she nodded. “Yes… she… did.”
Clay glanced up at the old man, who momentarily had his back turned. He quickly reached into his pocket and slipped something silently into DeeAnn’s hand.
“Hurry.”
Clay then turned around and walked to the door. The boy was standing under the structure’s flimsy overhang, watching Caesare and the primates. Dulce was halfway up a tree, and Dexter was quietly studying the forest behind them.
“Janvier,” Clay pushed the door out and stepped onto the porch. “How much to buy these books?”
Janvier looked surprised. He called to the old man who appeared in the doorway. When asked, the man’s eyes and face grew angry, and he snapped at Janvier in Kinyarwandan. He pointed at both Clay and Caesare, raising his voice even further.
Janvier was unprepared for the reaction. He spoke quickly to calm the man down but to little effect. He turned to Clay, nervously. “He say the books are not for sale. And we must leave now.”
The old man disappeared from the door and could be heard yelling toward DeeAnn.
“Easy,” Clay said. “Tell him we’re not trying to cause trouble.”
Janvier called into the cabin but the shouting only got louder.
“He is not listening. He thinks you are trying to take his things. We must go!”
DeeAnn suddenly pushed through the door. “Hey, take it easy! It was just a question!”
Caesare approached with Dulce. “It sounds like we’ve outstayed our welcome.”
“You could say that,” Clay retorted.
“Okay, Janvier. I guess it’s time to head out.”
The youth nodded and moved quickly past the garden, followed by Caesare, Dulce, and Dexter.
Before falling in behind them, Clay stepped from the porch with DeeAnn and pulled her in close. With their backs to the cabin, she passed the small camera back to him.
“Did you get it?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
67