by Jack Treby
‘I don’t think that’s very likely,’ I said. ‘You haven’t seen the body. There was no sign of a struggle. And besides, there must have been hours between this happening and Mr Catesby dying.’
‘I guess so.’
‘I think you may be right about the generator, though. It certainly wasn’t anybody in the house. I...saw someone running away from here, just after the generator failed.’
Montana’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You saw who did it?’
‘Not clearly, I’m afraid. I was talking to Mrs Gonzales out on the terrace. As soon as I heard the crack, I ran to the back of the house and saw a figure darting away. Up there, through the gate.’
Montana considered that darkly. ‘Like I said. A vagrant.’
‘Possibly. But that still doesn’t explain why anyone would want to do it. It’s an awful lot of bother, dragging that branch in here.’
‘They don’t need a reason. Some of them are just plain crazy. Did you recognize the guy? Was it a local, an Indian? Or a negro?’
‘I couldn’t say. It was too dark. To be honest, I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman.’
The American scoffed. ‘It couldn’t have been a woman.’ He gestured to the heavy branch. ‘And that pathway leads up into the fields. Like I say, it must have been a vagrant.’ Montana was unwilling to let go of the idea. ‘Intending to rob the place. And none too bright either. Have you told the general? About what you saw?’
I shook my head. ‘It slipped my mind. And to be honest, Mr Montana, right now I don’t feel inclined to tell that man anything. Not that he’s bothered to ask. I did see him coming out of here earlier on, though. He’s obviously had a good look at the place.’
‘Much good that’ll do,’ Montana muttered.
‘Have you met him before? The general?’
He nodded contemptuously. ‘He’s a vicious son of a bitch. But, hey, what can you expect from people like that?’ He punched his hand. ‘Violence is a way of life in this country. The cops are always getting involved in private disputes. You know the kind of thing. Negroes and Indians getting into fights, on the plantations. Hispanics too. Boy, do they have a chip on their shoulder. They like to pretend they’re white, like you and me. Sometimes they pick a fight, even with the managers.’ The US executives of United Fruit. ‘Good American boys. Occasionally it goes too far and somebody dies. But, hey, people have a right to defend themselves. We try not to involve the police but if the blacks or anyone else kick up a fuss, sometimes we have no choice.’
‘And Tejada is the man you bring in?’
‘Not any more. Not with his connections. He’s moved up in the world. He doesn’t have to deal with that kind of crap any more. Not now his brother-in-law is Ubico’s right hand man. He only gets the plum jobs.’
‘I thought the president was meant to be cutting down on corruption, nepotism, that sort of thing.’
‘He is. But the head of the Policia Nacional is an exception. You can’t run a country like this without the police on your side. And the army. Besides, Tejada has more important fish to fry these days. I don’t think he’d be here at all if it wasn’t for George.’
‘Yes, Mr Weiman did say the two of them knew each other. They can’t exactly have been friends, though, if he’s thumping the fellow’s wife shortly after he dies.’ Whatever the connection between them was, it had to be purely professional. I could not imagine a mild-mannered banker like George Talbot ever socializing with a brute like Julio Tejada.
Montana agreed with me. ‘It does seem unlikely. But one thing I can tell you: if you’re looking for justice, Tejada is the last man you’d ever ask.’
‘You’ve been avoiding me,’ Emily Bunting teased, stepping out onto the upper terrace at the front of the house. I had a glass of whisky in my hand and had moved out through the open shutters of my bedroom in the hope of a few quiet moments alone. My free hand rested gently on the wooden balustrade as I looked out across the front lawn. Clouds were gathering above us but the rain was a couple of hours off yet. Insects were buzzing around the hanging baskets and I could hear the voice of Doctor Rubio down in the courtyard, talking quietly with Mrs Weiman. The interviews had concluded at last, with Mr and Mrs Gonzales the last in line, and the general had now disappeared off into the grounds, with his deputy in tow. The house was all the better for their departure.
‘Not at all,’ I said, in reply to Miss Bunting’s light-hearted accusation. ‘It’s just been rather a busy day.’ In truth, I had been avoiding the woman, in so far as it was possible in a place like this. The issue of that damned earring was still rattling around in my head and I was concerned lest my suspicions should become obvious to her. If she was innocent, she might take offence – which given all she knew about me I was anxious to avoid – but if she was guilty, well then...I had even less reason to let her know that I was onto her.
‘It must have been awful, finding Mr Catesby like that,’ she declared, sympathetically.
‘It was rather a shock,’ I agreed, taking another sip of whisky. ‘How have you been coping with it all?’
The girl took a breath and considered for a moment. ‘I’m just a bit dazed, if I’m honest. It’s all too much. I had hoped for an eventful weekend, but nothing like this. I think you’ve got the right idea.’ She eyed up the whisky in my hand. ‘A stiff drink. Even if it is a little early.’
‘It helps me to think,’ I said. ‘And it is after lunch.’
‘Oh, I’m not criticizing.’ She grinned. ‘Actually, I thought I might join you. If you don’t mind?’
‘No, of course not. Help yourself.’ On a day like this, even I could not begrudge the girl a little liquid support. ‘It’s on the bed-side table. I think there’s another glass in the drawer. No soda I’m afraid, but there’s water in the jug.’
‘That’s all right. I prefer it neat.’ She disappeared inside the room.
My mind flashed back to Thursday evening, when Miss Bunting had discovered me, sans towel, in the living room of my apartment. She had knocked back the whisky then, I recalled. If my mind hadn’t been elsewhere, I would have been rather surprised at that. In the office, during the day, she was always the picture of sobriety. And, more to the point, the alcohol had not seemed to affect her at all, which suggested it was not an unusual occurrence. I would have to keep an eye on that bottle of mine. I didn’t want her finishing it off behind my back.
Miss Bunting emerged from the bedroom with a rather full glass. She raised it up, took a sip, and came to stand beside me, gazing out across the lawn. It was not much of a view. The fountain, the pathway off to the right and the stables to the left; trees shrouding the workers’ quarters and various administrative shacks. Miss Bunting took it all in and sighed again. It was an afternoon for sighing, I thought. ‘It’s such a dreadful business,’ she said, finally. ‘You must despise Freddie, for getting you involved in all this.’
‘I won’t be accepting any further invitations from him,’ I asserted dryly. ‘But what’s done is done. There’s no point crying over spilt milk. And it looks like he was right about Giles Markham. There was more to his death than meets the eye.’
‘Do you think what happened to him might have something to do with Mr Catesby’s death?’
‘I think it has to,’ I said, taking a final gulp of whisky.
‘Did you mention him to the sergeant? Mr Markham, I mean.’
‘Lord, no. Didn’t want to muddy the waters any further. And, to be honest, I didn’t feel particularly inclined to be helpful. Not with a brute like that.’
‘He was rather sweet with me,’ Miss Bunting confessed.
‘That doesn’t surprise me. You’re very pretty, apparently.’
She giggled. ‘He said that?’
I nodded absently.
‘I thought he was looking at me rather strangely. But he was very polite. He couldn’t stop smiling. And staring. Not that there’s much to stare at.’ She glanced down at her chest. ‘I’ve never had
much down there to draw the eye. Not like Mrs Montana. I meant to ask, though...’ She looked across at me. ‘How do you...how do you keep all that in check?’
‘Bandages. And a safety pin. Mind you, I was never particularly blessed in that department either. I’m just glad I don’t have to put up with love starved policemen ogling my décolletage when I’m trying to talk to them.’
‘Boggle eyed policemen.’ Miss Bunting laughed.
‘Well, quite. But believe me, for all his youth, that sergeant is a nasty piece of work. He was barely civil with me and goodness knows what he said to Mrs Talbot.’
‘Yes, he must have really riled her. Crumbs. I’ve never seen her so angry.’
‘No. And that fellow Tejada is no better. Oh, speak of the devil...’
The general had emerged on the far side of the lawn and was making his way back up towards the house. He raised a hand to his mouth and bellowed. ‘Señor Weiman! Come here! Now!’ Miss Bunting and I exchanged puzzled glances, but the policeman did not look up. He was too intent on finding the owner of the estate. ‘Señor Weiman!’ he called again.
A muted reply sounded from below as the German stepped out onto the verandah.
A small group of men were emerging from a gap between the trees, at the far end of the pathway leading down to the workers’ cottages. Two of the men were dragging a third fellow between them.
‘We have found your murderer,’ Tejada declared triumphantly.
Even at this distance, I recognised the face of the man they had taken into custody. It was Joseph Green.
Chapter Ten
Gunther Weiman stepped down from the terrace and came to a halt in surprise, as he took in the unexpected scene. General Tejada had come to a rest by the fountain in the middle of the lawn, allowing his underlings time to catch him up. One of the two men – the overseer – had a gleam of triumph in his eyes. This was the swine who had taken a whip to Joseph Green yesterday afternoon. The labourer was barely managing to keep his footing as he was dragged out onto the lawn. The group were now within spitting distance of the senior officer and Green was propelled forward onto the grass, his head narrowly missing the base of the fountain.
‘That’s your murderer!’ Tejada declared again, gesturing to the prone figure, who now began scrabbling up onto his knees.
Gunther Weiman was standing a few yards away, on the front steps of the house. ‘Joseph?’ he gasped, in disbelief.
The coloured man met his master’s eye and even from the upper terrace I could see the fear in his face. ‘I didn’t do it, Mr Weiman. I didn’t do nothing.’
Several other labourers had appeared at the far end of the lawn and were regarding the grim tableaux with understandable consternation. Green must have been dragged away right in front of them. A short path between two sets of trees led directly to the workers’ cottages and it was from here that the men had emerged.
‘Oh, he did it all right,’ the general snarled. He at least was in no doubt that he had got his man. ‘On your feet, chico!’
Green planted a hand on the ground to steady himself and slowly pulled himself up. The overseer was standing a few feet behind him, a vindictive smile on his face. Sergeant Velázquez, meantime, was reaching down to his waist to grab a pair of handcuffs.
By now, the sounds of the ruckus had filtered through into the house and various people were starting to emerge from the hacienda. Moses, the house boy, gave a cry of horror as he caught sight of Green. He tried to run towards him but the housekeeper, Greta, took a firm hold of the lad’s shoulders.
Joseph Green glanced at the two of them, then back at the sergeant, who was stepping forward now, preparing to cuff him. Finally, he took in the stable yard over to his right. Even from my position on the terrace, I could see the desperate calculation in his eyes. Before Velázquez could lay a finger on him, Green bolted. It was a moment of pure insanity. He dodged the fat overseer and sprinted back down the lawn, not towards the stables or to his fellow labourers but to a muddy pathway leading east into the fields. Velázquez let out a cry of anger but Tejada raised a hand. The sergeant hesitated, not daring to disobey his superior. The general unclipped the holster at his waist and calmly pulled out his revolver. Miss Bunting, standing to my left, brought a hand to her mouth as he raised the gun and fired. Green stopped dead in his tracks. Tejada had shot into the air, but the sound of the revolver had been enough to bring the man to an abrupt halt.
‘One more step, chico!’ the general called out, aiming his gun carefully at the terrified labourer. ‘One more step and this ends now. Your choice.’
Green hesitated, looking back towards the fountain.
The overseer was happy to see him shot. ‘Run, you little bastard,’ he sneered, ‘and save us all the trouble.’
Sweat was pouring down the man’s face. He had barely got more than ten yards. At that distance Tejada was unlikely to miss him; and even if he did, it was doubtful that Green would get much further, with the others in hot pursuit. The labourer swallowed hard, clenched his fists briefly and then raised his hands.
The general kept his revolver level but nodded the sergeant forward. Velázquez prepared the handcuffs, while the fat overseer strode across and punched Green viciously in the stomach. The man shuddered and collapsed to the ground. The overseer kicked him again and then again and again.
Miss Bunting squealed in horror, covering her eyes with her hands.
‘Leave him alone!’ Moses yelled angrily from the terrace. Greta was still gripping the lad firmly by the shoulders but the boy was struggling to break free. Luckily, the housekeeper was stronger than he was.
‘Enough!’ Tejada declared.
The overseer got in one last kick, then stepped back and allowed the sergeant to bend down and cuff the prisoner. Green wailed as his hands were pulled tightly behind his back and shackled together. His face, looking up from the grass, was a picture of despair.
The other labourers had been observing these events angrily from the far corner of the lawn. Only the gun and the authority of the general had prevented them from interfering.
Tejada returned the weapon calmly to its holster and then turned to face Gunther Weiman. The white haired German had been standing stock still throughout the entire episode. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he would be as shocked as the rest of us. Mrs Weiman was at his side now, an arm around his waist, trying to comfort her husband.
‘We’ll need somewhere to lock the prisoner up,’ the general said. ‘Until the rest of my men get here.’
‘The store rooms,’ Weiman muttered vaguely. ‘Around the side of the house.’ A small administrative block was situated on the near side of the stables, along the eastern wall of the hacienda. Three small, rough hewn buildings, all in a row, with a narrow grass pathway between them and the house.
‘That’ll do,’ Tejada agreed.
Joseph Green was still whimpering. Velázquez had placed a foot on his back, keeping the man down in the grass until the general gave the order to cart him off.
Weiman was struggling to maintain his composure. ‘How...how can you be sure that Joseph was responsible for Steven’s death?’
‘You can see for yourself the blood on his shirt,’ Tejada declared. ‘And we have a witness who says he left his room in the early hours of the morning.’ The policeman jerked his thumb back to the coloured men gathered on the far side of the garden. One of the labourers was shaking with rage. Another man had to put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. They all knew what kind of a person the general was. If any of them raised a voice in protest, they would likely be shot. If more than one of them protested, it could well lead to a massacre. ‘And an innocent man,’ Tejada added forcefully, ‘doesn’t run.’
Gunther Weiman was utterly bewildered. ‘But why would Joseph, of all people...?’
‘Revenge,’ the general snapped back. ‘For the death of his brother.’
‘Yes, but...’
‘Your cousin killed Matthew Green,
after he broke into your house earlier this year. He cannot be blamed for that. He was confronting a thief. Señor Catesby was well within his rights to protect himself. But this one.’ He jerked a finger contemptuously at the prisoner. ‘He didn’t see it that way. He’s been brooding about it ever since. Then yesterday, when he left the work party without permission, Steven Catesby had him whipped; and all the resentment and frustration came boiling out. The death of his brother. His own mistreatment, as he saw it. You can’t expect an animal like that to act rationally. He sabotaged the generator out of spite. But that wasn’t enough. It didn’t satisfy his lust for revenge. So he crept into the house in the dead of night and cut Señor Catesby’s throat.’
‘No, mister!’ Green protested, desperately. ‘I didn’t do it!’
Velázquez lifted his foot and stamped down hard on the man’s shoulders. ‘Quiet!’ he snarled.
Tejada was unperturbed. ‘Oh, you did it, chico.’ His chubby face cracked into a smile. His teeth, I noticed, were white and rather well formed, unlike those of his deputy. ‘And you’ll hang for it. Take him away.’
And with that, the pitiful figure was grabbed from behind, lifted up and manhandled across the lawn towards the administrative block, all the while continuing to protest his innocence.
General Tejada strode back into the house, out of sight below us. Gunther Weiman hovered for a moment, looking anxiously across the lawn, where the other labourers were now muttering angrily among themselves. He spoke briefly to his wife, who nodded her agreement, and then moved across to talk to them. The last thing anyone needed right now was any trouble from that quarter; whatever the justification, it could only serve to inflame the situation.
Emily Bunting had already turned away from the garden, unable to witness a moment more. ‘That poor man!’ she declared, as I followed her through the shutters into the bedroom. ‘They shouldn’t have treated him like that, no matter what he’s done.’ The girl took a moment to recover her wits, then glanced over at me in the frame of the window and smiled half-heartedly. ‘I think I may need another drink.’ She stepped back as I moved across the room and grabbed the bottle of whisky from the bedside table. She handed me her glass and I filled it without a word. Then I replenished my own. Miss Bunting sat down slowly on the bed and took a sip. I was surprised at how shocked she was. But then, I doubted she had ever seen a man being beaten up like that. ‘Do you think he did it?’ she asked me, seriously.
