The Devil's Brew (Hilary Manningham-Butler Book 3)

by Jack Treby

  By rights, we should have arrived ahead of them. Gonzales’ motor-bicycle was a much faster proposition than the policemen’s decrepit horses, but the two men had left the village some twenty minutes ahead of us and, when we caught them up, they had refused to let us pass. At my insistence, Gonzales had blown his horn, but that had just annoyed them even more. There was no point trailing behind them at a snail’s pace, so we stopped at the intersection between the main road and the side track up to the farm and lit a couple of cigarettes, allowing the policemen to continue on their merry way without us. After we had finished the smoke, we continued uphill on foot. The terrain was a little soggy here, but Ricardo Gonzales made no complaint as he manhandled his pride and joy up the increasingly steep slope. I was relieved just to be out of the sidecar. Mrs Talbot had probably made the right decision, staying behind in the village. The bullet-shaped compartment was lower to the ground than the driver’s seat and every minor pebble sent shock waves rattling through the fragile structure.

  I must confess, I had been rather taken aback when the Englishwoman had declared her intention to remain behind in the village, against the general’s express instructions. ‘I should return home,’ she said, as we had made our way out into the square. The rain had subsided now but the ground was squelchy underfoot. ‘For my daughter’s sake. I should be with her now.’

  I did my best to disguise my alarm. ‘I do understand,’ I mumbled, imagining Tejada’s fury when I passed on the news. ‘But how on earth will you get there? You don’t have time to get to the train station.’

  Mrs Talbot’s nostrils flared in gentle amusement. ‘Señor Gonzales has kindly agreed to provide some transport.’

  ‘Gonzales?’ I blinked at the man, who was standing several paces behind her. ‘He’s going to drive you?’ Good lord. Did that mean I would have to walk back to the hacienda?

  The engineer shook his head. ‘I have a cousin who lives in the village. He has a motor-bicycle also. He is happy to take her.’ Gonzales grinned. The arrangements must have all been made while I was on the telephone. ‘He likes to ride.’

  ‘What, all the way to Guatemala City?’

  ‘If he can. He often drives there. He knows the way.’

  ‘And I will of course reimburse him fully for his trouble.’

  ‘He will stay with my sister overnight,’ the engineer said.

  I was more concerned with the people back at the farm. ‘But what will I tell the general? He’ll hit the roof.’

  Mrs Talbot pursed her lips. There was still the echo of a bruise on her face where the policeman had struck her that morning. ‘That cannot be helped. I realise it does place you in an awkward position, Mr Buxton. I do apologise for that. I have no wish to inconvenience you. However, after all that has happened, I am sure you will understand why I have no desire to return to the hacienda.’

  ‘Of course,’ I agreed, sympathetically. The farm would now be forever associated in her mind with her husband’s death. ‘Oh, wait a minute, though. If you’re going by road, you’ll need to have your passport with you.’ No-one could travel anywhere in Guatemala without a certain amount of official scrutiny. There would be several check points along the way between here and the capital.

  Mrs Talbot was ahead of me. She patted her handbag. ‘I always carry my passport with me. George is of the opinion...’ She stopped and her face fell momentarily. ‘Well, never mind that. Have no fear, Mr Buxton, I will be well looked after. However, I will not be leaving the village until late afternoon, so if General Tejada wishes to talk to me further he can do so on his way back to town. Now his men are here it shouldn’t take him long to finish up at the hacienda.’

  I was not so sure about that. ‘It might be a couple of hours before the police get down here.’

  ‘I am prepared to wait. I would like to speak to the general before I leave. I want to make sure his men take proper care of my husband’s remains.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And I am sure Alberto will look after me in the meantime.’

  It was a little after four o’clock when Gonzales and I finally arrived back at the hacienda. We had overshot our allotted hour by some considerable margin. The unexpected delay did at least mean that events had moved on somewhat when we arrived. A cart had been prepared and Doctor Rubio was overseeing the movement of the bodies. General Tejada was standing back by the fountain, his arms gripped firmly behind his back, as Gonzales manoeuvred his motor-bicycle around the far side of the cart and onto the grass. Almost at once, the general noticed Mrs Talbot’s absence. ‘Where is the woman?’ he demanded, striding forward and raising his swagger stick to point at the empty sidecar.

  I explained as best I could. Gonzales was cowering behind the far wheel, fearful lest the general should take it upon himself to strike us.

  To my surprise, Tejada dismissed the matter out of hand. ‘I will deal with her later. You will return to the house. Señor Gonzales, you will give me the keys to your motor-bicycle.’ The engineer handed them across without a word. The general unbuttoned the breast pocket of his shirt uniform and dropped the keys inside. ‘No one else leaves until I say so.’

  The body of Steven Catesby was now being slowly hauled onto the back of the cart, with Doctor Rubio supervising the procedure like an anxious mother hen. A groom was feeding the horses at the other end of the vehicle, in anticipation of the journey ahead, but it was likely to be some time before the police departed. There was a second body to come, not to mention the forensic evidence; bed-sheets etc.

  Tejada turned his attention back to the cart, making sure that everything was strapped down to his satisfaction. Gonzales and I took our chance and slipped quietly away. We had parked the bicycle on the far side of the lawn and, as we slogged up the garden, I peered right, around the far edge of the hacienda, to where the overseer, Mr Langbroek, was smoking a cigarette, standing guard outside one of the store houses. It was a rough hewn building with a corrugated iron roof, but the door was padlocked and there was little chance of Joseph Green breaking out of his make-shift prison. Not that there would be much point, even if he could. I could just picture the fellow sat in a dark corner, his knees up against his chest, waiting for the inevitable.

  Gonzales had moved on ahead, nodding a shy greeting to our hosts as he moved up the steps, before carrying on through the archway into the courtyard. His wife would be waiting for him in the lounge or the dining room. Other guests were sitting on the upper terrace. Arthur Montana and his Italian wife were taking tea up there; or coffee, more likely. Anita Montana gave me a friendly wave.

  I smiled tightly and stopped on the verandah to exchange a few words with Mr and Mrs Weiman.

  The Englishwoman greeted me warmly. ‘Did you have a successful journey?’ she asked. Mrs Weiman seemed to have recovered her composure somewhat during the course of the afternoon.

  ‘Yes, I managed to get a call through to the legation. Told them I wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Oh, Mrs Talbot sends her apologies. She managed to get in touch with her daughter. She’s decided to stay down in the village and arrange some transport. She won’t be coming back here this evening.’

  Mr Weiman was rather concerned to hear that. ‘Does the general know?’

  ‘He knows. He’s not at all happy about it.’

  ‘Jane has always been very headstrong,’ Mrs Weiman observed.

  ‘It’s probably for the best,’ her husband concluded. ‘She needs to be with her daughter at a time like this.’

  ‘I dare say Jane is holding herself together better than I am.’

  ‘She’s certainly doing her best to keep up appearances,’ I agreed. ‘Stiff upper lip and all that. Oh, she did ask: would you be able to collect up her things and send them on? She says there’s no hurry. It doesn’t have to be this evening or anything.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll see to it first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘My man can do it for you, if you like,’ I suggested. ‘We could carry some of it ba
ck with us when we leave in the morning.’

  ‘That would be very kind of you, Mr Buxton.’

  ‘Henry, please.’ We had been through enough now to dispense with the formalities.

  ‘That would be very kind of you, Henry.’

  The police were returning to the house with their now empty stretcher. I stepped aside to grant the two men access to the courtyard. Tejada was following behind and he wagged a finger at Gunther Weiman, drawing the German away from us and into the house.

  ‘This is all very difficult for you and your husband,’ I said eventually, after the men had departed.

  ‘For the staff too,’ Mrs Weiman agreed. ‘Greta wasn’t expecting to cook for so many people today. And Isabel has her hands full preparing the beds. We weren’t anticipating having house guests for a third night.’

  ‘Yes, it’s kind of you to put us all up again,’ I said. ‘Not that any of us have much choice. The minister’s not going to be at all happy with Freddie, missing work tomorrow morning. I think Mr Gonzales is going to head off today, though, as soon as he gets the nod. He doesn’t have as far to go as the rest of us.’

  ‘Ricardo has been very kind,’ Mrs Weiman said. ‘That’s twice he’s driven down to the village for us, running errands.’

  ‘Yes, he’s a very amenable fellow.’ I smiled.

  The policemen were clumped around the back stairs, shifting the body of George Talbot from the table onto a stretcher. I ducked left through a doorway into the entrance hall on the west side and used the stairs here to make my way up to the first floor. Frederick Reeves’ bedroom was on the left at the top of the steps. The door was ajar so I knocked briefly. ‘Only me, Freddie!’

  ‘Come in!’ The Second Secretary was sitting up on his bed, his tie loose at his neck, his blond hair slightly ruffled from contact with the headboard. He had a book in his hand and a glass of scotch on the bedside table. A man after my own heart. The bedroom was oddly shaped, thinner than my own room but longer, with the bed against the far wall to the south and just the one set of windows leading out onto the west terrace. The shutters were back and the late afternoon sun, peeping through the last of the clouds, was filtering into the room at a sharp angle, illuminating the dust particles in the air, but completely missing the bed. ‘When did you get back?’ Freddie asked.

  ‘Just now.’ I moved into the room, closing the door behind me. ‘You’re in hiding are you?’

  He grinned, closing up his book and putting it down on the bed beside him. ‘Thought it was best. Emily’s having a siesta too.’ He jerked his thumb at the far wall.

  ‘I’m surprised the two of you aren’t together.’

  He chuckled. ‘You really do have a low opinion of me. No, she’s resting. We thought we’d just leave the police to get on with it. Emily was getting a bit fed up of that sergeant drooling over her.’

  ‘Yes, he wasn’t exactly subtle. The sooner they’re gone, the better for everyone,’ I said.

  ‘They’re going to cart that black fellow off as well. Get him under lock and key somewhere.’

  I frowned at the mention of Joseph Green.

  Freddie swung his legs over the side of the bed and peered across at me. ‘You don’t think he did it, do you?’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘So you have been speaking to Miss Bunting.’

  ‘Any chance I get.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘She talks very highly of you, you know. I might be jealous, if I didn’t know you so well.’

  I laughed. ‘She’s far too energetic for my taste.’ I glanced at the ruffled bedsheets. ‘Well, I’m glad to see you’ve been busy in my absence. Honestly, you bring me all the way out here to investigate a crime and then put your feet up and leave me to get on with it all on my own. It’s disgraceful.’

  He grinned again. ‘I’m no fool! But I haven’t been totally idle.’ He reached for the whisky and took a hefty swig from the glass. He must have brought the drink up with him. Either that, or he had slipped into my bedroom and stolen some of mine. I would have to check the bottle. ‘I did have a talk with Gunther. Asked him about that generator.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘And did he finally admit it had been sabotaged?’

  ‘Well, he could hardly deny it now, could he? He admitted he had a bit of an argument about it with Steven. Said he had stormed off in a huff.’

  ‘Catesby? Yes, I remember seeing him. But did Mr Weiman say what the argument was about?’

  ‘Yes. Gunther thought Joseph Green was responsible for the damage, because of the whipping yesterday afternoon. He said Steven should have been more lenient with the bloke. Especially after what happened to his brother. Steven wasn’t having that. He blew his top.’

  ‘Who did he think was responsible?’ I asked.

  ‘Gunther didn’t say. My money’s on Mr Langbroek, though. I could just see him doing something like that, out of spite.’

  ‘And pinning the blame on Joseph Green,’ I agreed. ‘Any excuse for another whipping. I really don’t know why Mr Weiman employs a brute like that.’

  ‘Yes, it is a bit odd.’ Freddie drained the last of the whisky from his glass. ‘So, anyway. If that coloured bloke didn’t kill Steven, who do you think was responsible?’

  I shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. Where were you at three am last night?’

  Freddie chuckled, placing the tumbler back on the bedside table. ‘Far away in the land of nod. Seriously, though, do you have any suspects?’

  I bit my lip. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to confide in Freddie, given his propensity to blab everything to his girlfriend. ‘One or two,’ I admitted. ‘I spoke to William back at the office. He was quite helpful, for a change. Pointed out a few things I didn’t know. Not least of all the fact that the late Mr Talbot was a regular contact of our own Giles Markham.’

  Freddie’s jaw dropped. ‘Contact? What, you mean...for your other work?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean. Oh, he wasn’t a spy or anything like that. Just a helpful insider. Gave Markham the occasional briefing, by all accounts. What’s going on at the intersection between business and politics. You know the sort of thing. Not much different from your line of work, just less official. And no money changing hands. But it seems Mr Talbot was rather close to Giles Markham.’

  Freddie shifted back onto the bed. ‘First I’ve heard of it. George didn’t strike me as the kind of bloke to mix business with pleasure. Not that I knew him that well.’

  ‘But you had met him before? Before this weekend, I mean?’

  The blond man nodded. ‘Yes, a couple of times, up here. With Giles. I knew he knew him through Gunther. But I didn’t know there was anything else going on between them.’ He smiled. ‘But then I’m just a lowly diplomat. I don’t have access to your confidential files.’

  ‘There’s nothing in there worth reading, believe me. It does interest me, though, this connection between the two of them. It might be worth doing a bit of digging. Shame Mrs Talbot stayed in the village really.’ I hadn’t had the chance to question her about her husband’s relationship with Giles Markham. I doubted George Talbot would have discussed business matters with his wife anyway, despite her obvious good sense, but there was always the chance she might know something about his anti-corruption crusade. I wondered now if that could have been what had got him killed. The new administration was firmly committed to cutting down on corruption in public life and I remembered Mr Talbot had been quietly impressed by their efforts. But it had also been observed that the new rules did not seem to apply to the police.

  ‘Well, if her room’s empty, perhaps you ought to slip in there and have a poke around,’ Freddie suggested.

  ‘What, Mrs Talbot’s room?’ I considered for a moment. ‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea.’

  ‘You never know, you might get lucky.’

  ‘The police must have been through it all by now though.’

  ‘Probably,’ Freddie agreed. ‘They may have had a quick rummage around. But they don’t seem that bothe
red about George’s death. They’re too focused on Steven. Everyone’s convinced George was just an accident.’

  ‘Well, everyone except your Miss Bunting.’

  He grinned again. ‘Yes, everyone but Emily.’

  And she should know, I thought, darkly.

  The Talbots’ bedroom was on the far side of the courtyard. There were three rooms to the east of the house: Mr and Mrs Weiman to the rear, the Talbots in the middle and the Montanas at the front. Freddie had agreed to keep a look out for me, as I skirted the courtyard on the upper landing. Luckily there was no-one about downstairs. Most of the guests had now settled in the dining hall and the policemen were out front, tying the late Mr Talbot onto the wooden cart next to Steven Catesby. I reached the bedroom door without being seen and grabbed the handle. I could slip inside now and then peer out through a crack when I needed to emerge, with Freddie giving me the nod if the coast was clear. In all likelihood, there would be nothing of any interest in the Talbots’ bedroom, but there was no harm in having a quick gander.

  The last thing I was expecting to find inside was one of the other guests. Mrs Montana was standing in front of an open suitcase, rifling through the Talbots’ clothes. The tall Italian woman had her back to me, bending over the open case, examining the contents in some detail. It was only when I stepped forward and the bedroom door clicked shut behind me that she became aware of my presence. She stiffened abruptly. Anita Montana was a striking woman, even from behind, with long auburn hair and an hourglass figure. I was surprised Sergeant Velázquez had not paid her more attention, but she was older than Emily Bunting and perhaps not quite as pretty. She wore a short sleeved linen dress in light blue which clung rather tightly to her waist.