by Jack Treby
‘Well, exactly. And then there’s Mrs Weiman.’ I scratched my nose. ‘Did you know Moses was her child?’
‘I had an inkling, Monsieur.’
I frowned. ‘An inkling?’
‘Yes, Monsieur. When Joseph Green was arrested on the front lawn, her eyes were on the boy and not on Monsieur Green.’ Greta had held the lad back, I recalled, to prevent him interfering with the arrest; with good reason, it now transpired. ‘The expression on Madame Weiman’s face, it was not that of a dispassionate employer.’
‘No, it wasn’t.’ I rubbed my chin. ‘Do you think Catesby might have been blackmailing her?’ Could that have been a motive for murder?
‘It is a possibility, Monsieur. As a relative, he may well have known about the child.’
‘And he would certainly have needed to raise a bit of cash for that new business of his. Oh, you won’t have heard about that.’ I quickly sketched in the details. ‘And if he couldn’t use Markham’s money – with Mr Talbot having a moral crisis – he might have decided to look elsewhere.’
‘To Madame Weiman?’
‘Exactly. Of course, he might have been blackmailing her already. You’d need a lot of money to start a business from scratch like that. As I understand it, the draft only covered the cost of the land.’ I frowned again. ‘But if he was blackmailing Susan, how would he have gone about it? What exactly would he have said? “I’ll tell the world you shared a bed with a negro and bore him a child?”’ I scratched my head. ‘Not really the stuff of newspaper headlines. Rather a minor scandal, I would have thought.’ It was hardly an unusual occurrence in this part of the world. ‘Oh, there’d be plenty of gossip, but it would all blow over. And if anyone could weather the storm it would be Mr and Mrs Weiman. Their business is fairly solid, so far as I can see.’ I gestured vaguely to the house. ‘Even with the economic downturn. It wouldn’t do them much damage in the long run.’
‘No, Monsieur. But the reputation of Madame Weiman would be destroyed. That would not be an easy thing for her to come to terms with. Also, we cannot underestimate what a mother would be prepared to do to protect her child.’
‘Yes. Maternal bonds and all that.’ It was not an emotion I had ever felt, but I knew such things could have a powerful effect. ‘Still, I can’t see an Englishwoman attacking her own cousin with a razor blade. Any more than I can picture Miss Bunting doing it, come to that.’
‘Madame Weiman would have known the razor was there, Monsieur.’
‘I suppose so. As would Mr Weiman. And Miss Bunting too, if she had a good poke around his bedroom yesterday afternoon.’
‘And then there is Madame Talbot.’
I grimaced. ‘Jane Talbot?’ I had already dismissed that idea. ‘I don’t think she’s a credible suspect. She was too busy grieving for her husband.’
‘But Monsieur Talbot must have retrieved the banker's draft from Monsieur Catesby’s bedroom. The Madame may have known of this. And soon afterwards, Monsieur Catesby died.’
‘What, you think Mrs Talbot might have blamed Catesby for her husband’s death and bumped him off?’
‘It is a possibility, Monsieur.’
‘Nonsense. She was out for the count. And if she did have any knowledge of that draft, why would she leave it behind?’
‘The first instinct of a murderer is always to fly the scene of the crime,’ Maurice said. That was true. It had always been my first instinct, when things got tricky. ‘And Madame Talbot left the estate at the first opportunity.’
‘Ah. Yes, I see your point.’ I pulled out my fob watch. I wondered if Mrs Talbot was still waiting down in the village. Somehow, I doubted it. If she intended to get home at a reasonable hour she would have to head off before it got dark. ‘But a murderess.’ I closed the watch and returned it to my waistcoat. ‘I can’t see it, Morris. Mrs Talbot is far too sensible to want to kill anybody.’
‘If you say so, Monsieur.’ The valet changed tack. ‘Then, of course, there are the members of the domestic staff.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘The staff? What, you mean Isabel and Moses?’
‘And the housekeeper, Greta. They would all have access to Monsieur’s Catesby’s bedroom.’
I saw what he was getting at. ‘Yes, and I suppose they would know about the razor too. But what motive would any of them have?’
‘Monsieur Catesby was not popular below stairs.’
‘Yes, I remember you saying. Why is that? Did he flog them?’
‘No, Monsieur, but he had a short temper. He was not tolerant of mistakes. And, as I understand it, Moses was rather upset about Monsieur Green’s punishment yesterday afternoon.’
‘The whipping? Yes, he must have been.’ I scratched the side of my chin. ‘And at that age boys do tend to over-react to things. But, even so, murder...?’
‘People have been killed for less, Monsieur.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that, Morris,’ I responded irritably. ‘I suppose he could have been the one who damaged the generator.’
‘Yes, Monsieur.’
‘And he was very upset about the death of Matthew Green, back in March. He probably blamed Catesby for that as well. Lord, the resentment could have been building up for months,’ Another plausible theory. I growled. It seemed like we were awash with the things. ‘Dammit, it could be any one of them.’ I flicked my eyes skywards. ‘Or somebody we haven’t even thought of yet.’ That was more likely, if I was being honest. ‘You know what my track record is like with this type of thing.’
Maurice nodded gravely. ‘Yes, Monsieur.’
Over the last couple of years I had been involved in several murders and each time the identity of the murderer had come as a complete surprise to me. With the best will in the world, I was a hopeless detective. Freddie was deluding himself if he thought I had any chance of getting to the bottom of this affair. For goodness sake, I didn’t even want to be a detective. And yet here I was, once again, forced into the role. ‘There is at least one person I think we can say is definitely involved.’
‘Monsieur?’
‘That overseer fellow, Mr Langbroek. He was in town with Mr Catesby last week. I’m pretty sure he was the one who clobbered you the other day in the flat.’
Maurice did not blink. ‘He was in Guatemala City?’
‘Apparently. On Wednesday evening; with Mr Catesby. They must have conspired together to retrieve the banker's draft, although Mr Langbroek would have done the actual deed. He must have been the blackguard who crowned you.’
‘But how would the two of them have known the banker’s draft was there?’
I shrugged. ‘Markham must have told Catesby, before they fell out. He was the one who stashed it there, after all. One thing I don’t understand, though, is how he planned to get away with it all. I mean, before he took his own life. If he was intending to run away with Catesby and become a farmer. He must have known the money would be missed and we would come looking for him. It makes no sense.’
‘A man in love, Monsieur.’
‘Yes, but even so. He must have had some plan to cover it up. And whatever it was, Catesby must have known about it. He certainly knew about the draft. Though why he waited so long to pick it up...’
‘Perhaps he was biding his time, Monsieur, until matters had settled down.’
‘I suppose so. And then roping in Mr Langbroek with the promise of a job on the new farm, and perhaps a share of the loot.’ The overseer would have been happy to play burglar. ‘He’s got his comeuppance now though.’ I smirked. That broken leg. ‘I really ought to have a quiet word with the fellow, when I get the chance. I have a feeling he knows more about all this than anyone.’
‘He is with Doctor Rubio at the moment, in the living room.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ll need to get him on his own, though. Get the thumbscrews out.’ I smiled again. I had no qualms about getting awkward with a man who could not fight back.
‘If Monsieur Langbroek was in league with Monsieur Catesby,’ Maurice p
ointed out, ‘then that means he is unlikely to be the murderer.’
‘No, I suppose not. Unless the two of them fell out for some reason. Or Langbroek got greedy. He couldn’t have had anything to do with Mr Talbot’s death. That much I do know. Perhaps Catesby killed Talbot and then Mr Langbroek killed Catesby.’
‘There is another possibility, Monsieur. A suspect we have not considered as yet.’
‘Another one?’ I sighed, peering across at him. ‘Go on.’
‘Monsieur Gonzales. The engineer.’
I coughed in surprise. ‘You think he might be involved?’ Maurice was right. The thought had not even entered my head. ‘But he wouldn’t hurt a fly. The fellow’s a mouse. And he’s absolutely in terror of the general.’
‘Yes, Monsieur. But I was speaking to the maid, Isabel, earlier today, regarding the telephone in the main hall.’
I didn’t follow. ‘The telephone?’
‘I was curious to know how long it had been out of order.’
That was an interesting question. Something else I hadn’t considered. ‘What, you think it might have been cut off deliberately?’
‘It occurred to me that it was a possibility, Monsieur. According to the maid, the telephone was last used on Monday evening. The fault was discovered late the following day. There was a storm that afternoon and it was assumed that this was the cause of the failure.’
‘They must have a dedicated line, all the way out here,’ I guessed. ‘It wouldn’t take much to bring it down. And the storm was quite a bad one?’
‘Yes, Monsieur. On Tuesday afternoon. But earlier that day Isabel went down to the village, to buy some groceries for the kitchen. On the way back, she noticed that a motor-bicycle with a sidecar had been parked a little way off from the road.’
My eyes widened. ‘Was it Gonzales’ bicycle?’
‘She could not say for certain. There did not appear to be anyone about. But the bicycle was parked next to a telegraph pole.’
‘I see. You mean, one of the ones that carries the phone line to the hacienda?’
‘Yes Monsieur.’ Presumably, the Weimans had hitched a ride on the existing telegraph line and then run their own cable up to the house.
‘And this was the pole that came down in the storm?’
‘No, Monsieur.’
I scowled. ‘Then what the blazes are you talking about?’
Maurice was unperturbed. ‘The pole that came down was only a short distance away, and that was the first dedicated pole leading towards the farm.’
‘I see.’ That was why they had had such a job getting it fixed. The telegraph company would be out pretty sharpish to repair its own line, but it wouldn’t care about a private auxiliary line running off from it. ‘And you think Gonzales might have nobbled it?’
‘I do not know, Monsieur. Isabel had not given the matter much thought. It is only in the light of the tragic events of this weekend that she remembered it at all. But it is probably nothing. As I have said, she is not certain if the motor-bicycle did belong to Monsieur Gonzales.’
‘And he might well have just stopped off for a spot of lunch in any case,’ I agreed. ‘Still, it’s worth thinking about. It could tie in with something else I heard, from our Mr Battersby this afternoon.’
‘Monsieur?’
I told the valet briefly about the professional connection that had existed between Giles Markham and George Talbot.
‘That is most interesting, Monsieur.’
‘I get the feeling he was going to tell me himself, before he died. If Talbot was ruffling feathers about police corruption, then General Tejada might have good reason to want to get him out of the way.’
‘Indeed, Monsieur. But how would a banker like Monsieur Talbot know of such things?’
‘Money laundering. Criminals and policemen stashing their ill gotten gains. If Talbot was as much of a stuffed shirt as William suggests, he might have caused one hell of a stink, if he caught even a whiff of anything like that.’
‘And so the general arranged to have Monsieur Talbot killed?’
‘It would make sense of him coming here. Why would a high ranking policeman come all this way down from the capital to investigate the case of a man accidentally falling down the stairs? Unless he wanted to make sure there was no possibility of anyone crying foul.’
‘But he could not have killed Monsieur Talbot himself.’
‘Of course not. Don’t be daft, Morris. He would have had an agent acting on his behalf. You know as well as I do the police have informers in every village in this god-forsaken country. And who better to act as an informer than a road engineer, who goes up and down the country as part of his job? He must have passed on the news that Talbot was going to be here this weekend and was then told to disable the phones.’
‘But would he then murder the man, Monsieur, in cold blood?’
‘Don’t ask me. It’s your theory, Morris.’
‘Monsieur Gonzales does not strike me as a violent man.’
‘No, me neither. He was looking fairly shifty, though, when he came down the stairs shortly afterwards. That might just have been shock I suppose. But it’s certainly a plausible idea, if that girl was right about the bicycle.’
‘Yes, Monsieur.’
‘And the general has been suspiciously keen to ignore any possibility of foul play regarding Mr Talbot’s death. And, now I come to think of it, it was Gonzales who went down to the village to call him in in the first place. Perhaps he wanted to make the phone call himself, to make sure it was Tejada who got the summons, rather than some local bod.’
‘That does fit the facts, Monsieur.’
Well, not all of them, I thought. ‘But how would that tie in with the second murder? How would Catesby be involved?’
‘I believe it would be better to remain in the house, Monsieur.’
‘I’m sorry?’ I blinked, suddenly unsure what my man was talking about. His eyes were staring pointedly across my shoulder. I wheeled around, just in time to catch Mr and Mrs Gonzales descending the stairs. The engineer was carrying a suitcase. His wife had a light travel bag hanging from her shoulder.
‘Talk of the devil,’ I declared, attempting to brazen things out. ‘We were just saying, how lucky it was you had your own transport.’
Maurice was eyeing the luggage the Guatemalan couple were carrying. ‘You are leaving us, Monsieur?’ he enquired of the engineer.
It was Consuela Gonzales who answered. ‘Ricardo is hoping we will be able to leave this evening. But we have to wait for permission from the general.’ She smiled sadly. The woman had dark, penetrating eyes and a rather wistful air.
‘Yes, best not to step outside just yet,’ I agreed. ‘Not with all those constables on the prowl. Coffee’s being served in the dining room, if you’re feeling parched.’
‘That would be very nice,’ Mrs Gonzales said.
The engineer was happy to be directed. ‘We can leave the luggage here,’ he suggested, placing his suitcase by the side of the stairs. ‘How is Señor Montana?’
‘I’m not sure.’ The last time I had seen the American he had been sitting out on the front porch, staring at his wife’s body and knocking back a bottle of scotch which Isabel had fetched from his room. ‘He’s had a terrible shock.’
‘His poor wife,’ Mrs Gonzales breathed.
‘Is there any news of Señor Green?’ Mr Gonzales enquired.
‘No, I’m afraid not. But no news is good news, as they say.’ I looked across the courtyard to the front of the house. The sun was just setting, out of view to the west. ‘It’ll be dark shortly.’ That would provide some protection for the two fugitives.
Doctor Rubio was emerging from the living room on the far side of the courtyard. My eyes lit up. Now might be the time to have that quiet word with Mr Langbroek. I left Maurice to hustle the Guatemalans into the dining room and darted across the square to intercept the doctor.
‘How’s the patient?’ I asked, meeting him half way.
>
‘He is recovering,’ Rubio responded gravely. He clipped up his medical bag and placed it on a nearby table. ‘I am going to the kitchen to fetch him a light snack. It will do him good to eat something. Then I will try to find Señor Montana. He was looking a little distressed earlier on.’
‘That’s hardly surprising,’ I said.
The door to the living room was wide open. The overseer was propped up on the sofa, his left leg sticking out, the foot resting on the coffee table, with two bits of wood serving as a makeshift splint. Langbroek had a sour look on his face, as well he might, but he was alert now and regarded my entrance with some suspicion. ‘What do you want?’ he growled. He had a rounded, pasty face – nondescript rather than ugly – and short cropped hair. It was the first time I had seen him without a hat. He wore a casual shirt, part of which was stained red; from Mrs Montana, presumably.
‘Just wanted a quick word, while I have you alone.’ I closed the door, moved across the room and pulled up a chair, settling myself on his side of the sofa.
‘You think I want to talk to you?’ he snarled. ‘From what I hear, it’s your bloody fault that woman fell on me.’
‘After a fashion. It must make a change, you getting clobbered like that.’
His piggy eyes narrowed to the point of invisibility. ‘What are you talking about?’
I leaned in closely. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you did to my man, you filthy swine. You broke into my flat last week and coshed Maurice. It was lucky he wasn’t seriously hurt.’
Langbroek’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t deny it, you blackguard.’ The gall of the fellow, sitting there, trying to look innocent. ‘You broke in and stole that banker's draft from the bureau. The one Mrs Montana found in the Talbots’ bedroom.’
Langbroek laughed. ‘You’re out of your mind. I’m an honest, law-abiding citizen. You should watch your bloody mouth, throwing accusations around.’
In ordinary circumstances, a threat like that might have given me pause for thought – Langbroek was clearly a man who knew how to look after himself – but luckily for me he was not in a position to threaten anybody just now.
