by Jack Treby
I cleared my throat and she lifted herself upright. ‘Mrs Montana. What are you doing in here?’ I asked. The windows were open on the far side of the room. The woman had been sitting out on the upper terrace when I had last seen her. She must have slipped round the side of the house. Oddly, she did not turn at the sound of my voice; but she did reply to my question.
‘Why, Mr Buxton, you gave me the fright of my life.’ Her voice was rich and full-bodied, her accent American rather than Italian. ‘I thought I ought to help gather up a few of Mrs Talbot’s things.’ Her elbows briefly disappeared from sight. She was doing something rather odd with her hands, though from my position by the door I couldn’t tell exactly what. ‘I heard she wasn’t coming back,’ Mrs Montana added.
‘That’s right.’ The woman must have overheard my conversation with Mr and Mrs Weiman. The three of us had been standing directly beneath the balcony where she had been sitting and it was no surprise that our voices had travelled. ‘But it’s hardly your concern,’ I added.
Anita Montana made one final adjustment to her dress and then swung around, a wide smile on her face. ‘Honey, don’t be cross with me. I was just trying to help.’ The smile was a crude attempt to mollify me and it didn’t work.
‘I’m not your “honey”,’ I snapped. My eyes flicked down to the front of her dress. As I had suspected, she had been attempting to hide something there, but she had not made a good job of it. A small piece of paper was poking out from the centre of her décolletage. ‘What have you got there?’ I demanded.
She hesitated, glancing down at her chest. ‘It’s nothing.’
I stepped forward. ‘Then you won’t mind me taking a look.’
Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. ‘I certainly would. This belongs to me,’ she declared, clutching her bosom tightly. ‘I was just...’
‘Stealing it by the look of thing.’
‘I have every right to this, Mr Buxton. I swear to you.’ She pressed her hands firmly against her bust, the picture of wounded innocence. But I did not believe a word of it.
‘Show it to me,’ I insisted, putting out my hand.
Mrs Montana took a step backwards, circling the edge of the bed. ‘Honey, I have no intention of showing you anything.’
I strode forward and shot out a hand, grabbing hold of her wrist, to stop her making a dash for the window. Her eyes flared again and she slapped me abruptly across the face with her free hand. I flinched and stared at her in surprise; then I tightened my grip on her wrist. I wasn’t willing to play games. She slapped me again, harder this time, all trace of civility gone. That was it, I thought, and in anger I yanked the woman towards me and thrust a hand down the front of her dress. Mrs Montana yelped in surprise, not without good reason. ‘Get your paws off me!’ she exclaimed. But the blasted woman had just thumped me and I was damned if I was going to give her any special consideration. I tugged out the bit of paper, released her wrist and immediately retreated to the far side of the room. Mrs Montana was too shocked to follow.
I took a moment to recover my composure, then looked down at the document in my hand. It was light brown in colour and had been folded up rather neatly. I unfolded it and scanned the contents. It was a banker’s draft, made out by the Anglo-South American bank, for the sum of nine thousand American dollars.
I whistled in surprise, looking up at Anita Montana. She was glaring back at me with undisguised hostility. Nine thousand dollars. That was just under two thousand pounds, in real money. My brain took a moment to digest the information. Giles Markham had embezzled about nineteen hundred pounds from the visa receipts in our office. Lord. This had to be the document that was stolen from the bureau in my flat.
‘That cheque belongs to my husband,’ Mrs Montana declared. ‘It was money due to him. I was merely taking possession of it.’
I shook my head. ‘This money belongs to the British government,’ I asserted, with dubious authority. ‘It was stolen from our office.’ If I was right, then Giles Markham hadn’t gambled the money away, as had been assumed at the time of his death. Rather, he had laundered it with the Anglo-South American bank, depositing bits and pieces in a private account over many months. George Talbot must have colluded in it with him, for all the man’s supposed incorruptibility, and provided him with this draft – sometime back in March, according to the hand-written date – so that Markham could pass the cash on to somebody else. And now Arthur Montana had sent his wife to retrieve it, knowing full well that no-one else would even suspect its existence. Which meant Mr Montana was probably involved in Steven Catesby’s murder. I shuddered, clutching the draft tightly in my hand.
‘Honey, I don’t know anything about that. Just be a sweetheart,’ she said, moving around the bed towards me, ‘and give me the damned cheque.’ The woman had quite an intimidating presence, when she put her mind to it.
I steeled myself to resist. ‘The devil I will...’
Before I had even finished the sentence, she launched herself at me, a sudden whirlwind of fury. I felt a knee to the groin and staggered backwards. Had I been a man, that kick would probably have felled me. As it was, the unexpected onslaught caused me to let go of the banker’s draft and the damned woman grasped hold of it before it could fall away to the floor. She turned for the window but I grabbed her by the shoulder. She stomped on my foot but I managed to keep my grip as she moved towards the shutters. She twisted around again, slapping me across the face one last time. I fell backwards, releasing my grip, and she moved triumphantly to the window, the draft in her hand. At that moment, she tripped on the frame of the door and stumbled out onto the balcony, completely losing her footing. I watched in horror as she hit the far balustrade and, in less than a second, flipped over the top. Her body plummeted from view and I heard a sickening crunch from below.
I recovered myself, wiping a dribble of blood from my nose, and rushed forward. The banker's draft had settled itself on the balcony. I was more concerned with the view from the railings. I felt a rush of relief when the ground came into focus. The overseer, Mr Langbroek, had broken Mrs Montana’s fall. He had been standing guard in that narrow grass pathway between the house and the storage huts. She had knocked him to the ground and was now sprawled out on top of him. Neither were moving. Then I saw the blood oozing from the back of Anita Montana’s head. Her skull must have been whipped back when she had collided with the overseer. It had struck against one of the balcony’s wooden support struts. That was the cracking sound I had heard. Gazing down at the bloodied figure, I had no idea if she was alive or dead. For a moment I froze, not knowing what to do.
A small head poked out between two of the huts on the far side of the path. It was the house boy Moses. He took in the two bodies on the ground and then looked up at me. Slowly, his face spread into a smile.
Chapter Thirteen
Moses did not waste any time. He darted across the grass towards the crumpled figures. At first, I assumed he was on an errand of mercy, trying to determine what help, if any, was required; but once he had crouched down in front of the overseer, I saw him slide a hand underneath the sprawled body and whip something out of the man’s top pocket. Langbroek groaned but did not move. Moses pulled back and brandished a set of keys triumphantly for me to see. He smiled a second time. I shuddered, looking down at him, realising at once what the boy was about: he was going to release Joseph Green. I mouthed a silent ‘no’ but he was already scurrying across to the hut where the labourer was imprisoned. He found the correct key, unlocked the padlock and threw open the door. Seconds later, a dazed Joseph Green emerged into the daylight. The man blinked, lifting a hand to cover his eyes, then caught sight of the two bodies on the ground. His mouth formed a small ‘oh’, but Moses did not allow him any time to digest the scene. The boy was already tugging at his shirt sleeve, urging him away. Freedom awaited, or so the youngster seemed to think. It was madness. Green would not be able to escape. There was nowhere for him to run, not in a place like this. He would be h
unted down like a dog. Far better for him to stay where he was. But there was no time for a reasoned debate. Moses was already dragging him away, into that gap between the huts, and I was powerless to intervene.
I don’t know how long I stood there immobile on the balcony after the two figures had departed. In all probability, it was only a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. I stared down at the bodies spread-eagled across the path below me. They were the more pressing concern right now. The overseer might still be alive, judging by the groan I had heard a short while ago, but the jury was out on Mrs Montana. If the Italian woman was dead, then I was in real trouble. No-one would believe the fall had been an accident; and the general would take great pleasure in clapping me in irons. Tejada had no love of foreigners, even affluent foreigners from powerful countries. For all my status and connections to the British government, the authorities would afford me no special consideration. I had no illusions, either, that my boss, David Richards, would intercede on my behalf. The minister had made his position quite clear: if anything embarrassing like this were to happen, he would wash his hands of me and throw me to the wolves.
There was another grunt from Mr Langbroek. He at least was alive. The full weight of the Italian woman was pressing down on him, in that tight blue dress of hers, and all at once her arm shifted to one side, presumably in response to some movement from the dazed figure beneath her. Perhaps she was beginning to wake up, I thought hopefully. But the activity ceased almost at once. If Mrs Montana was alive, she was in a desperate state. That thought brought me back to my senses. The woman needed help, and quickly.
Doctor Rubio! I had to find the doctor and get him to her. If there was any chance of saving her, he would be the one to do it.
I turned back to the shutters, then stopped and knelt down to pick up the paper Mrs Montana had dropped as she had fallen. The banker’s draft had caught on the railings and fluttered down onto the balcony. I glanced at it briefly. Was this really what everything was about? Had Steven Catesby been murdered for the sake of nine thousand dollars? And was that the reason Giles Markham had taken his own life? I stuffed the draft inside my jacket and moved quickly through the bedroom, out onto the landing on the far side.
Freddie Reeves was waiting patiently for me on the opposite landing. He did a double take as I emerged. He had been expecting me to sneak out the door, not rush out in a fluster, in full view of the courtyard below. He signalled across to me frantically, letting me know there were people about; but I ignored him. ‘Doctor Rubio!’ I called out, loud enough for everyone to hear.
The slim, grey haired doctor was making his way across the courtyard from the front of the hacienda. He looked up as I called to him, frowning at the urgency of my tone. ‘May I help you, Señor Buxton?’ His voice was calm and unruffled.
‘There’s been a terrible accident,’ I shouted down to him.
‘What accident?’ This time, it wasn’t the doctor speaking. I glanced left and caught sight of Arthur Montana framed in the far door. He had been sitting out on the front terrace, reading a book, which he was carrying now in his hand. His wife’s book, I think. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
There was no way to sugar coat it. ‘Your wife. I’m terribly sorry. There’s been an accident.’
Montana flinched. ‘What do you mean, an accident?’
‘Mrs Montana. She...tripped and fell.’ I gestured back into the bedroom. ‘From the balcony.’
The American dropped his hands and the book fell to the floor. ‘She...she fell?’ It was the first time I had heard any uncertainty in his voice.
‘I’m afraid so. It all happened so quickly.’
‘Is...is she...?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘Mr Langbroek broke her fall. He was standing guard by the side of the house. But I don’t know if she...’
Montana was already striding along the landing towards me. I moved aside as he barrelled into the bedroom.
‘I wouldn’t...’ I called out after him, but it was too late. Nothing I could say would prevent him from taking in the scene first hand. I turned and placed a hand on the balustrade. Doctor Rubio was still peering up at me from the courtyard. ‘Just outside the living room,’ I shouted down to him.
The doctor nodded. His medical bag was resting on a table in the centre of the square. He grabbed it and hurried across to the living room. I was already moving towards the back stairs, skirting the far side of the landing.
Freddie met me halfway. ‘What on earth is going on?’ he asked.
A cry sounded from the east side of the hacienda. Arthur Montana had caught sight of his wife.
‘Mrs Montana was searching the Talbots’ bedroom,’ I explained, breathlessly. ‘I caught her rifling through his clothes. There was a bit of a struggle. I think...I think I may have killed her.’
Freddie’s eyes boggled. ‘Bloody hell!’
‘Find my man Maurice will you? Get him to pack up my things. I have a feeling events might start to get a little nasty in the next few minutes. We may need to make a hasty exit.’
‘But...’
‘Don’t argue, Freddie! Just do it. I don’t have time to explain!’
The Englishman nodded numbly. I leapt down the stairs, then moved through the arches and across the courtyard into the living room. Doctor Rubio had already hopped over the hand rail at the far end – he was rather sprightly for his age – and was bending down to examine the two bodies spread out across the grass. It took me some moments to follow his example, pulling my legs over the top of the railing and dropping down two or three feet onto the pathway.
‘Will you give me a hand, please?’ Rubio said. ‘Hold her head.’
I did as I was told, despite the blood, while the doctor dragged the overseer carefully out from underneath Anita Montana’s prone body. She was looking in a bad way, I thought, her auburn hair sticky and red. Rubio briefly examined the unconscious man and then dismissed him from his mind. ‘He will be all right.’
I didn’t care about Mr Langbroek. ‘What about Mrs Montana?’
The doctor crouched down next to me and his hands skipped across her head and her throat. ‘There’s a faint pulse. She’s still alive.’
‘Thank God!’ I moved back slightly, allowing Rubio to lower her head gently onto the grass.
Arthur Montana had now arrived on the lower terrace, his face puffed with exertion. He must have bolted down the stairs like a demon, after catching sight of his wife from the balcony.
‘She’s still alive,’ I reassured him, rising to my feet.
The American looked across at me, not quite comprehending; and then the explosion came. ‘What the hell happened?’ he demanded.
I couldn’t think what to say. ‘Your wife was in Mrs Talbot’s bedroom.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ he snapped, grasping the handrail between us. ‘She was having a lie down in our room.’
‘I’m only saying what I saw. She was searching through a suitcase. She caught sight of me, panicked and ran for the windows. And then she...she tripped.’
Montana eyed me suspiciously. I wasn’t quite sure what state my face was in, after his wife had slapped me a couple of times. My cheeks might still be a little red. It was fortunate for me that he was on the other side of that railing.
Doctor Rubio had no interest in our dispute. ‘We need to get her to a hospital as soon as possible,’ he stated, authoritatively.
Montana forgot about me and peered down at his wife in despair. For a moment, I confess, I pitied him; but the moment passed as he pointed an accusing finger at me. ‘If she dies, Mr Buxton, I will hold you responsible. A hospital?’
‘If at all possible,’ the doctor said, looking up.
Montana gathered himself together. ‘Right.’ He wheeled round and hurried across the terrace towards the front of the house. I have never seen a man move so quickly. ‘General Tejada! Please come here!’ he called out. ‘My wife’s been injured.’
By now, h
alf the household had appeared at the living room window and were moving out onto the terrace to take in the sorry scene. It was something of a surprise that the general hadn’t already joined them; but he was out front, making final preparations for the departure of his men. It did not take him long to respond to the American’s cry, however, and barely a minute passed before Montana popped up at the far end of the pathway, with General Tejada steaming behind him.
The policeman strode purposefully towards us across the grass, his thick eyebrows narrowed in anger at the unexpected interruption to his plans. ‘What is this?’ he demanded, taking in the two bodies. ‘What is going on here?’
‘An accident,’ I said. ‘Mrs Montana fell from the balcony.’
He looked up at the terrace. ‘From there?’ I could see what he was thinking. There was no damage to the balustrade. How on earth had she managed to fall? ‘What happened?’
‘She was in Mrs Talbot’s bedroom. I opened the door, she ran out onto the balcony and tripped.’
Tejada frowned again. ‘You saw it happen?’
‘Yes.’ I brought a hand to my nose and wiped it without thinking.
‘What was she doing in the bedroom?’
‘General, we don’t have time for this!’ Arthur Montana growled. ‘My wife is desperately ill. We need to get her to a hospital.’
Tejada looked to the medical man. ‘Doctor Rubio?’
‘She has suffered a severe head injury,’ he said. ‘She’s needs proper medical treatment and quickly.’
The general growled. This was not the sort of problem he wanted to deal with. ‘It’s a rough journey to the village and a couple of hours to the nearest town. Is she fit to travel?’
‘No.’ Rubio was unequivocal. ‘But if she stays here, she will certainly die.’
The overseer was by now beginning to come round. He groaned and began to pull himself up onto his elbows. The doctor rose to his feet and hopped across to him. ‘Don’t try to move, señor. You have had a nasty bump.’ He helped Mr Langbroek to sit up against the foot of the terrace.