The Devil's Brew

by Jack Treby

  Mrs Weiman nodded numbly. ‘Gunther accused Steven of pushing him down the stairs.’

  ‘Good lord.’ So that was it. ‘And how did your cousin react to that?’

  ‘He was very upset. He couldn’t believe my husband would think him capable of murdering anybody, especially a friend of the family. Steven and Gunther...they never really got on. And it all came to a head last night.’ Mrs Weiman shuddered. ‘I thought they might come to blows.’

  Perhaps one of them did, I thought suddenly; but I kept that thought to myself. Weiman did not strike me as the violent type. ‘It did sound like quite a nasty argument,’ I said, tapping out a bit of ash from the end of my cigarette.

  ‘Gunther threatened to go to the police – to tell the authorities what Steven had done; or what he thought he had done. And Steven...Steven threatened to tell everyone about...about...’ She gestured across the lawn to the cottage.

  ‘About Moses?’ I coughed awkwardly. ‘He knew about that?’

  ‘Yes. He couldn’t help but know. Moses...his face. He’s the spitting image of my mother.’ The woman who had taken that family portrait in the living room. ‘As soon as Steven came here, he knew. He’s never liked the boy. But...but last night, he was so angry. I had never seen him like that before. I didn’t know what he was going to do. He stormed off to his room. I tried to calm Gunther down, but he was convinced Steven was guilty of murder; was adamant the police would have to be told. And Steven was equally determined to retaliate.’ She clasped the side of her head, her voice suddenly strained. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Everything was falling apart. Both of them seemed hell bent on destroying everything we had built here.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ I asked.

  ‘I tried to talk to him. To calm him down.’

  ‘You went up to his room?’ A sudden chill began to descend upon me.

  ‘Before dinner, yes. But he wouldn’t listen. His mind was made up, just like Gunther’s...’ Her voice was really starting to waver now, the distress bubbling up.

  ‘So you...what? Offered him a glass of water?’ My hands were starting to feel cold and clammy. ‘And then slipped in a couple of sleeping tablets?’

  Mrs Weiman’s eyes flashed at the mention of the tablets. ‘I...’

  ‘Or asked him to take them,’ I breathed. ‘And then...and then later, in the dead of night...’ My right hand slid down quietly into my jacket pocket and grasped the revolver. I could not believe what I was about to suggest. ‘You crept into his bedroom and...’

  ‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘I couldn’t...I wouldn’t...’

  But she was lying; I knew she was lying. The cigarette dropped from my lips and hit the grass without a sound. ‘You killed him,’ I declared, with sudden conviction. ‘You killed Steven Catesby.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Susan Weiman let out a strangled sob. Her body shuddered and she gripped hard on the wooden fence to stop herself from fainting. ‘Yes, I killed him,’ she whispered abruptly, unable to stop herself. Tears were already streaming down her face, the guilt bursting forth in a sudden avalanche of uncontrolled emotion. She had managed to keep herself in check for the better part of a day, but now the woman could control herself no longer. ‘My own cousin,’ she sobbed again. ‘Little Stevie.’ Her body was shaking uncontrollably. ‘I didn’t know...I didn’t know what else to do. My family...he was going to destroy everything.’

  ‘And so you...you killed him?’ I regarded the woman in astonishment.

  ‘I was in a daze.’ She sobbed again. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing.’

  ‘But...you crept into his bedroom? And grabbed hold of the razor?’

  Her hands were still gripping tightly to the fence. ‘It was on the bedside table. He always kept it there. I picked it up with my handkerchief and...and...oh, God forgive me.’ She closed her eyes, her face a mosaic of despair. ‘The blood came oozing out, as soon as I cut through the vein. But he didn’t...he didn’t struggle. That was the awful thing. He had no idea what was happening. And he looked...he looked so peaceful. Afterwards, I mean. As if he were asleep. And that made it so much worse.’

  ‘And the razor? You dropped that on the floor.’

  ‘I put it there. I thought...I don’t know what I thought. Maybe we could blame it on an intruder. One of the workers perhaps. That’s what Gunther thought, when the body was discovered.’

  I blanched. ‘You intended to blame his death on Joseph Green?’

  ‘I wasn’t really thinking. I just...I wish Steven had never come here. Had never...had never met my son.’

  ‘Was he...blackmailing you?’ I asked, trying desperately to make some sense of what she was saying. That had been my first thought, when Maurice and I had discussed the matter earlier in the evening.

  ‘He needed money to start a new life.’ Mrs Weiman lifted a hand to wipe the moisture from her eyes. ‘At first, it was just a favour. A request. A little extra cash, on top of his wages, to help him build up funds for this new business of his. Gunther and I had a bit of money set aside, from before the crash, and we were happy to help out. It meant that Steven would be back on his feet and away from us. There was never any mention of Moses. Well, not to begin with. When he first arrived here, Steven was too caught up in his own grief to even think of doing anything like that.’ Catesby’s wife had died, of course, back in Panama. ‘Steven was precocious but he was never spiteful. I hadn’t seen him since he left Havana, though we did exchange letters from time to time. After Margaret died, we invited him to come and stay with us for a while. Then he met Giles Markham and gradually his depression lifted. In many ways, it was good for him, even with...with another man. Not that we knew about that at the time. We thought they were just good friends and we were happy he had found a comrade in arms. And then, when the two of them hatched this scheme of buying a plot of land, we were happy to encourage them.’

  ‘But they needed more money than they had expected?’

  ‘It’s always the way with new businesses. But he made no demands of us. Not at the beginning anyway. As I say, he just asked us to help out, to build up his funds. Gunther was content to go along with that.’

  ‘Even though he didn’t like Mr Catesby very much?’

  ‘Oh, he always treated him well, for my sake. And then, when Giles died, Steven fell apart. He became fixated on the land. He wanted to get away from here, as much as my husband wanted him gone. But to do that, he needed more and more money. He thought he could pay the balance for the land himself – from Giles as it turns out, although we had no idea about that until this weekend – but that alone wouldn’t be enough. And so he demanded more support from Gunther and I. It was becoming difficult for us, our own business wasn’t doing very well. We had set aside some money a few years ago to invest in some new machinery. My husband has always been a fervent believer in new technology. But after the economic downturn, we were forced to use a part of that money to support the existing business. It was a safety net, helping to keep us afloat. We could afford to let Steven have a little, but nowhere near as much as he felt he needed.’ She grimaced. ‘That was when Moses came into the equation.’

  ‘He threatened to tell?’

  ‘It...it was never a direct threat, it was always implied. But we were left in no doubt as to what he meant.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  Mrs Weiman shrugged. ‘We tried to meet his terms as best we could. It wouldn’t be forever. He had promised to leave by the end of July. This weekend was supposed to be the beginning of the end. Arthur was coming here to collect the balance for the land.’

  ‘But then I came along and put my foot in it?’

  Mrs Weiman nodded and at last she met my eye. She had calmed down a little now, but her hands were still gripping the fence. Her confession, it seemed, was proving cathartic. ‘When George discovered the money Giles and Steven had deposited in their account had been obtained dishonestly, he put his foot down. He refused to countenance the transaction. Art
hur was furious and so was Steven. Then, when George died...fell down the stairs...my husband, well, he thought that Steven must have been responsible. Some sort of...altercation at the top of the stairs, like the one between Giles and Matthew Green. I didn’t believe it, of course. Steven had a temper, but he was not a violent man. But Gunther was certain. He was convinced Steven was guilty. And so the two of them rowed.’

  ‘And Catesby stormed off,’ I said.

  ‘Gunther had had enough. I tried to calm him down. He’s not a man to show his feelings much but I could see how rattled he was. Nothing I could say would dissuade him. He was going to inform the police, tell them everything that had happened. The blackmail, George’s death, the death of Matthew Green. Every sordid little detail and the devil take the consequences.’

  ‘And Catesby?’

  ‘He was just as angry with my husband. He was furious to be accused like that, of murder. To be thought capable of it.’

  ‘Wrongly, as it turns out.’

  ‘He...he said he had had enough. He was going to tell everyone about Moses and me; about who and what I was. You must understand, we would have been ruined.’

  ‘What you were? I don’t follow.’

  ‘I...’

  ‘Was there more to it than Moses?’ Did Catesby have something else on the woman? ‘I know you...had an affair with a coloured man, but that in itself would hardly....’

  ‘There was no affair.’ Mrs Weiman looked away in embarrassment.

  ‘Well, a liaison then.’

  ‘Not even that,’ she sniffled. ‘Whatever else you may think of me, Mr...Henry, I would never be unfaithful to my husband. Gunther means the world to me. I would never hurt him in that way.’

  ‘But...’ I was struggling to understand. Not for the first time in this conversation, I was feeling somewhat on the back foot. ‘You mean...Moses isn’t your son?’

  ‘Oh, no. He is my son. Of course he is. My darling boy.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘And Gunther is his father.’

  I blinked. Now I was really confused. ‘But how can you both be his parents?’ I said. ‘Moses is...well, he’s a negro. Gunther isn’t black and neither are...’ I stopped, suddenly remembering that photograph and Susan’s Weiman’s absent mother. My jaw fell open. So that was it.

  The woman drew in a heavy breath. ‘My mother was black,’ she admitted finally, ‘although my father was white. He was an English gentleman. But he fell in love with a negress. My mother, Betty, who worked on the estate. He married her for love and it very nearly ruined him.’

  ‘Good god,’ I exclaimed. No wonder Weiman had been so cagey about the subject earlier on. ‘I would never have guessed.’ I peered at the woman in the reflected light of the torch. ‘I mean, your skin is whiter than mine.’

  Mrs Weiman sighed. ‘It happens that way sometimes, with mixed marriages. One child will be black, another one white or something in between. My father only had the one child and I was born like this.’ She held up her hand and examined it for a moment, as if she were seeing it for the first time. ‘You would never guess, unless you had met my mother.’

  ‘But Catesby knew?’

  ‘Yes, he knew. Of course he knew. We grew up together. He often teased me about it, as boys do. But he was never spiteful. At least, not then. He worked on my father’s estate when he was a young man, helped to keep the business from sliding under. That was...partly why I felt indebted to him.’ Why she had invited him here after his wife had died.

  ‘And your husband? Does he know? About your...heritage, I mean?’

  ‘He knows. We met in Havana, just before the war. He was there on business. He met my father and through him he met me. And we fell in love, just like my parents did. Gunther brought me back here, to Guatemala, and nobody in this country knew anything of my past. I was educated in England, like Steven. As far as the people here were concerned, I was a white Englishwoman. We didn’t dare tell them anything different. How could we? You know how people of colour are regarded in this part of the world. It’s ridiculous,’ she asserted bitterly. ‘We are all the same, under the skin.’

  ‘And...and Moses?’ I asked.

  Mrs Weiman took a moment to gather her strength before replying. ‘Gunther and I never intended to have a child. It would have been too much of a risk. But accidents happen. We thought...well, my husband was white and I had fair skin. The child was bound to be white too.’ Her face fell. ‘But he wasn’t.’

  ‘Lord,’ I muttered, with some sympathy. ‘That must have been a shock for you.’

  ‘It was. Greta helped us. She was the only one who knew the truth. She’s lived in these parts longer than Gunther. I pretended to miscarry and the child was spirited away. Later, he was found abandoned in a nearby village and we arranged for Isabel’s mother to adopt him. That much of what I told you was true.’

  ‘And Catesby knew all this?’

  ‘He guessed it, as soon as he came here. He saw the resemblance. I should have realised that would happen, but it didn’t occur to me. And he was family, after all. But if he had told anyone about it, that would have been the end of everything. We would have been ruined. The estate, the workers, Moses. I had to protect my family.’ She gazed at me earnestly. ‘You do believe me? I had no choice.’

  ‘Oh, I believe you,’ I agreed. My hand had loosened its grip on the revolver momentarily but I clutched it again now, as it nestled in my pocket, just to be on the safe side. ‘I can’t really blame you for killing Mr Catesby. I dare say he deserved it, if he really was blackmailing you. But you would have let Joseph Green take the blame for his death. You were happy to see him hang in your place. And that, frankly, is unforgivable.’

  ‘I...’

  ‘Don’t try to pretend it wasn’t planned. You engineered things so that he would be the obvious suspect. You placed that razor there deliberately, knowing the conclusions that would be drawn.’ I raised my free hand, to forestall any attempt at denial. ‘It was a cold and calculated decision, Susan. You set him up and didn’t say a word when Tejada had him arrested.’ Despite her distress, she had known exactly what she was doing. ‘Any judge worth his salt would see you hang.’

  Mrs Weiman brought her hands up to her mouth. ‘You’re not...what are you...what are you going to do?’

  I shrugged. I was not sure what I could do. ‘I could inform the general, I suppose. I could wake him up and tell him everything you’ve just told me. It wouldn’t affect my plans. I could still make my escape, leave him tied up, but knowing the truth.’ I fingered the revolver again. ‘Can you give me one reason why I shouldn’t?’

  Mrs Weiman quivered. ‘I...Moses,’ she breathed, her eyes flashing with fear. ‘And my husband.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before.’ I shook my head. Poor old Gunther Weiman, caught up in the middle of all this. The mild-mannered German, trying to do the right thing, even if he had been wrong about Mr Catesby. ‘Does he know? Your husband? Does he know what you did?’

  ‘He has no idea,’ Mrs Weiman confessed. ‘He wouldn’t think me capable of it.’

  ‘He must have noticed how distressed you’ve been?’

  ‘Yes, of course. But on a day like this, who wouldn’t be? Gunther trusts me. He always has. He is the kindest, most gentle man I have ever met. He would never suspect me of...of anything like murder. The thought wouldn’t even enter his head.’

  I was not so sure about that. ‘He didn’t notice you creeping out of bed, last night?’

  ‘No, he was dead to the world. I was very careful. The sleeping tablets...they belong to him. Doctor Rubio prescribed them. Gunther hasn’t been sleeping well of late, because of...everything that’s been going on.’

  ‘So who does he think was responsible for your cousin’s death?’

  Mrs Weiman sighed. ‘At first, he thought it was an intruder. Then Joseph, of course, when he was arrested. But now, after what Arthur did...what Arthur tried to do to you, and what you said to us in the cottage
, he believes Arthur Montana must be behind it all.’

  I had rather pinned the blame on the American, when I had addressed the householders. It had been the easiest thing to say; and I didn’t want them all at each others’ throats after I had fled the estate.

  ‘And what would he think if he discovered the truth?’

  ‘He must never find out the truth.’ Mrs Weiman trembled. ‘It would destroy him. It would destroy us both. I couldn’t bear it. It would be the end of us. He would never forgive me.’ Her hands were shaking once again. ‘So what...what are you going to do?’ she asked a second time.

  I closed my eyes. What could I do? ‘Nothing,’ I replied, at length. ‘Oh, I could tell the general, but I doubt he’d believe me. And even if he did, he wouldn’t care. I could tell your husband, destroy your marriage. But what would be the point?’ I grabbed the torch from the top of the fence post. ‘All the labourers here who depend on you. The farm workers. Greta and Isabel. They’d be destitute if this business of yours failed. So what am I going to do, Susan?’ I sighed. ‘There’s nothing I can do. It’s your mess. You sort it out. I am going to put as much distance between myself and this god-awful place as I possibly can.’

  Susan Weiman shuddered one last time. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t thank me.’ I grunted. ‘You underestimate your husband. He’s an intelligent fellow. He’ll work it out eventually. And then, heaven help you.’

  I looked up. Joseph Green was making his way across the lawn towards us. Greta was taking care of Moses, her arms enveloping the boy protectively in the door of the cottage as they watched the labourer depart.

  ‘All done?’ I called out, as the man came within earshot.

  ‘Yes, mister.’ He bobbed his head, acknowledging his mistress; then he noticed her red eyes and frowned. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Weiman?’