Leonie (69 page)

“Diego! What are you doing?” Roberto was on his feet in an instant.

“Stay back,” warned Diego, his voice as finely honed as the knife in his hand, the edge of pleasure overlaying the threat in his eyes. Roberto stopped in his tracks, all of a sudden he was afraid. “I told you to let me deal with it in my way.” Diego turned back to the man. “It’s a receipt to say that you were paid the money. Sign it.”

“But you haven’t paid me the money, senhor.”

“Exactly … do you want to sign it or do I kill you?”

The man’s voice quavered. “I’ll sign it if you give me the money.”

Diego laughed and pushed the knife closer. A drop of blood appeared on the man’s neck and he quickly seized the paper. His voice was thin with fear. “I’ll sign it, senhor.”

Diego relaxed his hold and handed the collector a pen. He smiled up at Roberto. “I told you it would be all right.”

Roberto felt the rush of relief.

The collector held out the paper in a trembling hand. Diego
read it, then folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. He leaned forward and Roberto caught the gleam of the knife in his hand as he neatly and swiftly slit the collector’s throat. Blood spurted across the flames as the man sank soundlessly forward into the fire and with a hoarse cry Roberto grabbed him, hauling him back from the flames.

“My God, Diego, what have you done?” he screamed.

“I’ve killed him, of course.” Diego’s voice was dispassionate as he held the knife in the flames to clean it. “What else could I do?”

“You told me that you wanted to reason with him, that we would be able to talk to him … to make some arrangements.”

Diego was icily calm and reasonable. “You can’t make arrangements with these bastards, it’s pay up or else … and for him this time it was the ‘or else.’ Don’t you see, Roberto, I have the signed receipt … the man just disappears. They’ll think he ran off with the money or that he was robbed. It happens all the time. And no one will ever know what we did.”

“What
we
did?”

Diego laughed. “Well, you were here, weren’t you? It’s you and me, Roberto. We saved my father’s
fazenda
—that’s all that matters. Now all we have to do is to get rid of him.”

Roberto looked at the blood-soaked body at his feet. “Get rid of him? You must be mad, Diego.” He trembled with shock and he felt ill.

“Of course I’m not mad, I’m merely being practical. He was in my way and he would have caused a lot of trouble. This was the perfect solution. Now come on, you have to help me bury him.”

“I can’t,” whispered Roberto, “I can’t do it.”

Diego walked around the fire and put his hands on Roberto’s shoulders. “Sure you can, Roberto,” he said almost paternally. “Come on now, it’s not so difficult. We’ll dig a hole and give the fellow a decent burial. We can’t just leave him here for someone to find or we’ll both be in trouble. After all, no one would know who’d done it, would they, whether it were you, Roberto—or me?”

Roberto’s eyes widened in horror as Diego took shovels from the saddlebag. “Come on,” he commanded, “let’s get the job finished.”

The reality of the situation unfolded suddenly as Roberto realized what had happened. It wasn’t just a spur of the moment violent act: Diego had planned this murder from the beginning—
and he had planned to implicate him in it so that there would be no escape. A picture of Amélie’s innocent smiling face came into Roberto’s mind. Oh, dear God! He had lost Amélie. Diego would never let go of him now.

He picked up the shovel and followed Diego into the underbrush and began to dig at the chosen spot. Together they carried the body and laid it in the shallow grave, covering it with leaves. When it was done they looked at each other in silence.

“We’d better go to your place,” said Diego at last, kicking out the remains of the fire. “My father doesn’t know I’m here and it’s better that he doesn’t. That way if they ask him about anything he’ll be able to tell the truth: he saw no one and there was only himself and my mother at the house.”

The ride to the do Santos
fazenda
was silent and when he finally saw the lighted windows of the big house it seemed to Roberto that nothing had ever looked more welcoming and secure. Yet for me nothing will ever be the same again, he thought in despair. This is the worst moment of my life.

Tia Agostinha was very old now, but she was still queen of her establishment and it was she who bustled forward into the hall to greet them. “Roberto,” she beamed, holding open her arms, “this is a surprise for your old aunty. Come here and give me a kiss.”

“I’m a bit dirty, Tia Agostinha.” Roberto leaned forward to kiss her, avoiding her hug. “It’s been a long ride. I’d better get cleaned up.”

“Who’s that?” she asked, peering into the darkness behind him.

Diego sauntered into the hall. “It’s only me, Tia Agostinha.” He smiled. “Diego.”

“Oh, Diego. Well, come on in, both of you. You certainly look a mess. Look at the mud on the floor … and what’s this?” Agostinha touched his jacket. “Blood! You’re hurt?”

Roberto pushed her hand away. “No, no … I’m not hurt. It’s nothing, Tia Agostinha, just a scratch. I’ll go get cleaned up.”

“A scratch? With all this blood?”

Roberto looked down at his shirt, where the mortgage collector’s blood had dried to a dark rusty red. A wave of nausea threatened him.
He had to get these clothes off!

Sebastião pulled open the study door. Who could it be at this time of night? He strode into the hall where Roberto stood, white-faced and disheveled, with Diego right behind him.

“What’s happened?” he called anxiously. “What are you two doing here?”

Roberto swayed and his knees began to crumple. “Agostinha, he must be hurt,” cried Sebastião, running forward to catch him as he slid to the ground. “My God, look at the state he’s in! Diego, what happened?”

“He fell off his horse,” lied Diego glibly. “I guess he was tired and didn’t see the low branch as we rode through the woods. It knocked him right out of the saddle … that’s why he’s so muddy.”

Sebastião ripped open Roberto’s shirt and gazed at his unmarked chest. Gently he lifted his arms and examined him. There was no wound. Roberto’s eyes opened slowly and he began to struggle upright.

“Help me,” Sebastião ordered curtly and Diego hurried to lift Roberto to his feet. Together they half-carried him into the small study and put him in a chair. A fire blazed cheerfully, fending off the chill of the misty night outside, and Tia Agostinha fussed around anxiously.

“Tell me what’s the matter, my dear,” she said. “Let your old aunty help you.”

Roberto leaned forward, his head in his hands. “There’s nothing you can do,” he said wearily, “there’s nothing anyone can do now. It’s too late.”

“What’s all this about?” demanded Sebastião. “You’d better tell me, Diego—and I’ll bet whatever it is, you are the cause!”

“What do you mean?” blustered Diego. “Nothing’s wrong! Roberto’s just tired and overwrought, that’s all!”

“He hasn’t fallen off any horse tonight—and you know it,” Sebastião said menacingly. “I want to know what happened.”

“Nothing happened, nothing’s wrong.…”

“Oh, yes, Diego, something is wrong.” Roberto’s face was anguished as he looked at him.

Diego’s glance was a warning. “Roberto.…”

Sebastião put out his hand and touched the stains on Roberto’s shirt. “Whose blood is this? My God, what have you two done?”

“Tell him, Diego. We have to tell him what happened.” Roberto’s gaze was unwavering.

“Nothing happened! You don’t know what you’re saying, Roberto. He’s in shock, can’t you see!” Diego’s eyes glittered angrily
as he looked at Sebastião. “He fell off his horse. He’ll be all right after a night’s sleep.”

Roberto began to laugh. “A night’s sleep!” he cried, “
a night’s sleep!
I’ll never be to able to sleep again!”

Diego headed for the door.

“Tell him, Diego—or I
will!
”

Diego paused, his hand on the door handle. Tia Agostinha watched in bewilderment, sensing evil and violence in the air.

“Diego killed him, Sebastião! He killed the mortgage collector.” The words were forced from Roberto’s throat in a hoarse rush. “He had him sign the receipt for the money and then he cut his throat. This is
his
blood on me. I helped Diego bury the man in the woods.”

The four of them were paralyzed by Roberto’s words; even Diego seemed unable to move.

“Ayeee,” wailed Agostinha in the silence, throwing her hands in the air. “Murder! It was murder!”

Sebastião was at the door before Diego could turn the handle. “Oh, no,” he said angrily. “You’ll stay here, Diego. I want to hear what you have to say.

Diego folded his arms and leaned back against the closed door. A smile curved at the corners of his mouth. “It’s true,” he said softly. “I killed him. I did it for my father … he was going to lose the
fazenda
, you see. It meant everything to him—like yours, it has belonged to our family for generations. If he lost it his life would be meaningless. I had to help him, Sebastião.” His voice was gentle and persuasive. “How could I see my own father destroyed? I didn’t mean to kill the man, it just happened that way.”

“It’s not true,” said Roberto wearily. “He planned the murder. And he hasn’t told you that our father gave him the money to give to Senhor Benavente to pay the mortgage arrears. Diego stole it! He stole it from our father—and from his own. And then when he was faced with the result, he planned this murder. He forced me—persuaded me—to come with him, but I didn’t know he was going to kill the man. I swear I didn’t know! I thought he just needed help to convince the collector to wait a bit longer—I lent him some money.”

Sebastião turned to Diego. “But you killed him and kept the money.”

Diego pulled the deeds from his pocket. “I have the receipt,” he said calmly. “As far as anyone knows, he was paid off.”

“But we know he wasn’t, don’t we, Diego?” Sebastião’s voice was full of contempt. He wanted to hit Diego’s faintly smiling face. How
could
Roberto have got himself involved in this?

“Of course,” said Diego confidently, “you’ll do nothing about it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because Roberto is involved just as deeply as I am. I could always say it was he who stabbed the man, that he just went crazy, that he’d been drinking. He can drink quite well, your nice young brother, you know.…”

“They’ll never believe you,” cried Sebastião, horrified. “You have a bad reputation already in Rio, the police would know it was you. Roberto isn’t blameless, but he’s no killer!”

Diego sauntered to the fireplace, leaning against it nonchalantly, kicking a log into place with his foot. “But Roberto knows the other reason why he’ll say nothing. Shall I tell him, Roberto?” he asked mockingly.

Roberto sat like a condemned man, waiting for the ax to fall, and Sebastião looked at him pityingly, thinking of Amélie happily preparing for her wedding, so lovely in her sumptuous white dress, and of his father and mother. Diego was implying things that none of them must ever know—he wasn’t sure what they were, but he had to do something to stop him. He poured a glass of brandy and handed it to Roberto.

“You can tell me nothing that I don’t already know, Diego,” he lied, “and what you have to say would make no difference to your arrest for murder. Roberto was misled by you and his story has a ring of truth—it would be easy to prove what happened to the money my father gave you.”

Diego looked uneasy, his threat had fallen flat. “What about Amélie’s future husband? It’s only a few weeks to the wedding. And your father—what about him?”

Rage flushed Sebastião’s face as he grabbed Diego by the collar. “My father gave you that money in friendship to save your home, your livelihood—
your father!
How dare you threaten him now! And Amélie. It’s easy to hurt her, isn’t it, but you’ve got nothing left to gain, Diego. Don’t you see that Roberto is finished with you?”

“Is that true?” Diego pulled himself away from Sebastião and confronted Roberto. “Is that true, Roberto?”

“It’s true. Say what you like. Do what you like. I never want to see you again.” Roberto closed his eyes as if expecting a blow.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Diego,” said Sebastião suddenly. “I will say nothing about this—on one condition: that you never come near my family again. You have Roberto’s money … use it to leave the country. If you don’t, then I shall go to the police. And I’m warning you now, Diego, don’t imagine that this means that in a few months’ time you can show up and nothing will be said. You will stay away from Roberto and from Amélie—forever.”

Diego’s eyes flickered over Roberto, still sitting motionless in the big chair. He couldn’t afford an involvement with the law; even if he could talk his way out of it, there were a few other matters hanging over his head in Rio and in Santos. With a final look at Roberto, he headed for the door.

“Very well,” he told Sebastião, “I’ll leave. I’ll be on a ship tomorrow. I’ll write to my father and say that the mortgage was paid by Senhor do Santos and that I’ve decided to try my luck in another country for a while. You never know,” he added with a grin, “it might be fun.”

Agostinha shrank back against the wall as Diego passed her, superstitiously throwing her apron over her face to protect her from the evil eye.

Roberto stared into the fire, the dancing flames blurred before his eyes as he listened for the click as the door closed. It was finally over.

“I’m not going to ask any more questions,” said Sebastião, “because I think you’ve been through enough tonight. I don’t want any explanations or reasons—I don’t even want to know what Diego meant. I know that you were not guilty of anything tonight and that’s enough for me. But one thing I ask you—no, I
warn
you, Roberto—is that none of this must ever harm Amélie. Whatever has happened in the past must never affect her. Do I make myself clear?”

Roberto nodded miserably. “I would give anything—anything, Sebastião—never to have known Diego. I love Amélie, you know that. I would never do anything to hurt her.”