Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  “Well, Key West thirty or so years ago,” Clint agreed. “There are a lot of gringos. Some are good people, but some are as low a scum as you’ll find anywhere.”

  They chatted and the doctors said it would be alright to take Ronaldo to anywhere there was good medical attention available. There isn’t on Isla Colón, but Clint didn’t want to leave him in Panamá City.

  “I have a friend in David, which is a bit more than halfway back and the medical in David is as good as anywhere in the world for most things,” Clint suggested. “I think he has a place, a little farm where there’s already an Indio from Bocas staying so he has room there.” He used his cell phone to call Charlie, who said Ronaldo was more than welcome so they made arrangements and headed for David a little after noon, arriving there just at dark. Clint got a call from Judi just as they were getting to David.

  “Clint? How are things? Did you find Ronaldo okay?”

  “Yeah, and things are pretty well settled now. We’re staying in David for a day or so, then coming on to Bocas. Ronaldo will stay here until the doctors say it’s safe for him to be away from the hospitals.

  “How are things there?”

  “It’s really why I called you. Seems Hank Elmore was murdered sometime last night or this morning.”

  Clint swore colorfully. Vic asked what the problem was now.

  “I have to get to Bocas right away. I’ll drive if you want me to.”

  “I like to drive. We can go on just as soon as we drop Ronaldo off.

  “Same problem – or maybe the same cause of the problem?” Vic asked.

  “I wish to hell I knew!” Clint fired back acidly.

  “Ola, Clint! Que tal?” Capt. Menendez greeted. “Tiene otro cuerpo muerte aqui!”

  “So I heard,” Clint replied. “Hank Elmore, arrogant pain-in-the-ass.

  “How did he die?”

  “Stuck five or six times with a long knife. Bigger than a pocket knife, but smaller than a machete. He fought back some, but the first one was in the throat so he couldn’t yell, not that anyone would hear him out here. It was before seven. Don’t know anything much more. He was, it seems, making a telephone call, so we can find the time, I suppose.”

  “That cel phone?” Clint asked. “Have you checked it for prints?”

  “Only his,” Menendez replied.

  Clint picked up the phone, checked the menu and punched to return the last dialed call. He got a woman who said she had talked with Hank the night before about ten thirty.

  He then called the last incoming call and got a Jim Callas at the marina on Carenero. He asked when he had called Hank.

  “Hank who?”

  “Elmore.”

  “Mr. Elmore? At six thirty to have him tell Silvio to call me when he came in. He’s supposed to do some work on his dock. Why?”

  “Because he died about ten minutes later or less.”

  “Died? I don’t understand. He seemed in good health. Didn’t ever complain the two times I met him.”

  “Murdered,” Clint replied. “Thanks.”

  “Murdered? No kidding? Shit!”

  “My reaction almost exactly, if for another reason. Thanks.” Clint clicked off. “He died between six thirty and seven.” Menendez nodded.

  Clint checked around, then said he was going to talk to some people. Silvio had NOT come to work, apparently, and that wasn’t like him. He found him at the tour dock. “How come you didn’t go to Elmore’s this morning? Jim at the marina at Carenero wants you to call him.”

  “I went over, but he wasn’t there or something. Didn’t come out so I figured maybe he hadn’t got the materials yet.”

  “He’s dead, so I guess you won’t get that job. Call Jim.

  “What time did you get there?

  “About a quarter to seven. He’s really cut into little pieces?”

  “Cut, but not that extreme. That narrows it. Six thirty to seven. Oh! Did you see anyone around the area? Somebody on the road or in a boat?”

  “No. Well, Carlos passed me going toward the point. I waved, but I guess he didn’t see me. He was bent over working on the tackle or something.”

  Clint thought a few seconds, nodded, and said his goodbyes.

  “Carlos around?” Clint asked Virginia, Carlos’ wife.

  “No. He fell in the boat and has to get some stitches so he’s at the hospital.”

  “Oh. That explains what Silvio said about him not seeing him this morning. One way, anyhow. Thanks.” Clint grinned a very wry grin. He headed for the hospital.

  “Carlos Conant? He was here a couple of hours ago,” Nilsa, at the nurses’ station said. “Got a cut on his scalp that needed stitches and another across his hand. He didn’t get either falling in any boat! I’d say he’d been in a fight and came out second best, you ask me. Osirio was here for the report and took him to the station. Llanas came in and they took him together.

  “It about Hank? Carlos killed him?”

  “I think so. I really do. It would explain a lot.”

  “Stupid! Now who will he work for if he DOES get off from killing Hank? Hank was almost all the work he’s had lately.”

  “I imagine he was working for his next employer when he killed Hank. This is ridiculous! Who else is in this mess? How? WHY, damnit!”

  Nilsa gave him a funny look and shook her head.

  Vic came in to say he’d been looking for Clint for the past hour and was always two minutes behind him. He’d left his phone in the car so couldn’t get a call.

  Clint checked the phone pouch and groaned. “I didn’t think, but should have known when I didn’t get any calls.”

  Vic handed him the phone and said Marko would be there tomorrow morning.

  “Marko’s coming here? Why?”

  “He’s going to buy your friend’s land.”

  “Oh, shit! No, Vic! Not that crowd! Not here!”

  “Not like that. You’ll get guarantees. He’ll talk to you about it. No one’s to know he’s here and he’ll keep the land like it is except for a small house. He wants a place his family is safe and can live a normal life and Los Angeles, San Francisco, Houston, New Orleans, Chicago, Detroit ... you get it.”

  “But this place would be the same in very little time, Vic. It’s not Marko, it’s who would follow him.”

  “That’s the point. Nobody will follow him here. He’ll explain,” Vic promised. “He’ll make damned sure there’s nothing for them to come here for.”

  Clint sighed. “Let’s go to the policia station and see if we can learn who hired Carlos to kill Elmore.”

  “Ola, Carlos. Que tal?” Clint greeted. “Gracias – y por que?”

  “Hello, Clint. Thanks? For what do you wish to know for what?”

  “Thanks for knocking off that obsequious bastard and why did you do it? Someone paid you?”

  “Paid? No, Clint. It is what would happen to my family if I didn’t do it and I cannot say more. Please!”

  “Something directly Hank would have done?” Clint asked, watching Carlos’ eyes carefully. They were darting around, particularly toward one cop.

  “He would ... he was with some people. He ... Clint, I can’t tell you, but I swear before God Almighty I had no choice!”

  “Okay. I can accept that. I know which people, I think. I’ll never be able to prove it is all. I’ll try to help you. Maybe some of my friends will be able to get you out of this.”

  “Thank you, Clint. It is rare to have a real friend like you.”

  Clint went out to the front desk to talk with Sergio and Osirio awhile. He managed to be a bit curious about the cop Carlos was so afraid of, learning he had just come from Panamá City. They didn’t know him.

  “Ah? So check his credentials very carefully and very quietly. Maybe there’s something very un-coplike about him. I could be wrong, so don’t let him know. Maybe I can have Rigo check him out right there in Panamá City, hunh?”

  “Ah! Excellent idea – and we’ll watch him,” Osirio replie
d.

  They chatted a bit more, Clint convincing them that Carlos would be cleared. The charges would be reduced to self-defense or something. They understood the kind of people behind it and agreed it would be alright with them.

  “Clint, Elmore was a front man for the mafia, but I didn’t say that because I have no proof,” Sergio cautioned.

  “I know. It’s why I want to get Carlos off.”

  Clint left the station and called Rigo, a high officer in the national police, to suggest checking on that officer.

  “In Bocas? I don’t think anyone from ... one minute. What was the name?”

  “His tag said Quintas. I think I saw that tag before and he wasn’t the one wearing it.”

  “Hmmm. Quintas, Vermont, Panamá ... no. Santiago. Let me contact them. A moment ...” the line went on hold. Three minutes later Rigo came on to say, “Clint! Quintas is in the hospital and might not survive. He was found in a ditch. It looked like he was hit by a car!”

  “Give me two minutes, then contact Bocas and tell them to grab him! He’s dangerous and there could be problems! I want to be there!”

  Rigo hung up and Clint raced back into the station to tell Osirio and Sergio to come with him. “Quintas” wasn’t in the interrogation room so they headed for the cell area where he was sitting with Carlos, talking. Carlos looked terrified.

  “Vermont Quintas?” Clint asked as Sergio answered a call on his walkie-talkie.

  “Quintas” jumped up and grabbed for his sidearm, but Clint was right beside him and chopped hard at his arm, making him drop the gun. Clint hit him with all he could muster in the jaw, knocking him back onto the bunk. Osirio stuck the muzzle of his own sidearm in “Quintas” ear and said if he so much as blinked an eye he was dead meat. He froze. Osirio cuffed him and they led him away. Sergio told Carlos he was now free to go. “Quintas” was going to confess responsibility for Elmore’s death – or he was going to testify against his bosses, which meant his own very slow and very messy death. Five years for second degree was better than death by torture. He claimed the people he was working for didn’t know he had a personal hard-on for Elmore – to stop any questions there. He said he was just passing through and saw Elmore. Besides, working for them was just a sometimes thing and that project was already done.

  “But ... but I killed him!” Carlos cried.

  “Ah, but HE was responsible!” Sergio said.

  They led “Quintas” out of the cell area, Carlos and Clint following.

  Clint went back to his house to find Judi sitting with a somewhat bullish man with a face most women would call handsome. He looked slightly familiar. Two men in suits came from around the house.

  “Marko! Welcome to my modest abode!” he greeted. “Judi, I suppose you’ve already introduced yourselves to each other. I don’t know the names of the two goons.”

  “Marko? Marko who?” Judi asked. “This is Manny Mathews.” She grinned. “At least, that’s what the phony passport says.”

  Marko laughed. “You two! Go to town and have a beer or something,” he ordered. The goons looked a bit nervous, but left.

  “So! To what do I owe the honor of your presence?” Clint asked.

  “I want to discuss something with you. I hope your recent problem with that bunch of amateur would-be clowns in Panamá City is resolved?”

  “For the moment, but I have one of their operatives in the pen for killing Hank Elmore. They’ll be upset about that because he knows too much.”

  “CARLOS killed Hank!” Judi cried.

  “But this Quintas character was responsible, so he takes the fall. He’ll confess to second to ensure he won’t be asked other questions that would result in a messy death if he answered.”

  Marko laughed. “Pops taught you a few things I see!

  “Judi, I am Manny. Period. You never heard the name ‘Marko’ – okay? It’s damned important.” Judi nodded, but looked a question at Clint.

  “He’s alright, but the wrong, and I do mean WRONG, people would come here if they even suspect he’s here,” Clint answered. She nodded again.

  “Should I have left something on the stove I simply MUST attend to?” she asked. This time Clint nodded. She told Marko it had been a pleasure and left.

  “So! What’s it about?” Clint asked.

  “A couple of things. Your deal with Pops ain’t part of this. I want you to do me a favor, separate. I swear before God Almighty there won’t be no mob types coming here and there won’t be no stashes or anything like that. I’m mostly out of that, anyhow. Pops was going legit and I want to go legit. There’s plenty to go around and just getting a lot more money is what you call ‘hollow’ anyhow. It don’t mean nothing past a certain point, you know? Like, ‘I got another mil today,’ then comes ‘What you gonna do with it?’ and there ain’t no good answer.

  “See, I’m gonna marry Sylvia, this girl I’m really stuck on bigtime and she don’t want no goons hanging around all the time like she’s gotta have extra protection everywhere she goes. Won’t happen here because I got a passport from here and one for her. I’m Manuel Arthur Mathews and she’s Sylvia Anne D’Angelo.

  “Well, that’s her name, but she’ll be Mrs. Sylvia Anne Mathews. Got a legal name change nobody knows nothing about, all legal and with papers from the government. Not here and not in the states. Nobody can trace it, least I hope so.

  “Anyhow, I want to buy your buddy’s land, you know? Great big – or maybe not all that big – place on a island, nice house, but not ostentatious and vulgar – she calls my places in LA and SanFran that – where we can raise a normal type of family.

  “What I want from you is only to keep an eye out for anybody – you know what I mean – who asks too many questions about the new kids moved in on the block kind of questions. See they get a story so they think it ain’t me, see? They’re gonna know you know me from this crap here yesterday so they’ll maybe figure I’m somewhere around because I’m not in any other place they know about. More than a couple would like to cap me, see?

  “You always were smart. Pops always said you had more brains in your little finger than any of the other cruds I was always around and that I could trust you over anybody in the world.

  “See, Pops said you could finger him for some things, but you knew nobody innocent was even involved because you would smash him like a bug if you heard about him doing anything to anybody didn’t deserve worse. Said you had sense enough to know it’s better and cheaper for the normal people if we get rid of the ones who ... you know.”

  “Mmm? Just point them somewhere else?” Clint asked, watching his eyes carefully. “Don’t do anything, just see they think you’re somewhere, but not here?”

  “Yeah. That’s it. I got the papers and stuff like I was from a farm in Idaho, which is somewhere I never was, so they’ll think I ain’t who I am easy.”

  “Okay. I can do that much. You speak Spanish if I remember, better than English. You speak Italian, but don’t ever let anyone around here know you know more than a few words and don’t use them quite right. That’s good for another reason: you can listen to THEM talking when they think you don’t understand the language.

  “You also have to change the way you speak English a little. Less like a hood and more like a regular Joe.”

  “Yeah. I promised Syl I’d proper up my English. She’s teaching me. I did pretty good when your girlfriend was here, didn’t I? I can do it, but it’s just easier to talk like I always talk when there ain’t nobody around.

  “Okay. You don’t haveta say it. I’ll forget if I don’t talk good all the time. Syl says that.

  “See? Pops said you were real smart! You’re right about hearing what they say when they think it’s behind my back! I speak German and Greek some, too! Don’t let them know I can see what they’re saying in anything but English and Spanish! They’ll run their mouth and I can be all innocent and ‘Oh, gee!’ like I ain’t got a clue! Pops said you were smart! You really ARE!

  �
�Promise – I won’t do nothing to none of them HERE! If they say the wrong thing and the boys happen to hear about it and they have an accident in the states it ain’t nothing about HERE!”

  “Fair enough! No cons. I find you didn’t keep your word and there’ll be really tough consequences. Let’s be perfectly clear about that!”

  “You got it! We can maybe buddy around some, like going fishing and that. No broads on the side. Had enough of that already and I’m like Pops in that when you’re married you made a sworn oath before God and only a total idiot would try that! You can’t lie to God!”

  “I think maybe you’ll do okay here. Want a beer? Got Panamá. It’s pretty good.”

  “Like it says on your shirt there, por que no?” he answered with a big grin.

  Clint returned the grin and got them each a beer.

  Marko as a neighbor – well, on San Cristóbal. Close.

  The place was big enough that he could pull it off. It might be a good idea to have Marko owe him a personal favor. If he ever had to call in a marker from “Pops” he’d still have that one on tap!

  A Sometimes Thing

  Clint Faraday walked into The Steak House in David and looked around at the people sitting at the tables. Quite a few of the gringos from Boquete came here when in David because the food was exceptional and not unlike the better restaurant fare in the states.

  Al Stewart, a man Clint met a week or so ago in Bohmfalk’s on Isla Colón, was sitting at a table near the rear with another gringo type. He went to be introduced to Hugh Jamieson and to be invited to join them. Al had called him at his home in Bocas del Toro to hire him for an as yet unexplained job. If he was with someone make it look like a chance encounter – but pay very careful attention to what everyone said and did.