Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  “He has said he will sell it! We have a testigo!” the lawyer said triumphantly.

  “Most certainly he’ll sell!” Clint replied, getting a shocked look from Ariel. “Why the hell else would he have an agent?

  “Of course, you might not want to meet the price. You can’t produce any testigo that he quoted any price because he hasn’t.”

  “Er?” the lawyer said, glancing nervously at Jack. “Well, we can negotiate a fair price to all, I’m sure. We much prefer to deal directly with an owner.”

  “Uh-huh. Then you kill off his family and have the land for next to nothing. I have a friend in the states – well, in the Mediterranean right now – who has made it very clear what will happen to anyone who tries that crap here. Marko Boccini. You might have heard the name.

  “The price is one million dollars per acre. It’s not negotiable. Take it or leave it.”

  “This is outrageous! I’ll bring charges!” the lawyer cried.

  “Really? For what?” Clint asked, feigning interest.

  “My client has gone to great expense already on the word of this man that he will sell!”

  “If he’s idiot enough to spend money on your promises he deserves to lose his ass. The place is for sale. One million dollars an acre. If you’re too stupid to determine something like that before going to ‘great expense,’ tough shit!”

  The lawyer was spluttering and puffing. Clint looked at Jack and shook his head. Jack let a grin show, then said they’d best get back to Chiriqui Grande. “I was a fool to not check on what he promised,” he said in English. “Seems I get burned a lot here in Panamá. It’s the national pastime to screw the gringo.”

  “It’s easy to stop that,” Clint said. “Get a competent lawyer who doesn’t fool with the old schemes and scams.”

  “You’re probably right,” Jack replied. “C’mon, guys. Let’s head out. Maybe we can get that tract near Miramar. It’s expensive, but not THAT expensive.”

  Clint grinned at him. He grinned back. He was trying hard to be affable. It wasn’t working. Clint did NOT like him or the type.

  “Well, they didn’t come back so I guess they have sense enough to know they’re beat,” Clint said the next day about noon. “I guess we can head back to Bocas, or I will. I really like it here.”

  “You can stay at my house anytime for as long as you like,” Ariel replied. “You are a very welcome guest and true friend.”

  “Thanks, but I have business. I would like to have a little cabin here where I could come to hide from the crap I have to put up with in Bocas sometimes.”

  “We will build you a house next to mine! Basilio has already said you can come here to live. The council approves you as a desirable person.”

  “You can’t know how honored that makes me feel, amigo. I am tempted. I have to go for now. I WILL return!”

  He went to Justo’s boat and they headed toward Chiriqui Grande. There was a policia boat on the beach on Ariel’s land so they went to ask what was the problem. Clint knew the officer on the boat, Xavier Cordrero. He had a somewhat fatalistic view on life along with a tremendous sharp sense of ironic humor.

  “Depends a lot on what you call a problem,” Xavier answered. “Seems some lawyer came out with a couple of gringos and didn’t come back. They say he was here to help look over some land. They started back about noon and the lawyer never came back. They said he wanted to look at some other land and would catch a ride back with the locals.”

  “Donaldo Something-or-other?” Clint asked.

  “Uh-huh. Know him?”

  “We talked yesterday. Seems he had sold the gringos a bill of goods. Promised to get Ariel’s land here without determining the price. It was much too expensive for their budget so they left. They didn’t go on the land at all and didn’t survey anything.”

  “Survey? They didn’t have any equipment to survey anything,” Xavier said, studying Clint carefully.

  “Oh, crap! Did the surveyor get back?”

  “Just two gringos according to the man on the dock. Said Donaldo wanted to stop at a place and got off. Do you know who the engineer is?”

  “Batiste Batiste, if I remember,” Clint answered. Xavier nodded and said no surveyor or any other engineer was even mentioned. The lawyer’s wife came to the policia, not the gringos. They told him they thought he had come back some other way. He wanted them to drop him off.

  “Then we’ll have to check on Batiste Batiste when we reach Chiriqui Grande, won’t we?” Clint mused aloud. “What’s the lawyer’s sir name?”

  “Menendez. He isn’t exactly liked in the area.”

  “All I know is that he didn’t come home,” Serena Miranda insisted. “He was late sometimes, but he never came home. One of those gringos that wouldn’t listen to him and lost everything probably shot him somewhere and we’ll never find his body! I just know it!”

  “There were other gringos who lost a lot of money over some land deal?” Clint asked. “I assume it was land. He was into real estate.”

  “Lots of them! They never listen! They claim it’s his fault because he didn’t stop them, but how could he? They would never listen!”

  There was something a little strange about how she was acting. She was being defiant and aggressive to what end? Nobody had accused her of anything.

  Clint looked around. It would seem the Menendezes lived very well. The place was ostentatious in an area where nobody ever was. There was a very nice new car in the garage (which nobody ever had in the area, either. No car, no garage). The place was big and new. Menendez had made quite the little fortune advising gringos not to do things they did anyway.

  She was talking a bit louder than was necessary and staying very close to the door. That might indicate there was somebody inside. She was also wearing makeup, which no one did in the area unless they worked in one of the “better” jobs.

  “Well, thanks. I’ll see if I can find anything,” he said, took her hand and left.

  “Batiste? He’s probably at his office if he isn’t out doing a job somewhere,” the man trimming the shrubs at the other ostentatious place in town said. “I think Donaldo Menendez was having him do a plano or something on a big land purchase.”

  “Did a lot of work with Menendez?” Clint asked. “It seems to pay well.”

  The man shrugged. “He does a lot of work for a lot of people. The gringos are stupid enough to pay in advance so he draws it out and runs up extra costs. He hangs around the Menendez place a lot of the time when Menendez is in Panamá or David.”

  “Got a thing with the lovely wife? She’s not too bad if you like them a little pudgy. Panamanians like their woman a bit larger than some others.”

  He shrugged again. Clint thanked him and left.

  Batiste wasn’t at his office. His secretary said he had gone to do a plano on a farm near Mali. He left maybe half an hour ago.

  So. Batiste came home, Menendez didn’t – and Batiste was having a fling with the little wife. Veddy inderesdink! Clint thought for a minute, then decided to go back to Bocas.

  “Hi, Bill. Sharon. Bill,” Clint greeted as he went into Bohmfalk’s. Bill and Sharon own the place. The other Bill is a musician from England who does shows there and at other places around Bocas and Carenero. He looked around and said he was going to wander awhile, but would be back.

  He found Jack sitting with a local hooker at Bongos Restaurante. He asked where Batiste and Menendez got off the boat.

  “What? They didn’t get back? I could swear I saw Batiste this morning in front of his office.”

  “He got back. Menendez didn’t. He went out with some gringos and he and Menendez got off somewhere. He’s having an affair with the lovely Sra. Menendez. There are some gringos who were royally pissed at him for screwing them out of a lot of money. You figure what’s coming next when he claims he wasn’t with you. Nobody saw him with you except Ariel, Justo and me. Ariel and Justo ain’t about to get involved with any gringos who were trying to steal the
ir land. Less than fifty-fifty I could be found before your asses are locked up for an investigation. I spend a lot of time running around the country lately. It was set up perfectly until I showed up, then he took a chance. After all, he could get the lovely wife to put off reporting him missing for a couple of days.

  “Too bad he didn’t warn her not to get anxious so she runs right to the police. Now he has to wait and see. At worst he claims he left Menendez on some piece of land and came on back alone.

  “Where was it? Maybe I can find the body and keep you out of it. You can then go to the Pacific side to make your tourist mesa.”

  He laughed. “We were planning to use the Pacific side until he told us about the great deal he could get us at Cusapin, which is ripe for developing. We’re going to the Pacific side, as you call it, whether you get us out or not. I won’t pretend to feel any loss over Menendez and Cusapin won’t happen for years, if ever.

  “We dropped him off at that point just before the big ship docks at Chiriqui Grande. Just under the oil storage tanks. There’s a little rickety dock into the mangroves there.”

  Clint thanked him and went back to Bohmfalk’s to have a few beers with his friends. Dennis was going to David in the morning and would drop him off in Chiriqui Grande.

  Clint had Quintan, an Indio friend, take him to the little dock. He went in to find Menendez’s body laying face down in the water. There were slick rocks there and it was perfectly logical he had fallen, hit his head hard enough to knock him out and drowned. Clint called Xavier and waited until he came to tell him what he suspected.

  “Yes. I have done some investigation and find that the Sra. has two others on the side. It seems the Sr. Batiste has a wife and another mistress besides her. We know exactly what happened, but can we prove it?”

  “You want to know the truth? He was worth half a minute of your time and they deserve each other. You can let each of them know that you’re glad it was so obviously a tragic accident because when married lovers do something like that they both know about it. When the glow wears off they have to wonder if they’re the next inconvenient person in the other’s life – and they KNOW how that was handled before!”

  Xavier got a truly evil grin on his face. “Yes. I will find it a relief I don’t have to warn them of the predictable consequences tomorrow of rash actions today.

  “Well, Clint! It’s a sad thing when careless people go into dangerous places unprepared. Those fancy shoes are certainly predictable as to what happens when one steps with them onto slippery wet rocks. Why, that’s as predictable as what will happen to murderous lovers!”

  “Yes. Sad accident. You won’t need anymore of my statement as to finding the body when I came to see if there was a leak in those storage tanks up there, will you?”

  “I don’t see why. It seems as clear as the way he died, wouldn’t you say? Sad accident.”

  Clint saluted and headed back to Bocas. Menendez was probably the lucky one to die so suddenly and unexpectedly. Others would spend the rest of their lives looking into shadows and wondering when it was coming.

  And if maybe they should act first.

  Whatever Works

  Clint Faraday walked into the Hotel Alcalá lobby in David, greeted the women at the counter and asked if Frank O’Dell was there. He was in 202, so Clint called and said he would meet him in the restaurant.

  “Quere un quarto?” Carlyn asked. He said probably not, then said he would stay at least tonight, seeing it was already one o’clock. He wouldn’t be through here for at least another hour and he didn’t want to ride back to Bocas that late. The bus took almost four hours. The water taxis would have taken their last run at 6:30 and he would have to stay in Almirante. He always stayed at the Hotel Chadam and it was probably full of workers from the electric project. Kevin would let him sack out in the house, but there were already too many there.

  He went into the restaurant for coffee and chatted with a couple of gringas who were staying in the hotel. It was their first trip to Panamá and they didn’t know where to go or what to see. He suggested a few places, but David is a large spread-out city that has the atmosphere of a small town, which was why Clint liked it so much. His semi-nutcase author friend, Dave, came in with the owner of a local night club (such as they have in David) and greeted him. He had a couple of houses in nearby Quiteno. Clint had stayed there several times as well as at his place in Bocas. One of the gringas said she had seen him playing guitar in Panamá City the night before. He was pretty good for the older stuff. He tended to play a bit too heavy for Panamá though.

  “He was with some of the big bands in the sixties and seventies,” Clint replied. “I mean big names, not the big bands. He did mostly heavy metal. The man with him is Panamá Bill. He plays there sometimes.”

  “There where?”

  “Panamá Bill’s. It’s a bar and restaurant to your right as you go out the door, go to the street this side of the parque and turn right. It’s about four blocks down across from the HSBC bank. A lot of gringos meet there. It’s close to several casinos if you like that kind of thing.”

  “We’re just looking around. I’m Anne and she’s Karla. I’m a gringa, but Karla’s from Germany. How about showing us around? I’ll pay.”

  “I have some business, but should be done with that by about five. We can go to Steaks or Antojitos for dinner – and I’ll pay.”

  Frank came in to look around. He saw Clint at the table and came over. Clint introduced them and Karla showed immediate interest. They invited him along for dinner. After a few minutes the girls said they were going to walk around and through the parque, then do some shopping. Clint and Frank suggested the loud bazaar-type places three streets over. Take their time and they could get some great bargains. Clint did most of his shopping for clothes and such there.

  “Oh! Dress up tonight?” Anne asked.

  “This is as dressed up as I ever get in Panamá,” Clint replied. “You can dress as you like. A lot of gringos from Boquete dress up for Steaks, but they’re the exception.”

  “We’ll semi,” Karla said. “Better than this, but not fancy. I want to be comfortable and that’s easy here. I can be comfortable and stylish at the same time!”

  They said their “Later!”s and went out.

  “When did you get in?” Frank asked. “You were in Bocas when I called you this morning!”

  “Only about fifteen minutes ago. Why?”

  “And you already have a date for tonight?”

  “So do you. They’re attractive and are here for a good time. A one night summer fling sort of thing.”

  Frank shook his head and said he wanted to discuss a couple of things that had happened that didn’t seem to make sense. It was just a bit sinister.

  “In what way?”

  “Mostly a feeling. Little things are just a little off-center and some people are acting like they’re acting. Like it’s a bit rehearsed. A couple of odd things – like a bum who’s a bit too well-dressed to be panhandling, then he gets irate when I say I don’t carry money and don’t give it out when I do. Nobody ever seemed to take offense here with that. Little things. A feeling of being watched.”

  “Who would be behind it and why?”

  “I don’t know who and can’t think of why anyone would be stalking me. It’s getting scary. I get phone calls that hang up when I answer a lot.”

  “One-ringers? Perdidos? That’s just people who don’t have any money in his phone and want you to call them back. That way you pay for it. Common with women you gave your number to.”

  “No. When I call back they don’t answer. I’m used to one-ringers. Unless I know the number I don’t return – and sometimes I don’t BECAUSE I know the number. It’s a feeling. I’m being threatened or warned about something and don’t have a clue as to what it could be.”

  His phone beeped. He looked at the caller ID and answered. He shrugged and handed Clint the phone. He could hear small background noises, but no voice.


  Clint looked at the ID. Private, which meant it couldn’t be called back by fast dial. Probably a pay phone.

  “This has gone far enough. What the hell do you want?”

  “Que?”

  (What?)

  “Que quere?”

  (What do you want?)

  “Quien habla?”

  (Who speaks?)

  “Clint Faraday. Que quere?”

  “Digarse su amigo hay cuidado. Propiedad de otras esta propiedad de otras!”

  (Tell your friend to take care. Property of others is property of others.)

  “Que propiedad?”

  (What property?)

  “El conoce!”

  (He knows!)

  “No. El no se. Es porque yo vene aqui.”

  (No. He does not. That’s why I came here.)

  There was a silence for a minute, then, “En La Fiesta! El llevado propiedad de mi hermano! La bolsa!”

  (In The Fiesta (casino). He took property of my brother. A sack.)

  “Momento.”

  (A moment.)

  “Frank, did you pick up a bolsa at The Fiesta?”

  “Fiesta? I’ve never been in the place! I don’t care for casinos!”

  “Is un equivicado. El nunca es en La Fiesta. El no quero por casinos.”

  (It’s a mistake. He’s never been in The Fiesta. He doesn’t care for casinos.)

  “NO! Viernes dos semanas pasada! ES!”

  (NO! Friday two weeks ago. HE IS!)

  “Friday two weeks ago?” Clint asked Frank.

  “Friday two weeks ago I was in Mexico City, for Christ’s sake!”

  “El es en Ciudad Mexico viernes dos semanas pasado.”

  (He was in Mexico City Friday two weeks ago.)

  Frank dropped his passport on the table open to the Mexican stamp.