Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  Clint hoped not. He liked Vern – and that one was the only one around who could handle the spontaneous act under unexpected situations. He would be able to look surprised or confused or whatever else with a sort of innocence. There would be no throwing off his timing because he was a method actor who let outside influences determine the script. He wouldn’t have done that confession part if he was that good, so Clint could hope he was what he seemed to be. It would be refreshing if one of them was.

  Something Strange

  “Oye, Clint. Co coin dega,” Obilio greeted. (It’s a beautiful day.)

  “It is truly that! Let’s get some breakfast over in the restaurant by the bus station. I like looking out over the Pacific in the morning.”

  They strolled slowly over to the little restaurant, ordered hojaldres, carne aguisada, fried yuca and coffee and went out to the back to look at the calm sea. “Anything new?” Clint asked.

  “Those asshole English people are likely to get robbed and mugged just because they keep insulting everyone. The secretary, Yvon, spent the night with the Standing woman. Maybe a girlfriend, but who knows?”

  “Or cares, except it could put them into some kind of scheme to screw Batty. Something very strange is going on here, Obi. Something very very strange.”

  Obilio nodded. “It’s something not good, I think, no matter how you look at it.”

  Clint’s turn to nod.

  They finished their breakfast and walked along the seawall, then Obilio went on to work. Clint went back to the hotel to change into clothes more suitable for looking around Orlando’s finca. He always got a kick out of wearing finca boots in town. A gringo in finca boots?

  When it was raining a lot in places like Bocas and the streets were a mess of puddles. He would wear them wherever he went. The Indios would greet (pointing at the boots), “Feo – pero practico!” (“Ugly, but practical!”)

  He got a local taxi and told the driver where to take him. It was about two miles out of town and cost $1.25. Clint often shook his head when the gringos drove by in their big fancy SUV’s. The bus from David was $3.80 and one of those gas hogs cost more than $15.00 to drive the distance. A taxi was fifty cents in town and you couldn’t start one of them for that, much less drive anywhere. Buses and taxis took you anywhere you wanted to go.

  He saw Orlando working on a fence line and chatted a few minutes, told him about the deal Lariez would go for and said he’d watch out, but Lariez would be legitimate on this one.

  “But ... that is three million dollars and I keep my land?”

  “Uh-huh,”

  “What in hell will I do with three damned million dollars?! Madre de dios! Who needs it?”

  Clint suggested he simply put it in the bank in certificates and take good care of his family and friends for the rest of his life on the interest.

  “Maybe let them all know I will help them if they will keep the gringo developers out?” Clint gave him the high five. He pointed to the mountain where Lariez wanted to mine the zinc. He waved and went on to it.

  There were sonic receptors in two places that Lariez hadn’t taken back out. He knew they were on computer recording and would have accurate records of what was found so he slipped a flash drive in the USB port and downloaded the information. He couldn’t read it until he was back on his laptop. What he saw was that Lariez had, for a change, probably been totally honest with him about it.

  Well, not totally. It would be against his nature. He would be hiding something or other if just because that’s what he’d always done.

  Not intentionally dishonest, in other words.

  Clint climbed to the top of the escarpment to look down at the Pacific. Magnificent! The mining area wouldn’t even leave a scar. Where the rocks would be removed could be filled from back more into the mountains and would leave a picturesque little 3 or 4 acre flat spot to build a nice house.

  Not some overdone monstrosity. A little ranch-style place for Orlando and his family. It was just up enough that the view would be very pleasant and the escarpment behind would offer another view and protection against storms and such.

  How strange. There were hundreds of these kinds of things that could be done to everyone’s mutual benefit here – but the greedy gringos and Panamanian hoods would take less, just to be crooked. That’s what had to change in Panamá. The money and greed psychology of too many non-Panamanians coming in had to be thwarted.

  How fucking noble! Time to get back to the real world.

  Clint read the sonic readout chart and sat back. There was something else there that could be taken without anyone knowing about it. Two small lodes of something NOT zinc. He went on-line and looked up the company who made the sonic recorder. SonikStar Technical Devices. He spent half an hour accessing advanced readout data processing and sat back again.

  One small lode was lead. Not nearly enough to make mining profitable in itself, but moderately profitable if taken with the zinc. Was that enough for Lariez?

  Probably. It was just the little side-insurance his type would look for. He could always say it was there when they dug so he took it, too. The other only took three minutes to identify. Silver. Not much, but silver was well worth mining in small lodes.

  Clint grinned and shut down, took a shower and went to Jola’s for some chicken soup. Lariez and one thug were there. He was invited to join them, so did.

  “Well, Clint! It seems the word is out that you think what I’m doing is Okay and that I will help these people. I don’t need a lot of protection to walk around town anymore! It is a very liberating feeling!” Paulo greeted. “Did you find I was being truthful when you went out to our friend Orlando’s place this morning?”

  “Basically. He isn’t interested in the little side-lodes. Just pay him the dollar for the silver – probably not more than a couple of tons of ore there. The lead isn’t really worth the trouble, but you might as well get it while you’re digging there, anyhow.

  “So! Can you tell me anything about that little bunch of gringos? What are they up to?”

  Lariez laughed until tears were running down his cheeks. “You are the most amazing person! How in all the world did you find the silver so fast?

  “For this, I will split the silver money fifty-fifty with Orlando. He seems a person I would like to be.”

  “No. He doesn’t want anymore money. He’ll use what he gets to help all his friends – and to try to keep the kinds of gringos I’m talking about out.

  “I didn’t find the silver. You did. I read the recorders.”

  “I didn’t know you could do that! Anyone could?”

  Clint shrugged. “If Orlando let them in to find them. Take them out.”

  “Yes. There is nothing more to be found with them. We shouldn’t have left them there.”

  “Then I wouldn’t know about the silver!” Clint pointed out. Lariez really laughed at that.

  “I think I’ve once again shot myself in the ass!” he said through giggles. “It is a habit I would like to break.

  “Clint, I don’t know what those gringos are after. It doesn’t make any sense. I think perhaps an insane asylum has let them escape.”

  Clint sighed. “Either they’re all nuts or living in some stupid fantasy or they’re onto something very crooked. I have to find what it is. If it’s not going to hurt anyone but other greedbag gringos they can go for it. If it’s going to hurt my friends here I’m gonna stop it, whatever it takes. Maybe you and Marko can work with me on something. I think you’d be friends. I think you’ve finally asked yourself, ‘What’s it for?’ and found that you’ve lost one hell of a lot more than you’ve gained. Marko can live on his little island in the Mediterranean, now. He has the respect of the local people and has a family who won’t have to live with what Pop did for their whole lives.”

  “Except that I have no family and will not, you are right. It is all for very little. As much as your friend, Batty, is obnoxious and a greedy little nothing, he is right about respect. You ar
e right that it is ‘who’ and not ‘how many’ give you that true respect. I respect you very much, my friend.”

  “I think I’m beginning to have a true respect for you. I definitely respect Marko. More than the normal kind of respect. What he changed from earned that respect. It was NOT an easy thing. I don’t know if I’d have the strength of character to change that way from that kind of situation.”

  “He put his life at risk to become a decent man. You don’t possibly understand how important it has become to me to be a decent person before I die.

  “I read that interview with you and that newswoman when you stopped the mob from killing your friend for his land. You said that everyone should stop for a moment every morning to ask themselves if this was what their life and heritage was about. You said that one must answer to only one person in the universe. You had to meet the eyes in the mirror when you shave very directly. If you can’t meet those eyes with some pride you are a piece of shit.

  “I never considered life that way before. It is why I find you so amazing. You, as they say in the US, ‘cut to the chase’ when you speak.

  “I never thought about it before, but I never had looked into my eyes in a mirror directly unless I was looking for a bit of grit or something.

  “I could not! I tried, but I looked away!

  “This morning, after speaking with Orlando, I looked into my eyes. Only for a moment. I saw a possibility. I want to look into those eyes again tomorrow morning and not look away. It has become very important to me. I want to, as you, walk along the calle and have everyone say, ‘Buenos dias!’ – and mean it. I want to reply, ‘Muy buenos dias!’ and mean it.

  “You said that is the big difference in Panamá and everywhere else. You say, ‘Buenos dias!’ and mean it. It is not just words.

  “It is true. All my life I said it and it was just words. I didn’t mean it. Now I find myself actually hoping you have a good day when I say it.”

  “It was the reason I moved here,” Clint said, simply.

  “The Smiths tried to attack Nino this morning,” Obilio reported to Clint. “You told us that they would. All four of them against one of us. We saw them near the warehouse and he went ahead and around the corner. He got cut a little, but Sergio Smith is no more. Jorge, Manuel, and Nito are in serious condition in the hospital. They are going by ambulance back to Colón with the word that they must never be anywhere in Panamá where there are Indios or they will die. Daniel Ortiz and his brother went into their house and found two big maletas filled with hundred dollar bills. They took them with seven other Indios to those people from the frente and made a written denunciado with copies so they can’t steal the money and not do anything. I think the three living brothers will stay in carcel for the rest of their lives. They will receive sentences of six years apiece, but they will not live long in carcel in Panamá City. They are much disliked by their own type. That is worse than SIDA (AIDS) as a cause of death in carcel.”

  Clint nodded and warned that anyone coming from Colón or parts of Panamá City should be watched. If one or two came every day or two days, handle them before they had a small army. It was a war of survival between the Indios and the people from Colón – so don’t let them get enough of an army in the area to do serious damage. Obilio had been joined by three others. They agreed that those thugs from Colón would never be allowed in Puerto Armuelles again.

  Clint said Colón had a reputation they had established themselves over many years. They insisted in living in the stereotype they created. They had to accept that decent society wouldn’t put up with them. They could go to Colón and stay there. No one with any sense went there now.

  They discussed things. Clint knew the local police and went to talk with them about the situation. They always had trouble with certain people from Colón and would manage to have any charges of assault brought against the locals be changed to self-defense.

  “Tell the Indigenos not to use their knives or machetes unless there are several of them who can say they were attacked with weapons. If they are attacked they can pick up a rock or board and kill their attacker in self-defense. They did not carry a weapon. Understand?” Aldo said. “It is true that a machete is not a weapon – if it is used in earning a livlihood here, so those who can show they do that may defend with a machete, humm?”

  Clint nodded and grinned a wry grin.

  Back to the Hotel Central. Yvon and Monica were just leaving. Gerald was remonstrating about seeing a big cucaracha in the hall. Sylvia was looking overly-shocked to the point that reminded Clint of Lucille Ball aping shock on I Love Lucy of a few years ago. Clint greeted them. Gerald started to yell that he had seen a HUGE ROACH right there in the hotel and what were they going to do about it?

  “Oh, I suppose one of the maids will carry it back outside where it belongs,” Clint said easily. “You overdo this silly act. You simply CAN’T act.

  “Other than that idiocy, what else have you found to make yourself obnoxious with today?

  “Oh! A friend met you in Panamá City – before this silly act – and wonders what you’re up to. You overdo it so much you’ve managed to get attention fixed on yourselves in a way I’m sure you didn’t intend.”

  He saw the little smirk and could see a very satisfied look on Sylvia. So.

  “I have no idea what you’re blathering about, Sir!” Gerald spat. “All I know is that this hotel is a roach motel! It’s intolerable!”

  “I mean how you tried to take attention from the others to the point you’re now having them watched much more closely than they would’ve been without the act. As I’ve said repeatedly, you simply can’t act. You don’t have a clue as to when to stop so you keep on until you defeat your purpose.

  “Well! Got a couple of meetings! Drop the act and you’ll find this really is a great place.”

  He walked off with Sylvia looking shocked in a more believable way. Gerald had suddenly forgotten to work himself into a rage and looked a little scared. Sara, behind the counter, looked amused.

  A thing or two fell right into place with the confrontation. Now to find the connection. Clint felt he hit it on the head. The Cartworthys were a deliberate distraction. The way it now came together meant they were there to distract him, specifically. That meant they had waited in Frontera for the bus he was on. That meant they knew he was on it. That meant Bathner.

  That didn’t make sense – until Yvon was tied into the crowd.

  He stepped onto the elevator as Rita ran into the lobby to call for him to wait. He held the door until she got on.

  “That Sally Wallace person is dead! She was murdered right there in the hospital!”

  “Murdered?”

  “Definitely. Someone held a pillow over her face and she suffocated right there. They definitely wanted it to be known she was murdered. There was no attempt to make it look like anything else.”

  They got off the elevator and walked to Clint’s room and out on the balcony.

  “Was Vern at the hospital?”

  “The husband? No. He was on the wharf with Quint Sanchez. I checked as much as I could because I know you have to know where everyone was.”

  “Who was at the hospital?”

  “Sam Downy and Frank Abel were with Dr. Castillio. I don’t see how they could have gotten to her room without anyone seeing them. The Cartworthy people were there a bit earlier, yelling about the water in the hotel being contaminated and they had what they kept calling Montezuma’s Revenge or something. Diarrhea, but they were there for almost an hour and never went anywhere near the banos. I gave them tetracycline and told them it would clear it up in less than an hour and that it probably was from eating raw vegetables they hadn’t washed properly, not the water.

  “Bathner’s secretary slash whore was there to pay for his stitches. The Monica woman waited for her out in the reception room.

  “Nino Sanchez came in with a cut and was treated. He was with Dr. Williams all the time he was here. Orlando Ruiz was with him
all the time. They brought in that Smith person’s body and the three brothers, who were beaten about half to death – which was a half too little.

  “There were other people, but I was too busy to notice all of them. There wasn’t much time when someone could go into her room when I wouldn’t see, but there were a few minutes now and then. She could have been killed anytime within a fifty minute period. Seven thirty until eight twenty.”

  Clint sighed heavily. This tightened part of it up, but he still didn’t have a clue as to what it was about.

  “Is the body still there?”

  “Yes, The police have a man coming in from David by helicopter to do a crimes scene ... thing. Investigation.”

  He nodded and said he’d like to look around a bit. He had some experience and maybe could find something. He also knew a thing or two about the victim and her friends.

  “Was she conscious enough to fight back?”

  “Only a little, but she did fight some by the way the room looked.”

  They went to the hospital. Enrico Holas, head of violent crimes, was there. He knew Clint from another case and invited him in, handing him latex gloves. Clint had impressed him with the need for not contaminating the scene. She was just a bit askew on the bed. A pillow from another room was partly covering her face. Rico said Rita had moved it from completely covering when she found her. There was a partial glass of water on the tray next to the bed. Clint said to print it and do whatever analysis they could. Rico raised an eyebrow and he said it wasn’t there for a patient who was unconscious. The tray had been swung out and the glass placed there. He pointed to the glass and pitcher of water on a close end table.

  “Ah! So it will be from another room or the comedor!” Rico noted, as he wrote it on his report.

  Clint lifted the sheet that was hanging to the floor and pointed at a small black mark on the tile. “That was where the foot of the killer was planted, solidly, when the lady was smothered. You probably can’t find the shoe that made it, because most shoes here have that Neoprene sole. It tells us it was done by a woman or a small man.”