Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  “C’est la vie. I was somewhat interested in meeting you, in any case. You may have information I can use. It is for me to be more clever than you in extracting it.”

  “We’re looking for the same thing. If I knew anything I’d already have the money and be gone.”

  “We want the money for different reasons. I don’t care about it for money. I care about where it leads.”

  “That I know. Terrorists and nuclear materials.”

  “They were sold to establish power generation, not for what they have now become. Even such as I would not be a part of that.”

  “I don’t get it?”

  “If I find the money I can trace where it came from. Considering those large amounts, such information cannot easily be hidden. The serial numbers are recorded.”

  “And?”

  “I will retrieve the materials and eliminate the ones who are doing this. The materials will be delivered to the original buyers.”

  “I still don’t get it?”

  “The buyers worked through a middle man. He stole the materials and gave them to those who have them now. The original buyers were to pay much less. That money will tell me who they are. I know only as a generality.”

  “How did Sally Davis-Wallace end up with the money, then?”

  “That seems a question that answers itself when one adds together the facts you now have. She moved in and eliminated the original middle man.”

  “Were those materials actually delivered?”

  He looked thoughtful. “Wouldn’t that make a very sick joke of all this? So many people dead and she would be the one who would take the money and try also to sell the things elsewhere. She was clever and stupid at the same time. I will first investigate as to whether said materials were yet delivered. If not ... where are they?”

  “THAT, I can find! I think if they were delivered there would be some very loud bragging about it.”

  “My first doubt when you mentioned the possibility. Why have not they told the world what they have? Is it because they don’t have it?”

  “Here’s my card. Call me the second you know if they do or don’t have the stuff. Meanwhile, I’ll start tracing to where it might be. I think I have a clue. A word used by the wrong person in the wrong way.”

  “And you may reach me ... here,” Marks answered, punching Clint’s number. He let Clint’s phone buzz three times, then cut. Clint marked the number and saved it in the phone.

  Clint headed back to the Davises. Brucey-boy had let the wrong thing slip.

  “No bullshit! If you’re holding something from her get to the nearest hospital NOW and get checked for radiation poisoning,” Clint greeted when Papa answered the door. Bruce actually fainted. Mama looked like she would.

  “Oh, dear GOD!” Bernice cried. “Why would she DO that to us?! Oh, dear GOD! We knew she was unbalanced, but there are limits ... oh, dear GOD!”

  “Where is it? We have to stop the spread of anything that dangerous. I’ll even try to help you to not get stood against a wall to have your stupid fucking heads blown off by a firing squad if you help now.”

  He went to Bruce and slapped him a few times. Hard. He sat up.

  “Where is it, bright boy? Any shit and you end up dead by law instead of by slow radiation poisoning.”

  “In the barn. I swear I didn’t know! I thought it was just money! It was too heavy, but I thought they had it in lead boxes so no one could x-ray it! I swear!”

  “There’s a storm shelter under the horse barn on our place in Carmel. It’s down there. I was only there a few times to see the money was alright,” Edgar said. “They brought it in with horses. From Australia. The horses died and we never knew why.”

  “There’s a camera system that’s run by the computer in the little office in front of the barn. Inside the file cabinet,” Bernice said. “Dear God! We didn’t know anything about anything but the money! I swear!”

  Clint punched speed-dial for Marks and said, “Carmel. Horse barn. Beneath floor in storm shelter. I report to the CIA in less than one hour. Money and material. Comp surveillance in office in front. File cabinet.”

  Marks grunted and dropped offline.

  “Hospital,” Clint ordered. The Davises got a cab. Clint headed for Tocumen airport. He would contact a friend in the CIA when he got off the plane in Bocas. He wanted a little chat with Vern.

  “The FBI will descend on that place like killer bees,” Clint said. Marko said the stuff was gone in twenty six minutes from when Clint called him. He used to own a place in Carmel and had some of his people watch, but not interfere. He didn’t want to get messed up with nuclears. Two large container trucks came in and parked by the barn. The help on the place were herded by four masked men into another barn and held until the trucks drove off ten minutes later. The front loader at the barn was used. The stuff was lifted with the backhoe and placed with the front loader. The cameras were disabled. Seems the men in the trucks knew just where to find the computer surveillance system.

  “Nuclears?” Vern asked.

  “Everything in that cellar, I imagine,” Marko replied. “They would take it all. I’m sort of surprised there was enough strong radiation leakage to cause much problems. The stuff was all in lead boxes.”

  “I saw the pallor of the Davises. Edgar let it slip that he couldn’t stop himself from going down there and checking the money. She probably put the stuff in the same containers as the money. That was why there were so many lead boxes. Three would hold all the radioactives they had. Six or eight. They wouldn’t chance critical mass. Definitely not a truckload or two!”

  “Who gets that money?” Vern asked. “Who gets the nuclear junk?”

  “Marks will keep half of the money and the original sellers will get the original price,” Marko answered. “That’s simply what he considers his commission and why they’ll always be willing to deal with him. The original buyers will get the material. Same deal. He’s probably honest in saying he wouldn’t get involved with terrorists. Not because he has any moral compunctions, but because that would put him into a personally dangerous position. He’s not afraid of dying, he’s afraid of being shamed and imprisoned.”

  “Sociopath. You said that right!” Vern replied. “You said there was already a billion missing? She spent it? What was she financing?”

  “We’ll have to see who suddenly comes out of the woodwork,” Marko said dryly. “They’ll probably come to you.”

  Vern grinned. “I’ll send them to you.”

  “No. Send them to Clint. I’m just a retired bum from the states, not some international gangster.”

  Clint gave him the finger. Vern said he seemed to have a lot of contacts among gangsters.

  “Hell! I was in transportation and construction in CALIFORNIA!” Marko shot back. “OF COURSE I know hundreds of gangsters! I came here to get away from the type!”

  That got the finger from Vern.

  Marko went to the house phone to receive a call from Panamá City. He came back to say the Davises were all suffering from critical radiation poisoning. Bruce would never have children and they would all be plagued with recurring cancers for as long as they lived. That wouldn’t be many years.

  “Rich as Midas until they die – and they’ll die soon and painfully,” Vern said.

  “Were you ever around that money?” Clint asked.

  “Hell no! I didn’t know anything about it!” Vern replied. “Unless she had some kind of transmittable stuff on her I don’t worry for a single second about radiation poisoning.”

  “Okay. Let’s go fishing for the afternoon,” Clint suggested.

  They did that.

  Who Needs It?

  “Clint! Turn on your damned phone!” Judi called across the water. Clint waved and turned it on. He was a bit surprised it was off.

  No charge. He plugged it into the charger and immediately got the buzz. It was Abel.

  “I’m here with Sam Downy. We want to know if there’s any way we can ge
t more of our investment back now that Bathner is dead. I would think his part should be divided among the survivors. It WAS a survivor contract.”

  Shit!

  “I imagine so. You two and Vern should get your percentages of it. Yvon’s, too. This was one fucked-up deal from the get-go! I hope I never get involved in this kind of thing again. International terrorists and gangsters, I don’t need!”

  “Terrorists?” Abel asked. “What the hell ... I don’t know anything except that they’re all dead and there was some connection with Syria!”

  Clint felt a bit evil. “Oh, that’s right. You weren’t in on the last part. You were funding a bunch of terrorists who had gotten their hands on some nuclear crap they were going to use to annihilate Israel and the US. We got them all – I hope.”

  “You HOPE?!” He actually squealed. “Annihilate ISRAEL? You HOPE you got them all?”

  “Well, you can never be certain about that kind of thing. Seven billion dollars is a lot to keep track of. We think we have it all. At least enough to make what we can’t account for not too dangerous.”

  “This is Sam Downy. Frank just pissed in his pants and is having a heart attack or something. What the hell did he mean about ‘annihilate Israel?’ What in hell is going on?”

  “You were financing a terrorist group who were using the money to buy nuclears or something. We think we got them all. We can’t know how much material was moved, seeing it was old cold war stuff from Russia. Sally Wallace was one nasty piece of work. It seems to be her idea or her deal or something. With her out of the picture ... oh, shit! Who were the Cartworthys working for?

  “I have to make a call. Maybe you can get some more of your money back with Batty and Yvon dead. Have the sense not to get involved with anymore shady shitheads. Let this be a lesson. Money is NOT the only thing in life. As a friend who you know says, ‘Money can’t buy heaven, but it sure will buy hell!’ Think about it. He has more money than he knows what to do with so he can speak from experience.”

  “Lariez?”

  “Among others. I have to make a call or two.” He shut off and called Marks. “No BS. Did the Cartworthys work for you?”

  “Cartworthys? No one named Cartworthy ever worked for ... the ones who killed Wallace?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “No.”

  “Thanks. I have to find out who they DID work for.

  “Gordo? That was the link. He’s still alive now that that storm’s over. I want to know for my own information. I’d just as soon let the rest of it lie.”

  “Gordo? He works for Smednoff. Smednoff is not involved.”

  “So that explains why Gordo’s running scared.”

  “I think I see. The materials and money are in their proper places. I also wish to ‘let it lie,’ as you say.”

  “It will. This is a personal thing that I want to clear up, then I’ll go fishing and screw the rest of this mess.” They chatted about fishing for a few minutes, then Clint called the airport and booked for Panamá City.

  “Greetings. Gordo Sandista?” Clint greeted. Two thugs at the next table tensed. Gordo waved at them to relax and replied, “Yes. Clint Faraday. I was more or less expecting you to come. Please sit and have some of the excellent fare served here. You can see by observing my gross middle that I particularly enjoy good food.

  “I owe you. You have inadvertently saved my life – for which I owe you gratitude and thanks. Now you have a question. I’m not sure what that question is. You have always been a step or two ahead of such as me.”

  “Who?”

  “Which who?”

  “Who hired the death of Sally Wallace?”

  Gordo paused, grinned sickly and said that was generally what was called “privileged information.” He would not hesitate to tell Clint, but would Clint please not reveal where he got the answer?

  “It’s for personal reasons. I know within three who it is. Just for my peace of mind, which one?”

  “Bruce.”

  Clint nodded. “I said from the time I met him he was very much like her.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Nothing. He’ll die horribly within a year or two at most of radiation poisoning effects. That’s the reward for his greed.”

  Gordo sighed and said Clint should try the Cajun Popcorn Shrimp the cook from New Orleans prepared for him every Thursday. They were damned good!

  Clint laid back to watch the sunrise from his deck. Maybe go fishing. Maybe lay around. Maybe go to Isla San Cristóbal to visit Marko and family.

  Vern went by in a boat to Drago. He had his surfboard. They waved.

  It was a beautiful daybreak. The sky to the east was clear with a fluffy cloud or two overhead and toward the north. Judi came onto her deck and waved at him. She pointed to her cel phone. He picked his up and noted there were six missed calls. He turned it onto ring and laid it on the table. He didn’t recognize the number and wouldn’t return it until maybe in the afternoon.

  It buzzed almost immediately. He noted it was the same number, sighed and answered.

  “Clint? Abel here. I want to hire you to try to get the damned bank to release our money! They keep promising, ‘Tomorrow. Guaranteed!’ and nothing happens! I want my money and I want it NOW!”

  Clint turned the phone off.

  Clint Faraday Mysteries #3

  Nightfall

  © 2008, by C. D. Moulton

  all rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any other information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/ publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental unless otherwise stated.

  A beautiful night – but most are here.

  Clint is having a meal just at nightfall in a restaurant on the water. It’s going to be a truly great evening and things will be perfect.

  Of course, that was before he found there was murder on the menu.

  Contents

  Romantic Dinner

  Oddball Family

  Accountants and Quacks

  Preposterous!

  Too Much Travel

  Information Needed

  Depressing Weather

  Not California Again!

  Ecuador et al

  More Countries

  The Slip One More Time

  Bye, Y’All!

  Nightfall

  Romantic Dinner

  Clint leaned over to tell Janice Watts, a pretty girl from Ohio in the states, that this was a typical restaurant for the area. The food was better than average and not ridiculously priced like some in Bocas.

  Cap’n Ron went by and he introduced them. Ron was on his way to meet a friend on the other end of the deck.

  A party of six people went to sit at the long reserved table close to the water. It would stay dry for another hour or more. Rains came through most evenings about an hour and a half after nightfall this time of year. The day had been gorgeous.

  Clint knew just about everyone in Bocas. The regulars and natives. Reynaldo, a local Indio who was friendly with everyone was on his way to work at La Iguana, the popular nearby surfer bar. He came in to say hello and to tell Clint that there were a lot of people from Germany in town.

  Clint heard the party at the long table talking in what he thought would be German, but they also spoke in Spanish and English and what sounded like French. Tyra, their waitress, said it was Suiza. Her boss’s brother was married to a Suiza and was talking with them earlier when they came to make reservations. They were arguing then the same way they were now. She said they didn’t seem to much like each other. They argued about everything and kept saying that it was a pity they had such a big family fight anytime anyone wanted to do anything.

  “The viejo, Lawrence, tells everyone
else what they can and can’t do and where they can and can’t go down here. It’s like my husband’s abuelo is. He has the money so he can tell everybody else how to live.

  “I told him to fuck off and he said Juan could depend on working the rest of his life for a few centavos because he wasn’t inheriting a single one from him if he didn’t dump me. Juan told him that he had to agree with me in that case. Fuck off! It was the best thing he ever did. That old bastard can’t tell him anything anymore. The rest of the family spend their time kissing his feet, but we don’t even go to anyone’s house if he’s going to be there. It’s not worth it. Juan wouldn’t even have a life of his own if he stayed.

  “Disculpame. It’s not your problem. The nasty old bastard reminds me of Juan’s abuelo. Everyone hates him and are nice at the same time. It makes me sick!”

  Clint said he knew the type. Janice said most families had someone like that. It was a sourfaced spinster aunt in her family. She had the original nickel she ever got and wouldn’t talk about anything but “security” that all her money bought. Her family were independent enough that they didn’t let her go too far like those ass-kissers were doing.

  Clint noticed the people at the long table in a cursory way. One very bald older man and five assorted younger people. None of them seemed to be having anything vaguely like a good time.

  They had a good meal and were enjoying some flan when the old bald man at the table suddenly stood and tried to breathe, but was obviously choking. Clint sighed and got up to use the Heimlich Maneuver on him, but one of the men sitting at the table got there first. He did the maneuver and the old man hacked and dropped onto the table, then started remonstrating about the bunch letting him almost die by just standing around until he choked to death. They were a bunch of ingrates and he was sorry he had sprung for this vacation for them. The one who had used the maneuver on him said all he did was buy a discount tour ticket for them and that the vacation would have been cheaper and one hell of a lot more fun if he hadn’t bothered – and by the way, “You’re welcome.”