Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  “So he’s an agent watching the drug kingpins,” Manny suggested. “Has a set of very nice boats. Probably also watched offshore accounts for the US.”

  “I’d say from Interpol,” Dave argued. “No narc from the states would come off as anything but a TV asshole. We’ve both had experience with them. I think you’ll find he’s not there to watch the drug crap so much as to watch what they buy and who sells it.”

  “You got me there!” Judi exclaimed.

  “The biggies buy art and jewelry stolen from Europe and so forth,” Dave explained. “Australia is missing a lot so that tells me something about him.”

  “Logical,” Manny said. “Don’t do anything to blow his cover. He’ll probably work with you where the DEA and CIA would definitely try to cut you out.”

  “As you said, I have some small experience with them, not good,” Clint agreed. “I’m off early tomorrow. There’s a storm sitting out in the Caribbean that could move in and I couldn’t get out of here for several days.”

  “It’s big,” Dave warned. “I don’t at all like the looks of it. A tropical wave that’s coming in this far south is really bad news. It’ll sit against the mountains and stay. Global warming. We warned about this years ago.”

  “Global warming?” Sergio asked.

  “Yes. The warmer water makes the controlling currents in the Gulf Stream move south. Storm fronts follow the Gulf Stream. Hotter water makes stronger and longer storms. We’ll have hurricanes here where there haven’t been any ever recorded within ten to twelve years,” Dave answered.

  They chatted awhile, then Sergio, Judi and Clint went back to Bocas.

  “It woke me up for just a few seconds. All my dishes and cabinets were rattling,” Judi told Sergio and Clint while they waited for his plane. “It was six point two in David and stronger in San José. I think there will be a lot of derumbes between here and David.”

  They were discussing the strong tremor at 1:15 in the morning. There was an earthquake on the Pacific side.

  “I don’t like those low clouds or the feeling of almost depression,” Sergio complained. “I think Dave is right. We have this rain now that’s coming in very strong according to TV. It’s huge. The sea is already high. Take very great care on those small islands, Clint. I fear this one.”

  Clint nodded and went out to the small plane Manny had arranged to take him to San Blas. He planned to stop at Cusapin for an hour or so to visit friends.

  The ride was very bumpy. Cusapin was already having a storm so they went directly to San Blas. It was more on the fringes of the storm that was coming in more to the west and north. Costa Rica and Panamá were in for it if Clint knew how to read the feel of a storm.

  He took his pack and went to the Brisa for a room. The sea was high and rough though the storm wasn’t in the immediate area. It was going to be a bad one. They told him the Bocas airport was already closed and that the rains were like the David rains. Coming down in sheets. 35 MPH winds. Panamá City airport would close before the end of the day. San José was closing down operations. A call from a friend in Chiriqui Grande said the sea was very bad and that a house was about to slide into the sea as they spoke. David airport would close in minutes. The river was about to wash the David road away and was ‘way over the banks. Several houses were about to be destroyed by it.

  High tide would be about 5:00. The sea was already over the regular high tide mark. There was a small surge from the storm but it was very low pressure which added to it.

  Clint had to turn his attention to the case, but was worried. His house was over the sea. It was high enough. So was Judi’s. The sea would have to raise six feet to get in. Waves were probably splashing up, but the floor was sealed.

  Judi called him at three and said the waves weren’t splashing hard because it was shallow for a distance, but it was looking very bad. Bocas was flooded. The rains were coming too heavy to run off with the high tide. The sea was coming over the streets on the row by the water. It was knee-deep in places. This was too much like a hurricane except the winds weren’t strong. TV said it would last two days, but she thought it would be more. Dave said the storm would hit the mountains and just sit there until it exhausted its energy.

  At 4:30 Clint met Manolo Velasquez. He didn’t beat around, but said he figured Interpol?

  Manolo was a rugged dark handsome man with a deliberate air of danger about him. He was popular with the local kids, who flocked around him to play a game where he would put a dime or quarter in his hand, take it back and forth from hand to hand behind his back, then present fists which the kids would slap. The one who slapped the hand with the coin got it.

  Manolo studied him a moment. “You’re Clint Faraday from Florida. I’ve checked on you since you were told about me by your friend, Flako Sanchez. You will not interfere with my job, which may or may not have to do with several large burglaries of antique art in France, England and Australia. You will, in fact, help reinforce the idea that I am a shady-type character who sets meetings up with the more important Colombian, er, businessmen – as I did for a Mr. Lesley and his doctor and lawyer, who are using him to steal millions of pounds from Europe and more millions of dollars from the states. I introduced them to a person who could launder the funds through accounts in several banks that operate on some of the nearer islands.

  “Would you care for a beer?”

  “Nah. I have to meet with this Manolo character to try to move a load of pictures a friend saw fall off a truck in Sydney,” Clint snarled, then in his normal voice, “That sounds damned good to me!”

  They chatted for over an hour. Clint didn’t get another call from Judi and couldn’t get through to her.

  “Relay tower slid down a mountain near La Fortuna, meaning there isn’t any communication with Bocas at all except for some land lines on the island,” Manolo informed him. “I was watching TV. There are several derumbes that have closed the Gualaca – Bocas road.”

  “I was afraid it was going to be a damned bad one. I hope I’m not totally cut off. Manny has a hi-freak, but I don’t have a receiver.”

  “I have one. We can check with him. That will be Marko Boccini, better known as Manny Mathews here. We have a few mutual friends. I won’t do anything to blow his cover as I’m promised you won’t do anything to blow mine.”

  They went to Manolo’s place where Clint was able to contact Manny. Dave was there. He said the island was going to be completely cut off for a few days. There was no way out, the ATM’s weren’t working because the phone tower was out, thus the internet wasn’t working. Manny had a direct satellite connection. There were dozens of people who had to have the ATM access. They couldn’t leave the island and didn’t have cash to pay hotels of for food. The churches were letting them sleep there.

  They discussed the bad weather situation for awhile, then Clint and Manolo talked about the people Manolo would introduce the next day. These were the contacts through which Lawrence and his friends had gotten the offshore accounts set up. It wasn’t very likely Clint could get any information from them, but it was worth a shot.

  Clint sighed and went to his room an hour later.

  The weather was a bit worse. The seas were high and rough. It was depressing.

  Clint met Manolo for breakfast, then they went to a lawyer’s office. Clint had discussed how he would handle things so Manolo introduced him to Enrico Paolo and left.

  Paolo was another slick type with too much gaudy jewelry and too expensive clothes for the area. He had a Mercedes parked outside the door. His Rolex was a rip-off Clint saw around Panamá at times. It cost $38.00 instead of the several thousand the original cost.

  “Mr. Manolo said you are interested in opening a bank account on the islands?” he said when Manolo had left.

  “No. I only told him that. I’m investigating some things for people who will remain anonymous. I have some people who know some people who have accounts now. One of them was recently murdered in Bocas. These people want to
be sure there is security if that kind of thing happens to any of them.”

  “Oh? Mr. Donald Lesley. I heard about that,” he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands across his rather ample middle. “I can’t give you any information about the account at all – and wouldn’t if I could. You rather obviously know about the account or you wouldn’t be here. If you have the proper authority I can place you into contact with Mr. Knowles at the bank. Other than that I know nothing about it.”

  Clint managed to hide his surprise about Donald and to improvise.

  “I will say only that his wife may or may not be one of the people who want to be sure of the security. I’m certain she can give me the proper authorization, but she’s in Bocas and can’t be reached for a day or more. The telephones are down, as is the internet.”

  “Yes. Terrible for the people there. Bocas is a rather poor province,” he said sadly (phony!). “I imagine the bank will have a designation of funds. It is likely to be in her name. If it is not I may be able to offer help in resolving the laws in Panamá about inheritance rights of the spouse?”

  “Perhaps, though this is offshore so the laws won’t necessarily apply. Thank you for your help. I may be in touch later as her representative.”

  He left wondering about that surprise. Maybe Donald was the one who was supposed to be murdered and Lawrence was in the wrong place at the wrong time!

  He went to Manolo’s place where he was told Manolo was at the docks securing his boats. The weather might get rougher and he wanted to be prepared. Clint went down to the docks where he found Manolo directing several locals in tying the boats where they had some room to rise and fall but where they wouldn’t be against anything that could damage them. Manolo asked about the meeting.

  “I may have been looking at the wrong murder all along. It seems Lawrence wasn’t the one with an account.”

  Manolo raised an eyebrow. “Which bank?”

  “I was careful not to ask, but Knowles is the contact.”

  “Security Peace Bank and Trust. Misty Island. He’s from Toronto, Canada, and directs a lot of things there,” Manolo said, thinking. “I’ve been suspicious of some things about that one. He has some very expensive art in his place, but I am not invited to attend parties there. Maybe you will be?”

  “I hope so. I’ll get pictures of the art for you.”

  He raised the eyebrow again so Clint showed him the tiny spy camera he was using. Manolo hadn’t spotted it. He said he would appreciate any cooperation he could get and would make damned sure Clint’s name would never come up about it.

  They went back to Manolo’s place where they contacted Manny. Clint explained that they might have found a large account in Donald’s name. Could he get some kind of POA from Trudy to investigate it?

  He said he’d try. He could fax it to him over the satellite link.

  Clint went back to the hotel to set some things up in his own papers. He was there for more than two hours when the desk sent up that there was a fax for him. He went down where he was told there was a five dollar charge for personal faxes. He paid and got three sheets. One a POA for any and all banking concerns of Trudy Lesley, wife of Donald Lesley, deceased.

  One was a report from Sergio about the movements of Orison and Rasmussen, who had gone to Panamá City, but were expected to return to San Blas in a day or two. There was no reason he could find for them to go there.

  One was a note from Manny and Dave that said Trudy was shocked that there was an account in Donald’s name. She knew nothing about it.

  “That wasn’t faked!” Dave had written.

  So. Donald was dealing with those two and wife Trudy didn’t know about it. Donald was dead. The offshore account was probably set up to where they couldn’t hope to touch it as simple and obvious insurance that they wouldn’t knock him off for it.

  Well, that cleared them for the murders or for paying for a hit!

  Then they suddenly went to Panamá City. They would return to the bank with a POA for Trudy that she wouldn’t know a thing about. If Clint hadn’t stepped in when he did they would have the account in a couple of days. There was going to be one hell of a surprise waiting for them when they returned.

  Clint went to the Policia National where he met with the chief, Carlos Navida, who said Sergio had contacted them when Clint came to San Blas the first time and had requested that they offer their full cooperation as he was investigating as an aide in a dual murder and money laundering scheme. That he was under cover and his working for the Policia National was and must remain confidential. He had worked with Sergio in Santiago and Panamá City and knew he was a good man in whom he could place his full confidence, blah, blah, blah.

  “I don’t know how big this damned mess might become,” Clint warned. “It could involve people from Europe and from the USA – or more. Be ready for anything, though I will try to make it very quiet until it’s resolved. I will certainly make it widely known you and Sergio were behind the success of the operation. If it isn’t successful I won’t want anything known about it by anyone, of course. Blah, blah, blah.”

  They laughed about that.

  Clint had copies of the faxed POA made and gave Carlos one, “Just so they can’t say I was trying to put anything over on anyone.”

  “And also so they can’t say you didn’t present a proper information form. I will give you an approved identification card saying we have checked you out about this matter and find you are legitimate. That will also serve to make them more cooperative. They will wish to avoid police intervention into their banks. It would be very bad for business.”

  Clint took him to a little restaurant where they had coffee and hojaldras. Then he headed for the contact office for the offshore banks where Knowles would meet with him. Manolo had a friend set that up for him.

  Knowles was a reddish-haired affable sort, but with a strong air of suspicion about him. He looked at the POA and shrugged. “What can I do for you? I know nothing or less about accounts in that name.”

  “Misty Island. You set up the account. It’s in a corporate name with corporate control. The wife, Trudy Lesley, inherited the corporation when her husband died. He was recently murdered. She has been cleared of any responsibility, thus she inherits.

  “All she wants is a current accounting. Nothing else will change here unless there’s something uncovered that makes it necessary.”

  “I see. Such as money laundering?” He was giving Clint a very concentrated hard look. Clint knew those accounts were often set up for exactly that purpose.

  “Which would be by the deceased husband and/or his partners. She could not be held responsible if she had no clue as to the account until after his death. Any partners who could use the fact that she wasn’t supposed to know about it to gain control could. It would be much to the best interest of the bank and of any others concerned should they not be given such control, if I make myself clear?”

  He slowly nodded. “I will need the corporate papers – which are in the files, of course. A moment.” He pinched a number on the interphone and told Miss Andrews to bring him OS file number DL-8100AB-MI complete.

  So. He knew the file number off the top of his head?

  Knowles saw his look and said, “I heard of his death and researched it to be sure the bank could not be held responsible for ... anything.” Clint nodded. This was a great break! He hadn’t gotten the corporate licensing records for any of it. He was sidetracked by the approaching storm and.... Admit it! He’d let it slip his mind. That was happening too often anymore. Maybe he’d better take Dave’s advice and increase his potassium level. A large banana a day. Simple and obvious. Dave’s research told him a lot about that kind of thing. Clint liked bananas. He’d have one for breakfast every day from now on.

  Why in HELL was he sitting there thinking about that kind of thing at a time like this?

  Because you need a higher potassium level, stupid!

  An attractive woman brought in a file and
gave Clint a dazzling smile and a speculative look. He smiled back.

  Clint had taught himself to read upside-down. The file had a typed sticker with the number and “Lobopad, S.A.” on the front. Knowles quickly covered the sticker. Clint acted like he was looking only at Miss Andrews and hadn’t noticed anything else.

  “Let’s see, now. That would be the LesleyDon account?” Knowles asked innocently.

  “I believe she said it was Lobopad, S.A. He has more than one account? She’ll be glad to hear that!”

  “Just to be damned sure you know enough to be privy to this,” Knowles explained, then to Miss Andrews, “Bring up the bank information to date, please?”

  She went to the computer and accessed the MistyIslesBank.pa.com account and punched in her user name, “Knowitall100" and the secret password, “1msandws2”. Clint appeared to be looking at a picture of a horse just to the side of the computer and to not have noticed. Knowles was watching him and about to say something to Miss Andrews so Clint said, “That’s a picture of the California estate of the Lesleys’ with that horse that won an upset a few years ago, ‘Bright Winner’, I think, right?”

  Knowles relaxed and said, “Yes. Donald gave it to me. It was the first deposit. He said he’d bet a lot on a hunch, it came in, the bets were with a bookie who paid him in cash, he wanted to put it somewhere the US government couldn’t tax the hell out of him.”

  “I certainly can’t argue with that! They’ve run the economy into the Dumpster with that stupid Iraq war!” Clint agreed. Miss Andrews smiled and said that was the main reason she’d left the states. That kind of blatant stupidity she couldn’t countenance. Maybe Barak Obama could get the economy going again. They could use another Bill Clinton. He at least had a surplus it took Bush two weeks to turn into the biggest deficit ever – and I was always a Republican!