Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  “You do realize that if you find out who they are you get eliminated as a future problem?”

  He was actually sobbing. “I swear it won’t happen again! I swear!”

  “You already swore. So much for that shit. We wait. There’s not one other damned thing we can do now.” He rang off. and called Jorge to ask if that lawyer was involved in the land taking directly.

  “Him and another one. A woman. A friend of Mrs. Caldwell. Anita Quinterez.”

  “They need a little message, too. Get him out somewhere and beat hell out of him. Don’t mess with Quinterez or they’ll know too much for this soon.”

  Jorge agreed. Clint would wait another day for Caldwell to steam. The Indios were getting damned tired of sweet little Linda and would probably enjoy cutting her into little pieces.

  “Moraveras is dead!” Caldwell whined the next morning on the phone. “I have to know if it’s about this!”

  “Why would they kill him? It was probably something not related – unless they figure he knew too much when he met me.”

  “This has to end! I’m going to go over a cliff in my car!”

  “That would put it all directly on your wife and daughter. They’ll be getting tired of waiting. I expect to hear from them again very soon. Don’t do anything stupid again or I’m out of this.”

  Caldwell agreed. Clint went to meet with Jorge and David in a little café close to the dock in Chiriqui Grande to compose the terms of what they needed. He then called Caldwell and said he had the information for him – and he was NOT going to like it.

  Clint “read” the message: “You will return the lands you have stolen from the natives, first. You will then return the land of the pensioners who purchased through the fraud. You will then leave Bocas del Toro Province and never return. The sooner you comply, the sooner your family is returned to you.”

  “I can’t get ... the pensioners’ land IS the land we took from the Indios! Oh, God!”

  “I have a number. I’ll see what they’ll work out. I was afraid of this. She’s a religious fanatic and wants to right some wrongs to save her soul. I’ll call in ten minutes.”

  He rang off and waited, then, “Okay. File return of the land to the rightful owners tomorrow. Pay back the money to the pensioners who would lose everything. Any other land you hold as part of the scheme is to be given to the pensioners you scammed. This can be done in the morning and your family returned to you as soon as the papers are filed. They promise to arrange for the papers to be recorded instantly.”

  Clint had already had powerful friends to contact the government offices to explain that the bunch involved in the fraud were known and would be prosecuted unless it happened within hours. They had Caldwell’s confession, so don’t be stupid. Handle it. They knew how because they’d done that exact thing to the Indios.

  “I have to go to Mali for the papers. I can be there in a couple of hours. You can go over everything with me so we don’t miss anything.

  “Linda will have to sign the papers. How do we manage that?”

  “The same way you did the first part. You have a POA. Don’t get stupid.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll be there.”

  “Don’t drive too fast. We can’t file anything until morning anyhow,” Clint warned.

  “Yes, we can! That was worked out from the first. Menendez will file anytime if he’s paid enough for it.”

  “So take your time anyway. You have a wreck and it’s over.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll be as careful as I’ve ever been in my life.”

  Phase five

  “You’re positive the women never saw any of you from around here? Not a glance?” Clint asked of David and Jorge. “No one from here was involved in any way?”

  “We did what you said. They never saw any of us except when we took them and we had on the rags and the pillows to make us look fat and where they couldn’t see any of our faces,” David assured him. “The two women and the three men they saw are from past Las Tablas. They are not known by the people here. If anyone is asked they are to say they were from Colón or somewhere.”

  Clint nodded. “The women are held in a room that’s just locked so they can’t get out? They aren’t harmed?”

  “No, but Wil says he would like to cut that stupid girl’s throat for her. She thinks she can give orders and we must do as she says.”

  “It’s how she was raised. We can have your friends leave on the next bus for David, then they can disappear for awhile back in Las Tablas. I worked with Caldwell most of the night getting the papers for your land back into your names. Some of it was a legitimate sale, most wasn’t. The ones that were legal will go to the pensionados who bought them. I tried to find the ones who could least afford the loss of the land. The thing I regret is the killing of that lawyer. I didn’t approve that. I said to beat hell out of him. That’s all.”

  “He had a knife and cut Pablo. Pablo took it away and cut him back. Pablo was cut on the arm, he cut back on the throat. I do not care.”

  Clint nodded and sighed. He went back to the municipal offices to see the last of the legal papers registered. It was a process that should take three to six months but that was handled the way the land theft was handled – backdated on the computers. This was a lot easier because the recent thefts were simply erased. There was no record of the transfers ever being made. The Indios had never lost the land according to the records. Any papers anyone brought now would be declared false.

  When it was done and Caldwell was whining that he had to borrow money against his own home to do this Clint gave him a map to where the women were and a key to the padlock on the room. He said an Indio had delivered it five minutes before he came back half an hour ago.

  Caldwell started to say something, then shut up. He asked that Clint go with him to be sure the women were alright.

  They got the wife and daughter out of the old abandoned house where they had been kept. The wife said they weren’t treated badly at all, but the daughter could do nothing but complain about how they were treated like common trash and “Daddy” should teach them all a lesson about how they should treat their betters. Clint could see that Caldwell got the message about her being spoiled purely rotten.

  Clint had Caldwell drop him off at the bombas where he could get the bus back to Bocas. Caldwell couldn’t thank him enough for saving his wife and daughter from a horrible death or worse. He had explained to Linda on the way that they had less than nothing left. He had to give it all up to save them. He even had to borrow against the house and car at high interest to be able to pull it off. He didn’t have a clue as to how to get enough to save anything at all except the little house in Changuinola.

  “If you think I’m going to live in Changuinola the way I was raised you’re very very much mistaken!” she charged. “I will never go back to that life again! It was as bad as where we were the past week!”

  “You’ll never be able to pull another scam like you were again,” Clint pointed out. “You have the talent to make an honest living as a private secretary or bank officer.”

  “I will NOT!”

  “Then you’ll go back to your former life or less,” Clint said as he got out of the car. “Have a nice day.

  “Frances, you are now one of the trash you so despise. You’re going to have a very hard life from now on.

  “Sam, you can make a pretty fast comeback with a legitimate business. If you go back to the scams you’ll probably end up dead with your family joining you. Those people will watch you. That woman will bring what she thinks of as the wrath of God on your head if you try to screw anyone who can’t afford it again. Clean it up and do it right, Okay? Don’t call me again if you get into trouble from trying to run another scam.”

  “You know who she is?”

  “Officially, I ain’t got a clue.”

  “Off the record?”

  Clint grinned and went to the waiting bus.

  Not a bad way for it to turn out after all!
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br />   Footnote

  Clint Faraday stood on his deck to watch the sunrise. It was easily as spectacular as the sunsets on the western side ( well, actually, southwestern. Panamá didn`t really have any western side).

  He sighed and went inside to get another cup of coffee, then put on some shorts and went to his boat to clean it up. He had spent the afternoon and into last night with Bill and Sharon Bohmfalk, who had sold the bar and were moving to David. Gisela had sold Bongos, which was now the best Chinese restaurant on Isla Colón. Things were changing.

  The comp dinged, which meant an e-mail. Maybe this one was something other than an advertisement. You never knew anymore.

  It was from someone called Gene Rigden, who he´?d met at Bohmfalk´?s a month ago?

  “Mr. Faraday, I need some advice. Will be in Bocas tomorrow about one o`clock. Must speak with you.”

  There was a footnote (on an e-mail?) that said, “GMD 2009/04/22". What the hell was that about?

  Rigden. George. The skinny one ... OK. He remembered him, vaguely. He was a skinny 30-something nerd type. He had talked a lot about a new program that could convert almost any format to almost any other. There was something ... it could even decode complicated encryptions by doing some kind of ... logarythmic fractals?

  Clint hadn´t paid a lot of attention to him. He didn´t know that much about computers – and didn´t want to know. He shook his head and went back outside to finish the coffee, then went into town to talk with the regulars at the Golden Grill. It seemed Bob, a regular there, had moved to David.

  Was everyone moving to David? Clint liked David, but he also liked the water.

  Dave came by and waved, said he was on his way to Panam City, then would stay in Rio Sereno awhile, then to his new apartment in David, then maybe back to Bocas – or maybe not.

  Cést la vie! Another one to David.

  Clint went back home to find another e-mail from Rigden with the same footnote. Maybe it was some kind of signature.

  “Mr. Faraday. Am coming to Bocas today. Must speak with you. I really stepped in it this time! I mean, REALLY stepped in it!!”

  Clint sighed and replied with his phone number. He said to call when he reached Almirante and he would meet him at the water taxi. He then went to the China for some groceries, then home to laze around for an hour or so. He got a call from Rigden, who said he was in Chiriqui Grande. He was sending some things on to Changuinola in Clint´s name on the same bus he was riding. “This is getting really scary! I think someone is following me! I don´t know what it´s about, except for the ... but I´ll tell you about it when I´m there. The bus is leaving, so I have to run.” He hung up.

  Clint had noted the caller ID, automatic on the cellulars here. It was from the pay phone in the restaurante by the Bombas.

  Why the hell would anyone put a written message on the same bus he was riding? That didn´t make any sense!

  “Clint? Sergio here,” came on the line an hour and a half later. “There´s a dead body on the bus from David with your phone number in his pocket. Name of George Rigden. Know him?”

  “Body on the bus? What does that mean?” Clint asked the head of violent crime.

  “You got me!”

  “How did he die?”

  “We don´t know. It looks like he went to sleep and didn´t wake up. The kid at the door says he was supposed to get off in Almirante, he looked like he was asleep. The guy next to him couldn´t wake him up, so he called the driver, who said he seemed to be dead. He called Fedrico, who came out and called Doc, who said he´s dead. Know who he was?”

  “He called me and said he had something to discuss with me. He called me from Chiriqui Grande. I think ... he said there was a letter with the bus driver to me. See if it´s there. Get his luggage or whatever. Get his computer. It could be important.”

  After about three minutes Sergio came on to say it was there, but there was no luggage, just a medium backpack with very little in it. No computer. He would bring it to Clint. A couple of hours.

  “I do NOT think he went anywhere without that computer!” Clint replied. “See if you can find it. Someone on that bus will have it – and that will be whoever´s responsible for ... I have no idea what.”

  Sergio promised to try to find it.

  “Get the name and address of the person sitting beside him and the ones in front and back.”

  “Automatic. The one sitting next to him wasn´t the same one who was there at Chiriqui Grande. That one got off at either Rio Uyama or Norteño. Just a minute ... he got off carrying a computer. He wasn´t a Panameño according to the woman in the seat across the aisle. He might have been Tico or Colombiano. I have a description.”

  “Shit!”Clint retorted, talked a few seconds, hung up and went back to the comp and to the e-mails. He wanted to know what that footnote was about. It was suddenly important – but how?

  “This is a hell of a problema!” Silvio Martinez, the cop in charge of investigating the death, declared – with feeling. “The description of the man who, somewhat apparently, killed Rigden and took his computadora could fit possibly ten thousand people here. He had the nerve to somehow kill the man almost immediately as they left Chiriqui Grande, si Doctor Nuñez is correcta as to time, and sat right next to him there for media hora or more, then tranquilly got up and off the bus. Rigden did not longer have the computer anymore, but we did find a flash memory USB device in his, believe it or not, trouser cuff. I think he emplaced it there mas temprano when he felt something was very not right. Sergio has asked that we permit you work with us on this, porque you work with them and have more knowledge of this type of crime than do we. He suggested that we permit you use the flash drive to try to ganar information.”

  “I can hope to find something on the memory stick,” Clint agreed. “I have a clue or two that he sent in an e-mail. What was in the letter he gave to the driver for me?”

  Silvio seemed nervous, then said, “Sergio said to not equivocate with you. We did open it, but there was nothing in the sobre except dos cientos dollars. Dos Cienes. The slip was just something that was encoded or that said nothing. I have it in my desk.” He opened a drawer, picked up a small envelope and handed it to Clint. The note said RE: 2009/04/22 General Wong, followed by 2009/04/22 Diversified Movers, followed by 2009/04/22 C and F Company. Under that was CPA and BDT. That was followed by his signature and 1-2-3-2 +1 Bl/3 5

  Clint thought a few seconds, then said, “Did you examine the money?”

  “Examine?”

  “I think the money will be counterfeit. That´s why the three balboa bit. There are no printed balboas. You use the dollar here. There´s a one and a five dollar bill, but no three. In the states, ‘As a three dollar bill´? means counterfeit.”

  Silvio went to the main desk, requested the money and returned with it. Clint checked the bills and the series numbers. They were counter-feit. Very well-done counterfeit. Only the series numbers gave them away without a thorough testing.

  “Okay, but what is the meaning?” Silvio asked.

  “THAT is what I have to find out. Where can I use a computer?” Silvio pointed to the room behind and said they were not on the net. Clint didn´t think the net was needed. Yet.

  The memory stick had long lists of people, companies, prices, and places arranged in some weird kind of timeline scheme. It had probably seemed logical and simple to Rigden, but he was as much as lost. All he could do was try things. It would have some connection with the code he had. That was sure enough – but that was where he couldn´t see an obvious point to bring anything out.

  Okay. The connection with that code was in that envelope with the bogus money.

  Wasn´t it?

  Try to find something about ... maybe the numbers meant ... well, they meant the money was phony ... what about the 1-2-3-2?

  General Wong. So what? Diversified Movers? How about general diversified ... that´s 1-1. General Movers ... Company! There was such a company, with offices in Panam City and Bocas del Tor
o

  He got the money from GMC? – probably. This was progress. Maybe. He could hope. So the code ... Clint went to the lists and did a search for the date, then the GMD Code. It showed ... very little except that there was some kind of package sent ... not a package, a CD. That was a ... what did the other 2 mean?

  He looked at the lists and started a search for all that started with G. General Movers Diversified? That was another company. He found the date there and that there was a contract for a computer process. That was Rigden´s trade.

  Okay. He sold a process to GMD on that date and ... got phony money for it. Why not void the contract and give the bogus bills to the cops? What kind of process? Why was that significant?

  A program transference ... that was also a code breaker. This was all in code. That had to be part of the message.

  Clint put all he had found on the computer under code, gave the memory stick to Silvio, said he was going to be gone an hour or two, then would come back with an answer or two. He went to a local internet caf to spend awhile going through all he could learn about GMD. It seemed to be a company with three men as partners and seemed legitimate at fist read. Next time a few discrepancies started to show, such as a lot too much money coming into the company – but not enough to bring laundering into it very much, so he checked the other properties of the three partners. They were, it seemed, into several other companies. They were hanging around the fringes of the big time.

  So? What did that have to do ... could the big boys be interested in anything they had?

  Something that would decode scrambled things from interpol and the DEA, I reckon!

  Why kill Rigden? He invented the process.

  Because he would never allow it to be used in such a manner. Getting in with the big boys in Colombia and points south was getting in with, quite literally, billions.

  So! Which one, though it was a conspiracy and all of them would fall. All finding the actual killer will do is prove the case against the three as a unit. Clint studied records and such for about another half hour and left the café with pictures from the net.