by Moulton, CD
“Did he smoke?” Clint asked. Everyone looked at each other. Most of them shrugged. Virginia, a waitress, said he carried a couple of cigars in his shirt pocket, but she didn’t ever see him smoking them. He wanted mariscos, but they didn’t have anything fresh when he was there. He did say something about a good restaurant in David with a seven in the name, or maybe it was Caribe. Maybe both.
Clint thanked them and left. He would go to David. The man had come on the Changuinola bus both times and left on it both times. There was a restaurant that was known to serve very good seafood just past the airport, Mar Caribe, and there was a place called Siete Mares (seven seas) not far from Cervantes Park. La Tipica was another good bet for good seafood. Clint was fairly certain the man who was hanging around La Mina would prove to be Donaldo Perez. He had hung around La Mina because Pablo was from the area. Pablo had come to town and been followed to his place. Perez or the Vallartes would be the killer.
Now he had to discover what the killing and fire was about. Money laundering almost certainly, but Clint didn’t think it was drug money because of the way the Colombians were acting. The drug people usually would let it be known they were “connected” and would try to intimidate people, though that wasn’t nearly as strong a trait as it sounded. These were too quiet and didn’t use the normal tactics. It was just a feeling. It didn’t feel like a drug connection.
Clint checked into the Hotel Iris, considered using a disguise and rejected it. They wouldn’t know he was interested in them. The people he’d talked with was just in a conversational way and they didn’t know any of them anyhow. He went to Peter’s for a good meal, Jimmy the German had taken over the restaurant and his weiner schnitzel was already much talked about, but he had given up the restaurant. The atmosphere wasn’t right and he couldn’t make a living there.
He talked with a few regulars, Wilson and Tina and Harry were there from Bocas, Larry had been in the hospital, but was alright. John and Rick were at their accustomed spot on the balcony talking with Corky. Alan and Walt were going to Sandy’s, CD was talking with Rita and a gringo from Boquete, Jessy was mixing rum and cokes – all typical. It was like he’d been there last night.
He decided to go to the Seven Seas for some mariscos. Everyone said there was a new owner at the bar in front of the restaurant who played a lot of gringo music and spoke excellent English, though that wasn’t important to Clint. He could use a difference in the music.
He immediately met Ulyses, the bar owner, and they discussed music and whatever else came up. Ulyses knew Dave, Clint’s nutty musician/ botanist friend. He didn’t remember seeing the Colombians, which meant nothing. He didn’t see a lot of the restaurant customers and he wouldn’t have noticed them much if they were at the bar, but outside. They were ordinary types. Soon Walt and Alan and their dates/ girlfriends came in, they chatted a few minutes, then Clint drove out to the Mare Caribe to have a great corvina dinner. He was leaving when a dark red Mitsubishi truck with lots of chrome and three men in it drove in. It would be too suspicious if he went back now so he drove across into Pedrigal, around behind some large hibiscus plants and waited for them to leave. When they did leave an hour and a half later they went directly to La Esmeralda, a semi-famous brothel. He wasn’t about to wait to follow them later so went back to his hotel. He wouldn’t have very much trouble finding them. That over-chromed truck would be easy to trace. Unless they had a place in or near David they would be in an expensive hotel. Ask the attendant if the truck was on the hotel lot.
The Best Western and the Ciudad de David were the top picks. He checked and found they weren’t staying at either. Next the Alcalá, then Iberia and a few others, but they weren’t in any of the downtown hotels. He checked the ones on the main carretera where an Indio friend working in a car wash said they were staying at a place near the Rey Mall. A friend or something. The truck was parked in the garage a lot of the time.
Clint checked the registro publica to find the place was owned by a Raul Aparicio R. Aparicio lived in Penonomé and leased the place to a company in Santa Marta, Colombia. Luz Futura Inversiones. A check with his friend, Manolo, an undercover agent for Interpol et al told him the company wasn’t even mildly suspected of having connections with the drug trade, which was a relief. Manolo said they had a Russian partner in the company as well as two Israelis, French and Spanish.
Next, the modern way to learn about almost anything: computer. The net showed the company invested in jewelry, art, precious metals and whatever came along that was both portable and expensive, preferably those things that would appreciate for collectors’ value.
Manolo didn’t know anything about that kind of company? Interpol?
He called Manolo back. “What’s the skinny? For real this time? Not some line where Interpol isn’t interested in a company that deals in the very things Interpol was established for.”
“Clint, I honestly don’t have any information. Let me check internal and I’ll get back.”
They chatted a minute or two, then Clint went to a steak dinner at Las Brasas. Rib-eye that was excellent. Las Brasas is known for great filets and steaks. He met Yvonne, a girl he knew in Bocas Town, and they spent a great night together.
In the morning Clint checked around the area to learn where the three Colombians hung around mostly. He found them eating breakfast at La Tipica and followed them to a junkyard, then to a towing company, then to a house on the road to Dolega. Manolo called and said the company was only active in Colombia and everything checked out about them.
“Not even maybe!” Clint protested. “Why do they have that leased place here? Why are they going to the places where they’re going? Who lives in the big brick house with the huge yard and security fences no one could get past near Anastasia? What’s going on with a gringo and girlfriend working an obvious money-laundering scheme in Chiriqui Grande? Why was Pablo Quintero murdered?”
“I would maybe get a little suspicious if they’re going to odd places and a lot more if they’re involved in a money-laundry. What about this Pablo person? Murder?”
“They meet with George Blanton in Chiriqui Grande every couple of weeks. Linda, Blanton’s supposed Panamanian girlfriend, has a restaurant that serves bad food with a worse attitude unless Blanton is in town, when everything’s hunky-dory. Pablo saw or knew something. He was killed with a karate move and his place burned down around him. Perez, one of the Colombians, was hanging around in Hornitos where Pablo lived for two days, then Pablo’s killed and he goes back to David to stay with Simon and Pancho Vallardes in that leased place. DUH! Chew’n gum!”
“I see. I think maybe I’ll take on a little personal investigation. I’ll need bait.”
“Dave has a Carl Griesbaum automaton he’s been trying to sell, but no one in Panamá seems interested in those really good antiques. They’re supposedly looking for art and such. It’s worth a couple of grand, but it appreciates fast for that kind of thing. There won’t ever be anymore.”
“Okay. It’s worth a try. If he loses it without compensation Interpol will pay for it, okay?”
“As you say, it’s worth a try!”
He called Dave, who was in Cusapín. “Why the hell not? Judi can get it for you. She has the keys to my place.”
Now to put something together. If he could produce a reason, motive, he could close this one out fast. It could get interesting if it led to some international theft scheme – or worse!
Subterfuge
The somewhat stocky younger man with a mustache and cane who much resembled Clint Faraday took the carved wooden box he carried into the exclusive shop across from Rey. He met the pleasant woman who owned the place, Lila Green, an attractive Israeli woman, and asked if she could possibly find a buyer for a special item. It seemed to him that Panamanians weren’t much for collecting rare antiques.
Lila Green was the wife of Harold Green, who was the uncle of one George Blanton who lived near Chiriqui Grande, Bocas del Toro, Panamá. Judi had given him the
name and address when he told her that George Blanton was somehow involved in a money laundering scheme. She had met him and his girlfriend about five months ago in Chiriqui Grande when she tried out a new restaurant Blanton was opening for his girlfriend.
There was nobody like Judi Lum for finding information. This one was a simple coincidence. Lila and Harold green were there for the opening. If Judi hadn’t been there and Clint wanted the information she would have found it in a day when it would have taken him a week.
Lila shrugged and said to show it to her and she’d possibly be able to find a buyer – for a price. He opened the package and took out the hand-carved automaton. She gasped and cried, “It’s a Griesbaum! Where did you find it? It looks perfect! The last one I saw had the lamp and mop broken and sold for nearly two thousand dollars! It’s perfect! All of Griesbaum’s work is unique. It’s truly one of a kind! This one is ... about nineteen nineteen or twenty. It’s perfect!
“I know. You’re selling it for a friend who found it in an attic when his grandmother died and whatever.”
“No. It’s the property of a friend in Bocas. He got it from a Dr. Averbush in Florida in the fifties. It’s totally legitimate. It works perfectly except the bellows – it’s paper, you know – needs repair. The glue came apart.”
“They all do. That’s a very minor thing and doesn’t affect the value. As I said, one of these fourteen inch carvings was broken in two places and the mop part was gone. If it was a later one by someone else they would have used it for firewood or something, but it’s a Griesbaum.
“Bottom line.”
“He wants five grand for it, but knows that’s hopeless here. Make an offer.”
“If he can wait a year or so the five grand would be a good deal. Now, I’ll have to contact a man in Sant ... a friend in the business somewhere else. I’ll have an offer this evening? Five thirty?
“It won’t be for more than three. He’s more of a ... collector for appreciation.”
“I’ll be back.” He rewrapped the package, saluted with the cane and started out.
“Wait! I don’t even know who you are!” she cried.
“Oh! Right. I’m James Hanrady.” He went on out.
She had expected it was stolen. That told Clint all he really wanted to know. They were dealing in stolen art. Manolo would need that information so he called. He wanted to connect and prove the murder. Manolo could handle the international theft and fencing part. That’s what he did.
Clint sat in his car to think for a minute. He’d solved the case and had everything he needed except motive. It was obvious Pablo saw or knew something dangerous to the Colombians – wasn’t it? Was it necessarily them? What about Blanton and Linda? Come to think of it, what about that towing company? A junkyard, they could be looking for antiques no one knew were antiques. That kind of thing happened regularly. What would a towing company have to do with anything?
It was time to investigate a little more about the victim. There had to be a connection of some kind.
First, don’t go off half-cocked. Maybe the truck they drove got hauled off or broke down or something. There had to be a connection with Pablo, whatever it was. What?
Pablo was in Hornitos. He went to Chiriqui Grande regularly. He ... had a girlfriend in Chiriqui Grande. Was the connection because of that?
He drove to Hornitos. Pablo’s girlfriend was Consuela Garcia Smith. Call her Connie. She was a table waitress in the Estrellas Sueños Restaurante by the docks.
On to Chiriqui Grande. He found Connie, who said she didn’t know what was wrong with Pablo for a couple of weeks before he died. He said there were crooks everywhere and that he knew where something was that could tie the lot of them together – in jail! There were Panamanians and Colombians and Israelis and even a Russian! One of them lived right there in Hornitos!
That jolted Clint. He remembered something that had flashed across his mind back at that fire scene. This was going to get too complicated if it went on much longer!
He headed for Hornitos where he went directly to the police toll stop and asked about Tonio, who was in David at the time. He said he had to get some critical information, they said they had instructions to cooperate in any way.
“There’s a company, a gruas, who had some kind of connection with a man, Vallartes, and Pablo and one other here.”
“Gruas? They all come through here. We note the vehicles they pass ... Pablo. He and Santos worked with the gruas when they were needed in the mountains. They are experts for getting cars and trucks that have gone off the road and fallen. Let me check ... (he went to a file cabinet and took out a file from about four months before) ... because someone from ... Vallartes. Mitsubishi truck. Broken axle. Gruas ... Superior. Pablo and Santos were on the truck ... because it picked up Vallartes’ vehicle on the return from pulling that kerosene truck from Pelitas Angelas. Reason for request, some small tools were missing from the Vallartes vehicle when it reached David. Hmm. Came back next day and said the tools were in a box that was taken out and stored at ... Santos’ place? ... Why would ... that’s odd. They had it and it was all a misunderstanding. The box was like the one Santos had and the ... Pablo thought it was his and unloaded it at Santos place. He called the gruas but they forgot to call Vallartes.”
“Got caught, huh?” Clint asked.
“Yes. The way it was done ... then Pablo is killed and Santos has gone to visit his sister in Las Tablas?
“I wonder! What was in that box?”
“Something to kill for,” Clint said dryly.
Back to David or ...?
Santos went into that house before the fire was entirely out and found the body. Clint didn’t believe for a second that he killed Pablo. He was too scared. That meant something was in the house that Santos had to find. He wouldn’t have gone in that soon, otherwise.
Clint went to the house and spent more than an hour rummaging. The locals had taken anything useful and there was nothing but ashes and twisted metal inside. The bedsprings were still where they had been. Pablo’s body was removed and nothing else disturbed. There was probably nothing there Clint didn’t see when he was there. He didn’t miss much.
Unless it was under the body?
He found some old hardware cloth and started sifting the ashes under the springs. He found four large lumps of melted gold and two blackened platinum settings for necklaces. The settings were for large stones.
He sifted a bit more and fond two very large emeralds, one ruby and two diamonds. He found a little steel card file box, but the paper inside was nothing but dry powder ashes. That was probably a very important part of this.
He took out his cell phone and called Tonio. He explained what he had found and suggested the ashes in that room be very carefully strained. There were at least four more smaller stones somewhere in that mess.
He waited ten minutes until Estevez, a cop from the toll station, came to the house. He listed what he had found and where. Two men were coming from David to finish the job.
Clint used his digital camera and took closeups of the stones and settings he had, then gave them to Estevez. He had an idea those things were going to help solve this thing.
“Why did you even look here?” Estevez asked. “We thought we had done a thorough job.”
“Because the old cliche about hiding the jewels and money under the mattress is true sometimes.”
Estevez nodded and grimaced. Clint took his picture and headed to the internet. He e-mailed the pictures to Manolo. Then he went to the hotel, cleaned up, went for a very late dinner and went to bed. It had been a very long day. Tomorrow would probably be as long.
The morning was beautiful. Clint spent a bit of time on the net. He looked up Carl Griesbaum and found he had been famous for hand-carved music boxes. He made the automatons, each unique, using a mechanism made in Germany that moved the head and whistled a tune. Dave’s had a number inside in pencil. 077 or 097. It was a man carrying a lantern and a key with a bottle in the
coat pocket. Dave said it was a town crier. Everything was original.
There was a short thing on the news about some Indios in Chiriqui joining with some from Bocas del Toro in a protest against the government taking their land, which is unconstitutional. Clint had heard about the promises made when the Ojos de Aguas hydroelectric project was started that had not been done the way it had been promised. Now a large discovery of copper that was planned to be mined in a strip mine fashion on the comarca. It would poison and destroy the ecology of a very large area. Clint sided a hundred percent with the Indios. It was their land and now they were being treated the same way the US treated the Indians there. The difference here was that the Indio land was some of the best found in Panamá. Now the government was going in and taking the land because of the money the copper would bring while mining it would destroy ten times as much as could be gained?
Politics as usual. Noriega was supposedly in Chiriqui in a private hospital. Clint wondered if Martinelli would become another like Noriega if given the chance.
Save that for later. Now to find something to tie this mess around some hoods’ necks. Should he go to Hornitos, Chiriqui Grande? Bocas?
Several truckloads of soldiers went by, heading for the carretera. Surely Martinelli knew better than to use such tactics! International sentiment would turn against him! It would result in armed soldiers facing Indios who had nothing but rocks and machetes. Sooner or later someone would get killed!