Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (76 page)

“
For ...
I see. The Indio code. It will be a writeoff if what they call
justice is served.”

“
This
time, it was.”

Hmm....

“
Mornin’
Clint!” Elvis Dormienda called as he passed in his cayuca toward
the institute.

Clint liked some of the names he found here.
“Dormienda” meant “Sleeping.”

Clint Faraday, det. rtd., was lounging on his
deck enjoying his third cup of coffee. He was considering what to
do today. Fishing? Snorkel? Scuba? Lay around? Maybe catch up on
the stuff on his computer.

Nah! This was Panamá! Put it off for a day –
that would turn into a month.

It was a bit overcast. It might rain, clear
up, or it might stay cloudy. The clouds were at that height.

Okay. Work on the computer for a bit to see
what would happen. If it cleared he could do whatever. If it
remained overcast he could hang around town. If it rained he could
do the comp stuff.

Judi Lum, his nextdoor neighbor, called a
good morning across the water. He waved and put his palms up in the
“What’s the word?” gesture. She returned the one-handed palm up.
She didn’t have any plans yet, either. He called he would make up
his mind when he saw what the day was going to be. She agreed.

He went inside, turned the comp on and
brought up his e-mail. Lots of ads he erased and a couple of legit
notes. One of them was about the death of a man he knew slightly,
Paulo Estillio. He was in the process of moving from Alanje to
Boqueron. Jilda, the friend who sent the e-mail, said she had
spoken with him only about two hours and a half before in Bugaba
when he came through with a trailer-load of furniture. He had,
apparently, run his car off the road in the mountains and gone
over. Across from that waterfall near the house past the dam with
the great view of the Pacific.

That would be on the inside of the curve. On
the road to Chiriqui Grande?

“
Hmm....”
Clint wondered.

“
What can
you tell me about it?” Clint asked Fredo Manto four hours later at
the Policia Estacion Las Lomas.

“
We don’t
know much, just that the people at the house heard it and went out
to see, then called us. He dropped about twenty five meters into
the trees and landed on the rocks upside down.”

“
On the
inside of a slightly tight but usually very safe curve?”

Fredo shrugged. “It happens. Looking at the
fall and cut too fast. The road there drops off fairly
sharply.”

“
There’s
a rail on the part that’s a direct drop and on a ways toward
David.”

“
He went
off the road just before the rail.”

“
Coming
toward David?”

Fredo shrugged.

“
Was
there a trailer on the car?”

“
No. It’s
too difficult to pull a trailer up there if you’re not very
experienced.”

“
I don’t
question that you did your job for one second. You couldn’t know
some things and people go off those roads a bit too often. I can
see that something’s very wrong because I know a few things about
him. Number one, he wouldn’t be coming toward David if he was even
up there. He would be going toward Chiriqui Grande. He was seen in
Bugaba two hours before, so had very little time to get even to
that point.

“
Number
two, he wouldn’t be going that way. He was moving to
Boqueron.”

Fredo shrugged. He said he’d investigate if
Clint could get him any facts to investigate. He couldn’t use the
time if there was nothing to give a direction.

“
Someone
is very definitely counting on that little fact! I have to talk
with a girl, then maybe I can give you something more.” He headed
for Bugaba on the next bus.

Damn it! He was going to have to do one other
thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do here! He was going to
have to buy some kind of car. Buses were everywhere, but took too
much time when you had to wait an hour to get one.

Luckily, buses went through Las Lomas every
fifteen minutes or less that could take him to the terminal. He had
to wait very little time in the terminal for a bus to Bugaba. A
good many buses to other places went through there. The
Frontera-David bus was just leaving. He flagged it and got on. He
was in Bugaba forty minutes later. Jilda was at the restaurant
where she worked. If things could be depended on to go that easily
he wouldn’t need a car.

Uh-huh! Depend on things like this?
Right!

“
Ola, mi
amor!” Clint greeted. Jilda waved and pointed to a table in her
section. Clint called to bring him a limonade and two empanadas and
sat. Jilda only had one other customer so could sit and chat. He
asked about Paulo.

“
What? He
was someone I talked to here a lot. He came almost every day for
desayuno. He was nice. He always wanted to move up into the
mountains and Martin Fernandez’s wife died so he sold the place in
Boqueron to Paulo cheap. They were always friends. Martin wants to
move to Chitre. He has family there.”

“
Did he
say anything about going toward Chiriqui Grande?” Clint
asked.

“
No. He
was moving his things to Boqueron. I was surprised that he was up
there.”

“
That was
pretty fast to get past the dam.”

“
He could
take the Calderas road and get on the Changuinola road at Gualaca.
It would still be hard for him to be there that fast.”

“
Was
there anyone with him when you saw him?”

“
No, but
someone was in a little truck waiting for him. He only stopped for
coffee para llevar. He got two large and gave the man in the other
car one. I couldn’t see who was in the other truck because it was
parked back there.” She pointed. “I could only see that it was a
man by the shirt and reloj when he took the coffee.”

“
What
kind of truck?”

“
A
Nissan. White with a red stripe and a blue stripe with black
between.”

“
Old?”

“
No. New
and shiny. I think I saw it a time or two over the past week. There
was something else, but I can’t remember what it was.”

“
A light
on top? A special license plate in front? Chrome rear bumper with a
trailer hitch?”

“
It had
the chrome bumper, but that’s not.... Those wide tires! It had wide
tires in back with white letters on them! With flashy chrome
hubcaps! That was it! I noticed them when it followed Paulo
out!”

“
That’s a
clue that may be very important! There can’t be many like that
around here.”

They talked until more customers came in.
Clint paid the cuenta and left. He asked around about the truck.
Some people had seen it, but not often. One man had given the
driver directions to get to Paulo’s place. It was sad about Paulo,
but those mountains were dangerous to drive.

“
What did
the driver look like?”

“
Moreno.
Gordo. Bald and with two gold teeth in front. Diamond earrings and
a fancy gold diamond ring. Fancy heavy gold wristwatch.”

“
Big
showoff? Look what I’ve got?” Clint asked. The man grinned and
nodded.

Clint thought a while, then headed for
Gualaca. Maybe someone saw Paulo come through.

Maybe he had a habit of stopping for coffee.
The Boquete road across Calderas to Gualaca was about the distance
to make him want a cup about then.

No one saw Paulo that they could remember,
but they saw the Nissan. It was not far behind a car, so that may
have been Paulo. There was a pretty negra woman with woven hair
that was bleached a bit to where it was a sort of brownish red
driving it. No one else was inside.

So. The man was probably in Paulo’s car. It
was coming together.

Clint was waiting for a bus when Nicanor, an
Indio friend, drove by. He stopped and offered Clint a ride.

Nica worked in Boqueron! Clint asked him
about the truck.

“
Oh, I’ve
seen it a lot. Sometimes a woman is driving and sometimes a fat
bald man. People don’t seem to like them. They come from farther
into the mountains. I never spoke to either of them.”

“
From up
in the mountains? From the direction of Martin’s place?”

“
Martin
Fernandez? It was sad that Bonita died. Cancer. From that road,
yes. It’s the second one past the tienda. Not very good, but not
very bad, either.”

Clint considered. Nica would take him on in
to Boqueron. He had some questions to ask there. What in hell could
it be about? One thing seemed pretty certain. Martin’s place had
something to do with it.

“
That
road,” Nica said and pointed to a scraped mixed gravel and tosca
road toward the higher mountains. “Martin’s place is about three
kilometers. Right on the second road and left on the third from
there. It ends at his place.”

Clint thanked him and got out. Nica’s job was
on a bit farther on the main road.

Three kilometers from here. Say forty or
forty five minutes walking if it was in the same condition all the
way. Not difficult, not fast.

Clint did remember to bring a pistol. He
seldom carried it, but this was unpredictable, judging from what
information he had.

About twenty minutes later the truck passed
him going toward Boqueron. The woman was driving. He went on.
Martin’s place was comfortable if not fancy. He was there talking
with two of the locals about Paulo. He didn’t know what to do with
the place. Paulo had paid him for it, but Paulo was no more, so was
it his again or somebody else’s?

“
It
belongs to whoever inherits from Paulo. The lawyers can fight about
that. Is it ROP?”

“
No.
Titulo,” Martin replied. “Does that make any
difference?”

“
Oh,
yes!” Matilde, one of the locals, said. “If it is ROP and there is
no one else on the papers anyone can file for it and own it in five
years if they live here and take care of it. With titulo it goes to
the children or wife of the one who holds the papers.”

“
That’s
true,” Roberto, the other local, said. “I can remember when Nato
died and that Negro couple just moved in. They’ve been there for
eight years. They got a titulo after five.”

“
You can
move in and register for a titulo in only one year now,” Matilde
added. “The new law.”

“
I heard
about the Negroes. People don’t seem to much like them,” Clint
said.

“
They’re
snobs,” Martin agreed. “Better than anyone else out here. We’re all
Indigeno or part Indigeno and the Negroes have never liked
us.”

“
Even
some of the Negroes who visit don’t like them,” Matilde said.
“Elina – she’s Mestizo and married to that black Taylor fellow –
says they’re a RPITA. Big showoffs and can’t talk about anything
but what they have.”

“
RPITA?”
Martin asked.

“
Computer
talk for Royal Pain in the Ass,” Clint answered. “I think I see
what’s happened. Thanks.

“
Where do
the Negroes live?”

“
Up
there,” Matilde said, pointing. “You take the road where this one
comes from and go on up two more turn-offs and it’s the one on the
left.”

Clint thanked them and walked to the
turn-off. He thought for a minute and decided to go back into
Boqueron. He’d return with the policia. He was too old and tired
for the shoot-‘em-up bit anymore. He went directly to the
station.

“
Can you
call the medical examiner in Las Lomas and determine if Paulo was
dead before that car went over?” Clint asked.

“
Well –
only if they had any reason to check,” Carlos, the sgt. who was
helping him at the request of the Bocas policia (Sergio) replied.
“A moment.” After about five minutes of jabbering on the radio
Fredo came on to say he was suspicious because of what Clint told
him and had called the ME to ask that such details were
investigated. When they checked at the accident scene the ME
determined that Paulo had been dead for about thirty to forty five
minutes before the car went over, determined by the time the call
to the policia came in.

“
Then it
was no accident, it was murder,” Carlos said. Clint agreed and said
they could go pick up the killer and his accomplice. Carlos said
they might as well. He didn’t have anything else to do.

Clint went with them in the policia truck.
The truck the Negroes drove was in front of a Salon de Belleza so
Clint said she couldn’t get far, anyhow. Carlos radioed for a unit
to go there and arrest the woman.

They drove up to the place where the Negroes
were living. There was a minor altercation when they arrested
Billam Robinson. Clint stayed out of it. Carlos said Robinson would
have an added charge of assault against two policia officers. When
they got back into Boqueron they also were able to file an assault
charge against Gloriana Taylor Zahrias. Seems she was quite the
tough one. Clint gave the policia the names and contacts for his
eye-witnesses. Gloriana remained mute about anything. Billam
couldn’t shut up about blaming her for everything – including
having killed Nato Suarez to get his land. He only stayed around
her because he was afraid of her and her brothers, who lived in
Colón and had killed a lot of people.

Clint went home after making his sworn
statement. It was verified by the policia, notarized and he
wouldn’t even have to testify seeing Billam had confessed to the
whole sordid thing.