Clint Faraday Mysteries Collection B :This Job is Murder Collector's Edition (29 page)

“
Yet you work for them?”

“
I work with them. That doesn’t apply
to the ones of us who live like they have some respect for the
people here. Too many gringos have an attitude. They’re snobs with
a rotten attitude and no one’s going to appreciate that. This has
nothing to do with anything. It’s just an explanation about what
you misjudged.”

“
So? What do you expect from me? Some
kind of confession to make it easier for you?”

“
They don’t need confessions. It
wouldn’t change anything. They have all the proof they need to
convict or they wouldn’t have arrested you.”

“
I can see problems in court. They
can’t prove I wasn’t run off the road and crashed.”

“
Oh, that. They have four witnesses
working a couple of hundred meters from there who will testify
there was no truck, plus the traffic coordinators for the Ojo de
Agua project have watchers to guarantee that their own fleet
doesn’t exceed the rules. They note every truck that passes. There
weren’t any, much less a Walker sixteen. You also have the fact
that Stenson was dead before the crash. Baseball bat is the
probable cause. The ME states very plainly that the head injuries
were absolutely and positively NOT caused by contact with a flat
windshield. You’re gone for that.”

“
I guess I’ll need a really good
lawyer.”

“
If you find one who’ll take your case
you’ll find that he or she is definitely not a good lawyer. The
good ones refuse unwinnable cases. You aren’t allowed a lawyer by
law here. This ain’t Texas.”

He looked at Clint with a deeply thoughtful
expression mixed with a bit of fear and/or shock. Maybe Clint had
given him a few seconds of emotion, even if it was only fear.

He sighed and nodded. “I’m through talking. I
have to think this through. I very seldom make blunders on this
order – if what you say is true.”

“
Your choice. You know damned well it’s
true. You figured them for a bunch of, as you said, yokels. They’re
very efficient cops. They do their job and do it well, but shy away
from publicity that turns cops into public figures or TV heroes.
That always leads to an inflated opinion of themselves that soon
turns them into worthless excuses for cops.

“
You may be able to get a high-priced
lawyer, don’t mistake that, but it’ll be for the money. He or she
or they won’t make an iota of difference in your case. Theatrics
and tricks don’t work in this system. It’s more likely to get a
lawyer barred from practicing. They do it on TV, of course. It
impresses the marks.

“
In short, they’ll present a huge bill
for all the writs and proofs and such they had to research at two
or three hundred bucks an hour – and they spent fifty hours this
week on your case alone. They tell other clients much the same
thing, the socalled hours spent determined by how much money you
have. They can end up spending a hundred fifty or two hundred hours
per week exclusively on individual client’s cases. It’s hard to
relate that to the fact that their clients almost always seem to
lose because it was a hopeless case from the first.

“
Good luck! You’re damned well going to
need some!”

He merely looked interested. “And you can
help shave some off the sentence if I give you some information.”
It was a positive statement.

“
Not a chance. They don’t work that
way. If they have you as solid as they have you don’t get any
deals. You may be able to get some favors from the court later,
after conviction, to make things a little easier. Even that’s
marginal. The rules are the rules. Martinelli is cracking down hard
on corruption so that’s damned iffy. You aren’t going to be able to
buy a life of ease in the pen here.” He started looking through
papers in his briefcase.

“
I’ve found that to be true. We
couldn’t get anything from people we have in the past. They say
things are different and we’ll have to wait for the next president.
They’re sure two in a row won’t be the same. The next one won’t be
richer than Midas and will be corruptible. It’s the way things have
always been here.”

“
Oh, yeah. That bunch of asses in
Changuinola.” Clint acted like he was looking for something that
wasn’t there.

“
The Flores were always a source of
help in arranging special permits and such. Fanny always came
through when it came to avoiding taxes and fees. Give her five
hundred bucks and save five thousand.”

Clint repressed a smirk and managed to look
totally disinterested. “Well, guess I’ll be going. I was here from
personal curiosity more than anything else.”

“
I think I’ll study a bit of the law
here. They let me have my laptop and the laws are all on the net
under public property regulations.

“
I won’t find much to help,
huh?”

“
Probably the opposite. If you’re
subject to deeper depression than you’re living in anyway I would
say not to do it. In your case I doubt it would make any
difference.”

He nodded and offered his hand. Clint grinned
and shook it. When he left the room he handed the recorder that was
sitting right there on the table from the first to the officer and
said there were some damned good evidentiary details about two
lawyers and a woman in Changuinola. It was enough to apply as proof
of petty corruption and bribery. How did you manage that?”

“
Judi told me why I never seemed to get
straight answers from people in instances like this. Call it
misdirection.”

He got a look like this guy thought he was as
crazy as Stedmann. He talked with the capitan for a few minutes,
then headed for his hotel. He knew the one – ones – he had to check
from ‘way back. He called Judi to say, “Thanks! It works!”

“
You never make any sense. I take it
your case is solved?”

“
I have the direction to go. I think
I’ll solve it now.”

They chatted a little while, then Clint went
to dinner and some talk with people he met. He ran into a girl he
had spent time with in Bocas Town so spent most of the night at her
place.

In short, it was a great night!

Times Past

Clint got into David at four, so went
directly to Dave’s apartment there instead of the Pension Costa
Rica. Dave had given him the keys and wouldn’t be in town for a few
days. He’d gone to Las Tablas. Clint could use the computer there.
It was online and very fast. He’d found what he had to know to dig
back to where this started, hopefully. It wasn’t going to be easy,
but Sergio had given him some ideas.

Manny!

He called Manny Mathews and asked if he had
learned anything more. Other than that the group kept a very low
profile and were into a lot of legitimate business in the states –
and that an inordinate number of the partners died in socalled
“accidents” – not much. There was someone behind it they couldn’t
find. Nobody was connected to the syndicates in the states in any
way.

“
Check on Donald Fielding. Him and
Faith Richards, nee Faith Newsom. I think they’re the two who came
up with this insanity.

“
Oh! You weren’t in on that! I guess
you know they’ve arrested Stedmann and charged him with
murder.”

“
Judi told me. She said you were going
to try to get him to say something. Did he?”

“
Oh, yeah! Two or three somethings. At
least three scumbags in Changuinola are going down on corruption
charges. Fieldman is one of the starters of this game if not the
only starter. I have to find out what kind of relationship he and
Newsom had going.”

“
Faith Richards lived with Stedmann for
a short while in California. Carmel. Spent a lot of time in LA.
Pretty well kept their noses clean. I’ll check on Fieldman.
LA?”

“
Yeah. He’s a genius control freak.
I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”

“
Fair enough. How are things
otherwise?”

They chatted for a few minutes, then Clint
went to the computer and started searching for anything to do with
the group, but particularly on Fieldman and Faith Richards.

He didn’t find much about Fieldman. For
someone as powerful as he was supposed to be he kept off the
net.

Money. He made damned sure he wasn’t on any
internet files. Probably used aliases for most of his deals.

Faith Richards. She was with Stedmann in LA
for a couple of months in 1994, hot and heavy, then suddenly
married Richards, a friend she met through a friend. Skinny was
that she had an abortion a few days after they were married. They
seemed to get along well and were in several businesses together.
Richards introduced her to Fieldman. Interesting. 1997. She worked
with him and her husband in a business deal and socialized a bit
with him, but not much was known about it, only that the three went
to dinners and theaters and such together about once a month. He
had degrees in everything from psychology to business law. He had
worked for a short period with an advisory and referral
psychological clinic that specialized in schizophrenia and
sociopathic personalities. There was no more than the fact he had
worked there available. It didn’t say what his specialty was or
even if he had one. There was a short note that he was used on the
relocation project (?). The group was formed in 1998.

Okay. Fieldman was the main manipulator. He
had the resources and the knowledge. He could find members through
some kind of relocation program. He could manipulate those kinds of
people very well, thank you. People who lacked emotions could be
conned into this kind of game. They felt nothing and spent their
entire lives trying to find a way to experience an emotion. They
could be very good at faking emotional responses. That was a
survival trait.

How much of it was him alone and how much of
it was from Faith Newsom being a master manipulator?

Clint had never met Faith Newsom. All he knew
was that she was a knockout sex queen type who could act like an
airhead, but who was actually far more than average
intelligent.

He could meet her. It would have to be in
Panamá City. Was that going to be necessary?

If he wanted some kind of clue to answer the
questions it would.

He sighed and packed for the bus. He
would be there in the morning, manage to meet the whole bunch
there, then would,
maybe
, have
an answer or two.

Clint slept on the bus. He got off for a few
minutes at the Santiago terminal, used the rest room and got a
decent meal, then went back to sleep when the bus started on the
last half of the trip.

He got into Panamá City at a little after
eleven and went to the Hotel California. He had, for once, had the
sense to call and reserve a room. He went to the bar to talk with
some people from Bocas Town, then turned in. Pancho told him where
they were staying, the Hotel Europa, when he called to chat. He
would manage to be in the restaurant at eight in the morning when
they always had breakfast. The Europa was only a couple of blocks
away.

It was a pleasant enough night. Clint
wondered about the world and how strange reality could be. Here he
was, involved with a bunch of certifiable lunatics running some
kind of murder game and wasn’t even kept awake by those facts for
ten minutes. He knew how sick it was. Maybe he was a little short
in the emotional part himself – no. He felt very deeply about a lot
of things and life was often exciting. He didn’t need to search for
what was wrong with him, though he knew damned well he had his own
shortcomings.

Despite all that, he woke up very refreshed.
He strolled around from five thirty when he got out of bed and ten
‘til eight when he went into the Europa’s restaurant to order an
omelet and a lot of coffee.

Clint had studied passport photos of most of
them. They didn’t show much, but enough that he could identify
them. Harry and Faith Richards came in a few minutes before Gloria
Stenson and Anne Haverton. Clint could see why she was always
described as a knockout. She was, but in a slightly (deliberate)
cheap way. Anne was rather pretty for a fifty-something woman, as
was Gloria.

Donald Wentworth came in last and went to the
table where Anne and Gloria were seated. He looked around the room
and noticed Clint, who had spoken to him in the morgue in
Changuinola. He nodded, said something to the women, then came
over. Gloria had seen him when Donald pointed him out and had waved
half-heartedly.

“
Hello. Faraday, isn’t it? We spoke a
moment in that hospital thing? Donald Wentworth.”

“
Yes. I remember. I hope you aren’t
being too inconvenienced with this mess. I can’t believe Stedmann
thought he could get away with something like this. I came here to
speak with him. He didn’t have a whole to say, but we have most of
the story about your group through the normal police
methods.”

“
You find us strange, don’t
you?”

“
People involved in that kind of game
strange? Whatever gave you that idea!?”

He didn’t react. He looked thoughtful, then,
“So Mark told you about it?”

“
No. He wouldn’t. It’s obvious as hell
when we start checking on you as a group. The blood trail is quite
something. The pattern is blatant when you have enough facts on the
table.”

He nodded. “Stedmann was killing us off, I
think. Maybe it was a game to him, but not to the rest of us.”

“
He wasn’t even in Mexico for Truman
and Smart or in Costa Rica for Stenson. That won’t fly.”