Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  “Shee! And I thought I had interesting work!”

  “Something just occurred to me,” Dave said suddenly. “Whatever happened with George Martime?”

  “He’s not worth mentioning,” Judi replied. “He’s purely obsequious.” No one argued the point.

  “He SEEMS purely obsequious,” Dave warned.

  “This one is,” Judi insisted. Clint said he had to agree. If Manny checked him out and didn’t find a hint of anything, there wasn’t anything.

  “He checked them all out,” Dave pointed out.

  “And found lots and lots of little things about every single one of them,” Judi said. “The things didn’t mean much by themselves, but added up to something. George wasn’t even important enough to be in the equation. He was just there, and so what?”

  Another no-argument.

  They chatted awhile, then Manolo had to get back to San Blas. Bobby went with him to the airport. Dave smirked. Judi said she wondered if Bobby would be able to seduce him. Clint said, “Who cares?”

  “Bobby!” Dave said.

  They gave him the finger.

  “You have to get those damned flasks out of my kitchen,” Judi said to Dave. They went to her house.

  Clint took a quick shower and packed a bag for Ecuador.

  Maybe he’d wait a few more days as Manny suggested. He certainly had no compassion for Frank Lindsay and what Amanda might do to him. Or vice versa, though he had liked Amanda. He’d make a decision tomorrow.

  Celinas is a beautiful place on the Pacific. Clint had come here because of the mention of the little pink house on the cliff overlooking the sea. He could check the registro to see if anyone named Lesley had bought a house in the area.

  First, the best way to find someone new in a new place Clint had found: Go to the nearest popular local pub.

  The Buen Vista Mar was a fairly small clean place just outside of town where the usual group Clint found anywhere in such places were giving him the once-over. There was the too-loud music from the distorted speakers that everyone except two men and women at a back table ignored. Three fat women in their forties or fifties who were openly trying to flirt with him. A morose somewhat bullish man in camouflage khaki leaning on the bar and glaring at anyone who came in, a couple of probably underage punky thin over-jeweleried men, a disinterested bartender having a game of liar’s poker or something such with two thirty-something dark men and an overdone but actually rather pretty prostitute who was a bit drunk and lolling all over two worker types. The barmaid was bubbly and friendly, but Clint could tell she would rather be almost anyplace but there.

  Who would know most?

  Clint smiled at the three fat women, ordered a beer, walked to look through the music CD’s by the player, then turned when he saw one of the women coming up behind him in the mirror over the player to “accidentally” bump into her. He said he was sorry, he always did that. She said, “No hay cuidado!” and that her name was Gigi. (If that doesn’t kill the classic movie nothing will! Clint thought.) She asked him how long he had been there – and she wished she had seen him sooner! He was a VERY handsome man!

  “I just came in this afternoon. I’m supposed to visit some friends near here, but don’t have a clue to where their place is. The net went down and they don’t have it at the place so all I know is that it’s fairly close. Name’s Lesley. Amanda Lesley.”

  She didn’t know anybody by that name.

  “Well, she’s married now, so maybe her name would be Amanda Lindsay. Amanda and Frank Lindsay. They have a house on a cliff by the Pacific. Rosada.”

  “Probably south of here. There aren’t many houses this side. It’s too rocky and not solid so houses move and crack. The Indios can build those wood houses and they stay. I’ve never been able to understand it. We build them the same way and they come apart.”

  “They’ve had a thousand years to figure it out, I guess. I suppose I’ll have to go south. Thanks.”

  “Oh! Don’t LEAVE yet! You can always find them tomorrow!”

  “It’s business, so I want it done as fast as possible, then I can relax and spend some time here. It’s a beautiful place. The people are very amiable.”

  She tried to get him to stay. He could sleep at her place and she’d make him a good breakfast. The native food was very different and very good. He said he might just take her up on that when the business was finished. She wiggled and giggled a bit, then he left.

  He walked across town to see where everything was and went into the Mar Grande Bar y Café on the south side of town where he saw much the same things as in the Buen Vista Mar. He learned that there were several pink stucco houses along the coast fairly close, but they hadn’t noticed who was there. Most of them were just construction workers or food service people who worked all day and stopped for a beer or three on the way home. Clint chatted with a few and found them to be very much like the people in Panamá. He liked them and he liked the place.

  The Indios were quite different and didn’t seem nearly so outgoing or trusting. Clint heard and saw enough about the drug dealers to be able to understand that. He was a foreigner – and that much too often only meant more trouble for the Indios.

  He went to the hotel and had a good night’s sleep.

  In the morning he ate a very hardy breakfast that was different from Panamá only in the spices and vegetables used in the omelet. It was tasty and filling. He always was up before six. Nothing much was open until nine so he walked around town to locate the offices he wanted. The registro was in a large building with other government departments. The Spanish here was different from Panamá because of Portuguese influence. The Indio dialect was totally different. He may have some trouble with that, but everyone assured him that many people spoke English. That would help.

  He walked along the Pacific for awhile, then went to the registro at nine thirty. The woman was helpful and showed him how to find the entries he wanted with the computers. There was nothing in the name of Lesley or Lindsay.

  Ditto with Orison.

  Ditto with Rasmussen except for a Sarah Rasmussen who had a place in town.

  It was under LoboPad, S.A. Finca #46783.

  Now to find where Finca # 46783 was.

  On the cliff road, Calle Orilla. Maybe half to three-quarters of a kilometer outside of town. Mar Pacifica side of the calle.

  Crap.

  He walked along the gravel road and spoke with several Indio women who were selling sweetcorn cakes. No one of the descriptions he gave was known to them – but they didn’t know any of the gringos in those fancy houses.

  The third pink place had an old Indio named Manuel working on the lawn. The people in the house were Aimie and Francis Something and fit the descriptions except she had red hair and he was very blond – that was not what his darker complexion showed. They didn’t come out of the house much.

  Clint thanked him and strolled back to town. He went to the policia station and asked for some cooperation in locating a couple of people who had killed some people in Panamá and the states. They were known to be living in a house on the coast.

  “We have no jurisdiction for people from the United States,” Gonzalo Gonzalez said stiffly. “They have not committed a crime here so we cannot help you.”

  “Dealing in large quantities of drugs is not a crime here?” Clint asked innocently. “It is suspected that the killings were because of the discovery of VERY large offshore accounts in Panamá. It is suspected by some people that the money being laundered and hidden there was from drugs produced here.”

  “Er, there aren’t many drugs produced from this area. I don’t see...?”

  “The drugs are produced and sold in Ecuador. The senate in the United States is demanding a complete investigation as to what is happening to the money being supplied to stop the trade. When innocent people are being murdered by these people and nothing is done to cooperate by officials here there are too many unanswered question for the funds to continue. I can’t un
derstand why Ecuador would protect those kinds of people. All I want to do is make them go back to Panamá or, better, the states. Nothing would happen here in Ecuador – like one of the killers killing the other here. That couldn’t be hidden or excused if it was simply because Ecuador was protecting them. You can’t protect them from themselves. They are what they are and will always be what they are.”

  Gonzalez was very nervous. He said he would, most certainly, cooperate with Clint. He merely didn’t want any trouble in his town with drug dealers or American police. He looked up the passport records. Aimie and Francis Lourdes. French passports.

  “What can we do?” Gonzalez asked.

  “Trace those passports! They’re phony! You can then deport them according to the laws of this country and drug deals or anything else negative will never be mentioned. You’re only doing your job – which is to be sure people are here legitimately.”

  “You are right! We will not have to know WHY they are here with false passports, only that the ARE here with false passports! They will be held in carcel until the next flight to France and sent! It is the standard procedure! You are right and Ecuador and this town will not be dirtied with suspicion of deals with drug people! Excellent!”

  He called in a secretary and requested that the two passports be scrutinized very closely. “The numbers aren’t correct,” Clint said. “It may be a simple thing, but it may be something else. Check with Interpol. They may have interest because we suspect they are art thieves hiding here.” He winked at Gonzalez, who nodded vigorously.

  “Yes. Interpol is the fastest and most accurate way to check European passports, Mr. Faraday. I thank you for suggesting that particular search. How long before we can expect response from Interpol, Miss Lucas?”

  “I would estimate one to two hours, Sir.”

  “Get on it! Get it done!” She went out.

  Clint chatted for a few minutes and said he would be back in a couple of hours and they could discuss how to handle it so there wouldn’t be any problems with the US senate or anyone else. The likely drug connection could be transferred to Panamá, leaving Ecuador out of that part totally, blah, blah, blah.

  Clint stepped outside and called Manny, then Manolo. Manolo said he would leave a hint at Interpol that some people with French passports – that may be false – were doing something in Ecuador that could lead to other things that would be of great interest to the agency. Name was Lourdes on the passports. He was having a police inquiry into those passports through a friend with another agency in another country. It could prove to be most interesting if they were deported to, say, Panamá instead of France. The last destination on the legal passport was for Panamá and there was no record of her leaving. He was from California but was supposedly married to her.

  Clint then went to a local restaurant and spoke with several people. A couple from Texas, the Williams, were there. People seemed mostly neutral about them. They had a house on the cliff road.

  “Oh? Close to the Lourdes’ place?” Clint asked.

  “Lourdes ... those new people? We don’t know them. They seem very stand-offish. They’re really not our kind of people, if you get what I mean,” Sally replied. “They’re from Europe somewhere, I believe.”

  “France, they claim. They have horse ranches all over the world. Very big one in California, a large one in Switzerland, that kind of thing.”

  “Horses? That’s a good way to lose your tail-feathers!” Bob said. “They have several places?”

  “Yes. Breeding race horses, mostly. They’ve made a bundle on it, actually. They ... well, I’m speaking out of turn. They have some hundreds of millions in offshore accounts in Panamá and, just between us, the IRS in the states wants to know how much and where it came from. They know about ten or twelve million from the horses, but not anything like hundreds of millions. I think they’re here because the US can’t do anything to them here.”

  “Hundreds of millions?!” Sally cried, eyes wide. “Good lord! THOSE people? They look like stable-hands!”

  “She’s actually a baroness or something on that order. Family’s got lots of relatives in German and English royalty or something. He’s a horse trainer who worked for them in California. It’s possible the rest of the family doesn’t ... approve ... of her highness marrying a horse trainer.”

  “Well, we certainly misjudged THIS one!” Bob said. “Who’d-a-thought!”

  “We should call on them and explain that we are very naturally suspicious of new people here because we never know WHY they’re here and the most respectable-looking ones can be the worst,” Sally suggested. “We can tell them we checked and see they’re not what we were afraid of.”

  Snobbery was dripping off of her since Clint said, “... hundreds of millions.” Lovely snobs – but typical. He said he had to get back to work now and excused himself. Maybe they would get to know lovely Amanda and Frank before they watched them being expelled from Ecuador.

  Clint wondered if he would feel guilty for setting those snobs up.

  Nah!

  Clint went back to the police station where Gonzalez said there was some kind of delay. One of the passports was traced to an Amanda Lesley whose real passport was being checked at the moment. The other didn’t have a passport from anywhere. He was thought to be a most wanted criminal in California.

  They went across the street to a café and had coffee and empanadas, then returned. It seemed that Amanda Lesley was wanted in Panamá for two or three murders! She would be sent directly there in chains! Frank Lourdes wasn’t yet clearly identified. It was possible he would be deported directly to California, but the process could take months.

  “Send him to Panamá with her. They ARE here together. You have a quick extradition there. Let them worry about the rest of the legal crap. They won’t be in your bailiwick anymore.”

  “Excellent! They are together, we will see they stay together! He can share her leg chains on the flight!”

  They made crude jokes about the scum like those two who tried to use Ecuador to hide from unconscionable acts Clint went back to the hotel. Gonzalez was getting the arrest warrant to grab Amanda and Frank.

  “Mr. Faraday? Could you please come to the station?” Gonzalez requested. Gonzalez had called him at the hotel.

  “What’s up?” Clint asked.

  “We have your Frank Lourdes. His real name is, apparently, Franklin Hatchel Lindsay from California. He has a driving license issued from California. He says his wife went crazy and tried to kill him. We found him tied to the bed in the house with acid burns on his genitals and cigarette burns on much of his body. This is the most awful thing I have ever seen!

  “He doesn’t know where she is. She left him there with food and water on the table a few inches from where he could reach them, being tied so tightly.”

  Clint said he’d be right there. He wanted to ask Frank a few pointed questions.

  Frank was in no condition to answer questions. He was deeply sedated in the hospital. At the station Clint looked at the digital pictures of the scene. Frank would definitely never know sex again and would be horribly scarred all over his body. There were deep cigarette burns on his face, chest, arms and torso.

  “What do we do with him now?” Gonzalez asked. “You warned that this kind of thing might happen, but I didn’t ever believe anyone could so cruel. I don’t understand it at all – and don’t want to!”

  “You have the deportation order?”

  “Of course. We made the arrest on the warrant.”

  “Change the destination to California and pack him off,” Clint said. “He committed far too many crimes to be given other consideration of any kind. There IS a standing order for deportation. It’s for no passport, not for criminal acts here. They won’t bother changing the destination. It’s where he would be sent for the passport charges.

  “Gonzalo, if you knew his story you’d still feel nothing but contempt for him. What’s happened to him is half of what he had coming.
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  “Now I have to find where Amanda is. She’s the one I’m really after. You can see by this why I want her totally out of circulation forever.”

  “I think if I see her on the street I will shoot her on general principles. She is gone. She left him there to die slowly of starvation with food inches from his reach. She isn’t possessed by a demon, she IS a demon! I think the bullet will have to have a silver cross on the point and be blessed by a priest!”

  “I’m not religious, but I wouldn’t take chances in this case!”

  “Demons are very real, Clint.”

  “I’m beginning to believe it!”

  “She took a bus to Peru yesterday morning,” Gonzalez reported. “The doctors said Lourdes would have died in no more than thirty-six more hours. He would have been far better off had he done so.

  “I don’t know if you can trace her farther from there. She rode the bus to Frontera at the border and got off, saying she had decided she didn’t want to leave Ecuador. She will have gone along a distance, then walked into Peru.

  “I spoke with a Felicia Bondi who rode with her on the bus. She said Aimie was very personable and that everyone on the bus liked her. She bought sodas and cookies for everyone and gave all the children little gifts. She gave a pregnant girl advice and fifty dollars to be sure she had the best doctors. They thought she was another Mother Teresa in disguise!”

  “She can be very likable,” Clint agreed. “I think I can trace her. She doesn’t know I know a thing or two.”

  More Countries

  Machu Pichu is quite a place. Clint had never been there, wanted to see it, and went there just because it was as likely a place as any she would go. He spent two days there and gathered some information. He called Bocas regularly. Manolo reported that Lindsay was sent to California and that there were pictures of Amanda all over Peru with a “Wanted, dead or alive – preferably dead” caption.