Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  “Preferably dead?” Clint asked.

  “They don’t say that, but it’s pretty clear. They don’t want to have to deal with trials and such. Costs too much time and money.

  “Have you considered that Amanda doesn’t have a whole lot of cash left? All the money she could have gotten is in frozen accounts. She tried to use her Visa card in Peru and it was refused.”

  “I’m counting on that bit. I’m wondering if she has the wherewithall to get along without money.”

  They talked about various other things, then Clint called Manny and spoke with Judi and Dave. He told them about Frank. Dave said he figured something on that order, but something that would take more than forty eight hours.

  He went to the police in four larger towns, but she hadn’t used a passport anywhere. He got an idea and went to Frontera where a woman of her description with a Peruvian cedula had taken a bus into Venezuela. Direct express to Caracas.

  Oh, well.

  Caracas is a bustling modern city – which Clint hated. He was most definitely NOT a city person anymore. He didn’t waste time. He went directly to immigration and explained it. He had a copy of the bus ticket with the name on her cedula, Irena Rauz D. He also had Gonzalez fax him a copy of the Peruvian wanted poster. The clerk talked with Gonzalez a moment, then looked sick as he asked, “This is true? Not some TV fantastic violence/horror movie?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s true. I MUST get that crazy woman off the streets before she goes on another rampage!”

  “I will certainly do everything in my power to assist you in that! Dios mio! She is El Diablo!”

  “I wish I could argue the point.”

  He went out and to the bus station to see if anyone recognized her when she got off the bus. A porter looked at her picture and said he was sure it was her with very black hair cut shorter. She was also not quite so heavy. She only spoke French, but his mother was from Haiti and he spoke enough French to communicate.

  That was very important information. She was now posing as French, had cut and dyed her hair and was losing weight.

  His next stop was at every hotel the bus the porter put her on passed. She hadn’t checked into any of them.

  Next, the restaurants and bars in the area. She possibly had been in the Chez Paris Restaurante two night ago with a dark man who also spoke French. He was very wealthy and lived somewhere in the closer area because he was at the restaurante every Saturday night, usually with a different woman each time. All they knew was that he was called “Liam” by the women and waiters. She wasn’t as goodlooking or young as most of his girls, but she DID speak perfect French.

  So. Dye your hair and cut it and lose weight, then pick up a rich local.

  Clint decided to try to find “Liam” as a way to find Amanda. According to the waiter he talked to Liam drove a dark blue Mercedes. New every year.

  That might work! He went to the dealer and said he wanted to look at a model like his friend drove.

  “Your friend is?”

  “Er, Liam. That’s all we every call him. He buys a new Mercedes every year, though.”

  “Ah! Liam L’Estrade! Very much the proper gentleman! He lives in The Portals?”

  “Yes! That’s Liam! A great gentleman and a sure hit with the ladies!”

  He looked through a few circulars and at a car of a different model than Liam’s because Liam’s were special-ordered every September. He said he’d be back in a day or two.

  The Portals. That would definitely be a development or something such. Suburban.

  Wrong! It was a condominium complex close to centro!

  Clint checked in at the lobby office and said he wanted to speak with Liam L’Estrade on an urgent business matter. He only knew that he had a unit in the condos.

  “Mr. L’Estrade has three units in the end section. A, B and C. I will call him and announce you are here to speak with him?”

  “Please,” Clint replied. “It is an urgent matter.”

  He waited while the clerk buzzed Liam’s units several times. There was no answer. The clerk checked the list and said that Mr. L’Estrade’s car was there. He never left except in the car. Something must be very wrong!

  “Oh, my God!” Clint cried. “Listen! We must go to his units and check! He’s in great danger is why I’m here!”

  The clerk called security and gave the two officers keys to the condos. They went to ring and knock on all the doors, but got no answer. In unit C there was a sort of muffled crash inside. Clint demanded, “Open it! She’ll kill him!”

  They opened the door and rushed in. L’Estrade was in the bedroom tied to the bed with a duct tape gag across his mouth. He wasn’t harmed otherwise that they could see. He’d managed to knock the radio off the end table when he heard them at the door with his foot that was partially worked loose from the tape. Security called the police robbery unit, Clint talked with L’Estrade. She had met him and seemed very nice. They had dinner that she insisted on paying for. She said he wasn’t at all like most men she knew and came back with him to the condo where suddenly everything went black. He woke up on the bed like they found him. His safe was opened and more than twenty five thousand US dollars were missing.

  He had a violent headache. He needed something for it.

  “Did you eat or drink anything after you got here?” Clint asked.

  “We had a glass of wine. That’s all.”

  “You don’t remember opening the safe?”

  “No ... but ... I might have ... wanted to? For her to see the diamond necklace?

  “I’m not sure. I think she talked to me and I said there was ... she asked if there was money or jewels in the house! ... I think.”

  “Scopolamine. I researched it when a friend told me that it grew all over the place in Bocas. It was used as a truth serum at times. Hypnotic. You lose any will to resist. You get a violent headache and your memory of the time is very sketchy.

  “Is there security here? Cameras?”

  “Yes! They will show us out front!”

  That was a stroke of luck!

  “My diamonds!” he suddenly cried. “Are the diamonds there?”

  They were still in a case in the safe. She just wanted cash.

  Clint went with security after talking with the police to get a copy of the tape of Liam and Amanda entering the front door. It was clear and professional. He made several prints of her.

  Okay. She wouldn’t be in this part of Caracas anymore because it would be too easy for Liam to find her. Where would she go?

  One thing was certain. She would be easy to identify now. He’d show her picture at the airport or other means of leaving the city.

  She had booked a flight to Rio. She paid cash and had a passport. She was Edna Grimsworthy from Chicago. She had left less than two hours ago. He radioed to Rio airport to have her held for a false passport. An hour later she was grabbed when she got off the plane and officials there were very deeply embarrassed. She was Edna Grimsworthy, the fingerprints matched as did the ones sent from the states. They faxed her picture and it was a woman who looked like Amanda did now, but not too closely.

  Clint spoke with her on the phone and learned that a woman who looked a lot like her in a superficial way had approached her in the airport. She said she was hiding from a violent husband and knew there would be a picture to show him that would make him think she was in Rio. He would definitely check the airports and anyone who saw her on the surveillance tapes that were never very clear in these places would think she was gone. The people at the counter wouldn’t look at the passport very closely to see the one buying the ticket wasn’t the same as on the passport.

  Clint thanked her. Dear little Amanda wouldn’t think he’d find the ruse so easily – but she probably didn’t know that Frank was discovered yet or that Peru had her face splattered across the country on those “Wanted” posters. She didn’t think of quite everything.

  But where was she? Still here in Caracas or somewhere else?
r />   Clint went to his hotel and called Manolo. He asked if there was anyone in Caracas who could maybe help him find her.

  “I’ll send a sort of friend over. He’s on the wrong end of things, but you can say you’re looking for her because she absconded with a million dollars in antique statues or something and you want to catch her before she sells them to somebody for a thousand bucks. He’ll damned well find her for you if just to see if he can work her out of the crap for a thousand bucks!

  “Name’s Esteban Castillanos. Likes to be called ‘Steve Castle’ because it makes him sound like a US crook. He looks like a gringo thug.”

  Clint thanked him and sacked out for two hours. The desk buzzed him and said there was a man waiting for him in the lobby. He went down to meet “Steve Castle” – who really did look like a US thug or pimp or something. Bullish with a crew cut, dark hair, puffy complexion, six three or four, two forty pounds, lots of gold chains around his neck and rings on all fingers, two fancy watches, two cell phones hanging on his belt. They went into the bar and sat at a table in back. Clint showed him the security pictures and explained that she had already killed a couple of guys so don’t think he can work her. She would definitely be able to con him into thinking she was the sweetest little thing that ever came down the pike while she worked him over and probably ended up killing him. She had the stuff hidden somewhere and was getting desperate for cash. That was bad news. She would throw around a hundred or so and make it seem she’d dropped a few thousand.

  He said he could find her within the hour if she was in the more central districts. A day if she was out of town somewhere. It would cost a thou. Clint agreed. After all, it would be her inheritance that would pay for it. He went back upstairs to sack out for another hour.

  “She was in Norte Central district until earlier this morning. She booked a flight to Rio,” Esteban reported.

  “No, she didn’t. That was a dodge I told you about.”

  “I didn’t say she took it. She just booked it. Tonight at seven fifteen. Air Americas to Bogota, then Copa to Rio. She has to be at the airport by six ten.”

  Clint said that he would get paid if she showed up for the flight. He said that was fair enough. He made arrangements with the local police to have a couple of plain clothes cops at the airport for the flight. They would try to make it quiet.

  He arrived at six and lolled around the airport near the reservations desk. The passengers were to be there by six ten for the flight but she wasn’t there and didn’t show. Her seat was given to a standby by the name of Evans.

  Clint waited for fifteen minutes after the flight left, then went back to the hotel. Esteban wasn’t there.

  He swore and went to his room. It had been searched. What was going on?

  He went back downstairs and waited awhile, but Esteban didn’t show. He called Manolo, who tried to get in touch with Esteban with no results.

  “Manolo, I think maybe she conned him into something. He thinks she has millions of dollars worth of old statuary that she would sell for next to nothing. I think he’s made a deal with her.”

  “That would be about as stupid as it gets. Did you tell him about her habit of killing off the ones she’s used?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Then he deserves whatever he gets. I’ll see if I can find anyone in the area to find them. I’ll call later.”

  Clint sighed and said he’d spend a little time trying a few other options. He went to a couple of favorite gringo bars but didn’t learn anything new. She was avoiding those places for obvious reasons. She wasn’t about to make herself easy to find. She was posing as French – so where did the French hang out here?

  A local taxi driver said a few of them were at the Clubo Gigi. Clint told him to take him there and thought about Gigi in Celinas. He suppressed a giggle.

  She had been in the place the night before about eleven thirty and had left about twelve or twelve thirty. She seemed to be wasting time and didn’t speak with many other patrons. She had one glass of white wine. That meant she was staying somewhere close. She didn’t get a taxi when she left. She walked to the left. The bartender saw her leave because she seemed the innocent type who would end up getting mugged.

  “I pity anyone who would try it,” Clint said with a snort. “She’s already killed half a dozen people. I’ll be back later in disguise. She might come back. Do NOT tell her anyone was asking about her here. She’s as dangerous as anyone you’ll ever meet. The police in Peru call her ‘El Diablo’ for what she did.”

  He left with the bartender staring at his back.

  He walked around the area, but didn’t learn much more, then went to his hotel and put on his “Hanrady” disguise. He was back at Gigi’s at ten thirty where the bartender kept looking at him in a puzzled way. He finally asked Clint if he had any kinfolks in Caracas.

  “I think my nephew’s somewhere around here. Name’s Faraday. He’s working some kind of detective thing. We don’t get along very well. He’s living in some kind of stupid TV world or something. Never grew up and ends up getting into all kinds of trouble with drug lords and thugs. He does catch some of them, but I’m a professor of botany and prefer a more sedate lifestyle.”

  “He was in here today. You look like him a lot, but you’re little shorter and a little heavier. He’s after some woman who killed a lot of people or something. Some woman the police in Peru call ‘El Diablo’ because they think she’s Satan in disguise.”

  “Par for the course for him! He’ll chase her to hell and back. It’s not something that would attract me in any way, thank you!”

  “Me either! Leave that stuff on TV where it belongs!”

  Some people came in and he went back to the bar. Twenty minutes later she came in and sat at a little table to the side of the door. Clint studied her a bit and found she wasn’t unattractive with the weight loss and new look. She was able to project the idea that she wasn’t interested in company somehow. She looked over the room, ordered a white wine and lounged back in her chair. Clint decided to wait until she left to make a move.

  Another group of six people came in to sit between her and him. He waited until they were seated and glanced at her table.

  She was gone!

  He went to the door, but she was nowhere in sight on the street. He went back inside and saw her coming from the restrooms to sit at the table again. He went back to his own table and sat while the waiter brought the drinks to the table between. She spoke to him and he nodded, then went to the bar. He brought another glass of wine to her when he delivered the drinks to the table between.

  Clint went to the restroom and returned. She was still at the table. She seemed to be waiting for someone. Esteban?

  Some people came to sit at the bar. Two men and two women. Nothing changed for the next fifteen minutes. A man came to look around and she waved and said something to him. He went to the bar as the table between got up to go. He returned to her table and looked around. She was gone. She had, apparently, left with the people at the table. Clint had been concentrating on the man who went to the bar to bring her another white wine. This time she was gone. He’d missed it. It was the kind of trick he’d used a hundred times and he’d fallen for it!

  Manolo called and said he had a man named Gordon Felon who would meet him somewhere. He thought he had located Amanda.

  “A place called Gigi’s. Clubo Gigi on Calle Central,” Clint said. Manolo said hold a sec and came back on to say that was where Gord was. He said she had given him the slip.

  “Me, too. She’s about a cool barracuda! I’m looking at Gordon right now I suppose. He’s on the phone by the door.”

  There was a short pause, then Gordon looked around the room. Clint waved to go outside and thanked Manolo. He went out to tell him he’d traced her to the place and was watching her when she used the oldest trick in the book to walk out on him.

  “She spot me or you?”

  “You got me! Maybe both.”

  “I can tr
y to find out where she’s staying. It’s somewhere around Centro. Manolo says you’re working with us on a couple of deals.”

  “We’ll both work on it. Manolo and I sort of owe each other favors is all.”

  Manolo hadn’t told him this one was an operative. He was probably trying to find out whether Manolo was what he appeared.

  “Favors?”

  “Yeah. I introduce him to people, he introduces me to people. Business.”

  “Oh? You are in the art business?”

  “Me? No. I’m just bumming around and doing some research in botany. I run across some things. I sometimes find good antique jewelry while I’m in the mountains.”

  “I see. I sometimes find jewels and art myself.”

  “I see. We can all use a little something on the side,” Clint said with a wink. Gordon nodded and winked back. Clint went back to the hotel.

  DID she spot him – or Gordon?

  Or both.

  In the morning Clint had a good breakfast and was reading the newspaper when two police officers came to ask if he was Clint Faraday. He said he was. They said he should come to the police station to explain some things.

  Clint knew how the police worked in these places and agreed to come as soon as he finished breakfast. He ate fast and went with them to meet the head of homicide. Arnaldo Cerrano.

  “Mr. Faraday, we noted that you spoke with a man who calls himself Steve Castle. It is not his name. We are suspicious that he is dealing in contraband stolen in Europe. We understand from what was overheard that another man known only as ‘Manolo’ was the person who sent him to you.

  “I have checked on you in Florida and in Panamá and find you work with the police in Panamá and have aided them in some things. You specialize in my own specialty, homicide.