by Moulton, CD
Clint nodded. He said those old ROP’s could lead to years of headaches for anyone who didn’t research them before they put the money down.
“And many too many phony papers and deals,” she agreed. Clint knew about that!
They talked for awhile, then Clint went to the office building where one company has offices. They were closed, but the brochures were on a stand in the lobby. Clint picked one up for Tropic Breeze Golf and Country Club. It was the one to the northwest. He then walked in toward the centro and past the market, police station, and more markets to a smaller building with an “Investment Realtors” sign out front and a list of clients – one of which was Vista Mar Grande Golf and Country Club, Las Olivas. It was open. There was an Indigena girl at a typewriter just inside the door with a small sign that said, “Estrella Garcia, Agnt. Clint went in and asked if he could talk with Mr. Edwin Brock. She said Mr. Brock had suffered a terrible accident in Panamá City and was deceased. Mr. Veras was now in full charge of the business with the golf club.
“Oh. I haven’t met Mr. Veras,” Clint said. “I’m sorry to hear about Edwin. He seemed a nice enough sort the little time I knew him.”
“Well, yes,” she replied (very reserved. Brock was NOT her favorite person in the world). “The business will sorely miss him.” (Not ME! The business!)
“I see. I was exaggerating about how nice I found him to be. Actually, he was an ass.”
“He was just plain mean! All about telling the lawyers all kinds of things that I only knew about from what HE said!”
“Oh, yes. The titulo thing. I thought that part was settled.”
“It’s an ROP and those are never settled until a titulo is granted. I doubt they’ll ever get a titulo for part of it. That Vega person seems to have a pretty solid claim that his father didn’t have the authority to sign away his part of it. It seems to be clear – to me, at least – that trading the whole one hundred thirty hectares for a house and lot in Alanje was not what was ever intended by the father. That will be in the courts for fifty years! All they have to do is pay Vega a fair price for it and there won’t be anymore legal problems. They can get a titulo. They have the money. A big investor company paid them more than ten times what he wants already and they’re not the only investors.
“I shouldn’t be saying this. I don’t want anyone to have to go through ten years of pain because they put their money into a company that’s run like that one!”
“I can understand that. I’ll wait a few days more before I recommend that my friends invest. Maybe I’ll investigate myself. I don’t care to be caught up in any crooked deals. I can’t afford it.”
He soon excused himself and left.
So. Brock was running a scam. He’d used the old “trade for a small part, but get papers for the whole” scheme. It was an old story here.
He had a fancy pamphlet from this office, too. It had a good bit of information that could lead to more information if you knew how to find it. Clint knew how to find it.
There was nothing he could do today. He visited people he knew in the area and went out to some close Indio friends toward Calderas to see how the mining project was going. It was much better than he’d hoped. The family, now millionaires because of him and his influence, were happy to see him and invited him to dinner.
It was delicious. Ham wrapped in banana leaves and baked with pineapple, brown sugar and cloves. Fish stuffed with garlic and baked in banana leaves. Fried yuka, patacones, papas fritas or mashed, lentils and a lot of fruit chips. Papaya, pineapple, manzana de agua, banana, apple and some fruit Clint couldn’t identify. It was the best meal he’d ever eaten.
He went back to town and to the hotel. The people whose house he stayed in last night came in to the pharmacy for something to relieve their hangovers. They didn’t even remember that he was there and greeted him with a “Happy New Year!”.
“You look like it really was a happy eve, but today is pure hell!” Clint replied.
“You got that right! Ouch!”
day five
First thing is the registro publico when it opens. Clint looked up the registration listed on the pamphlet to find it was in the name of GolfInversGrande S. A. He then found the older history records and found the land was owned by a Manuel Vega F. for many years in partnership with Armando Vega F.
A brother? Same mother and father. He’d have to be. So.
He looked up the plano for the place. The land was surveyed at transfer by GolfInversGrande, S.A. and certified by Manuel Vega Fernandez only with the notation that the other part-owner, Armando Vega Fernandez, was deceased.
Then there would be a death certificate number on the escritura. Clint searched that. No death certificate. Contact with Armando Vega F. was lost for more than seven years and he was then assumed deceased.
This was looking a lot like the old scheme to steal land from the Indios. Manuel Vega F. traded for the place ... Clint looked for his signature on the escritura to find he had a lawyer with POA sign as he couldn’t read or write.
If Armando showed up now half the land would be his to do with as he pleased. Yola had said that he was here and had asked a price, in effect. It was looking like Brock and Veras were working the old scheme and were selling a lot of people land that they suddenly didn’t own. They tried to steal it, but someone from the past showed up.
Why was Brock killed? If he knew why he’d know who.
He thought a minute, then headed for the bus station and Alanje.
“I have to find details of the death of Manuel Vega Fernandez,” Clint requested at the hospital hall of records. “He died within the last four years, I understand. I’m working with the police in Bocas del Toro and the search has come all the way to here. You can contact Captain Sergio Valdez there to guarantee my certification.”
She said he didn’t need special certification for public records and took the information and went to her computer. Five minutes later she printed out a sheet, handed it to him and said, “One dollar.” He paid her and left. He waited to read the report until he was on the bus back to Puerto Armuelles. It was in Spanish and he was slow reading the language.
Manuel Vega F., 78 years old, died instantly when hit by a car between Alanje and the CPA. There was a list of damages to the body and the gory details. The car that hit him had not been identified and was not found to date.
So. That was the old scheme. No one to contest the escritura his lawyer signed. There was little doubt Brock and Veras had supplied a lawyer for him. The brother ran it down and had probably killed Brock himself. The Indio way, basically an-eye-for-an-eye. That would mean that Veras had better be damned careful where he went and who knew he was going.
Okay! Now to find the connection with E.V.G., assuming there was one.
Clint got off the bus and went to the hotel to check into the room, then went to dinner at the fancy brothel just outside of town where the gringos gathered at times. The food was very good, but didn’t begin to compare with his meal yesterday! Clint knew a few of the people there. He didn’t make it a habit to mix with other gringos very much. He was more friends with the Indios. The cultural differences were behind that. He found too many gringos were shallow, arrogant and greedy. Like most of the Indios, he didn’t make broad general assumptions and didn’t consider all gringos to be the same mold. If the Indios did that he wouldn’t have so many close friends among them. Many gringos were also good honest caring people.
He felt this would be the place he would meet Veras. He wanted to hear his story. He asked about Veras an hour after he arrived and was told he wasn’t exactly popular there and neither was his partner. They tended to be rather crude. Clint told them Brock was dead. Nobody was surprised by that news!
How was he able to run the scam with that kind of personality?
Tomorrow.
day six
“Can you give me a way to contact this Veras person?” Clint asked Estrella, the secretary at the RE office.
�
��He will be here at ten thirty – Panamá time,” she replied. That meant between eleven thirty and three or later. Clint grinned and she returned the grin.
“He’ll be here at eleven, but has a meeting that will take an hour or more. If he shows up a little earlier I didn’t mention that possibility.”
Clint thanked her and went out to walk around town for awhile. He got back at ten thirty and asked if Mr. Veras was there when she put a finger to her lips and nodded her head slightly.
“I don’t think he has arrived yet. I only arrived a few minutes ago. Can I ask what it’s about?” She pointed at the intercom with it’s little red light on.
“I want to get some information on an investment and won’t be here long.”
“An investment? In a particular project, or are you looking for possibilities?”
“Well, always looking, but I have some friends who plan to move here soon. They’re golf nuts and say there’s a planned course here. I know a lot of golf people. It could be a real goldmine when you consider the class of people who use the courses. It’s sort of ... well, I talked with one company who plan to build a course, so that might not be what I’m after. I don’t care for the proposed location. It’s too close to where the refinery will be. I don’t think they’ve considered the air quality that close to a refinery. Even with the modern scrubbers there are some unpleasant smells a lot of the time.”
A suave Latin-lover type stepped out of the office behind the desk and said, “Estrella, would you get the papers from the ... oh. I didn’t know we had anyone here this early. House hunting?
“I’m Armando Veras.”
“Clint Faraday. I’m looking for some decent investment property, preferably in a corporation – you know how much difference that can make. I suggested a golf course in this area because of the refinery. I saw from the list out front that you feature one. Is it the same one as Tropic Breezes is promoting?”
“Lord, no!” He laughed. “They’re going to build a golf course that close to an oil refinery? What? They gonna have their customers wear gas masks?
“Listen, Clint. Too many people go into things that they haven’t researched at all well. That place will stink to high heaven half the time. Our place is down toward Las Olivas. The steady Pacific breezes will ensure that there isn’t that kind of problem, at least! I don’t know if there are any parcels available anymore. One look at both places and investors never look back west.”
“My people aren’t much interested in parcels. They want to invest directly in a corporation.”
“That’s a very expensive way to go! The corporation has some stock available, but it’s damned expensive, what with most of the land being sold already. The investment would be in the running company. Fees, bar, restaurant – those things. They’ll pay big and for a lot of years, but cost is considered with that in mind.”
“These people didn’t lose a dime in the collapse in the states. They’re very savvy about those things. They have sense enough to hire me to research things for them. I’m a detective, retired, and know how to go about it.”
“Detective? Police?”
“No. PI. Florida.”
“Things here are NOT the same as Florida or anywhere else. You have to be very careful when you invest.”
“I understand that! I bought a house in Bocas and went through hell for almost a year so I learned a few things!”
Veras smirked. He figured he had another gringo who had one small item that made him think he knew the system and could get around it. He thought the investment laws here were the same as Florida with protections built-in.
In other words, Veras figured he had a real idiot on the hook! Estrella (he was behind her back) winked and said she would get the papers into his office as soon as she found them in the files. She got up and went to the cabinets. Veras invited Clint into the office. He was busy, but it was about fifteen minutes before his next appointment. He would show Clint what they had and give him information he could check to see everything was on the table. He didn’t say he would give him all the needed information, only the parts that would check out, in other words. Anything he got would look good. Clint went back with him into the office where he conveniently had some files about that particular project on his desk for his very next appointment!
He was acting like he owned the agency outright without saying so, but Estrella had already told him that Veras and Brock merely rented the office. There were three other renters in the building.
Clint looked over a batch of papers that had all the stamps and signatures from various government agencies on them. It looked very legitimate. Clint noticed which ones were copies and which were originals. He could use his Dell computer and Canon printer to make the “copies” of legal documents by moving images of those stamps and signatures wherever he chose.
He studied a few of the papers. There was a handwritten note stapled to one titulo copy: “Register this one this way – EVG.”
Well, he’d found it, but didn’t know much more – except it was probably something Brock had found in that very note that made him ask the wrong question. Veras would know all about it.
He’d seen that handwriting somewhere – like right out front! Estrella had a lot of notes on her desk. Her name would be Estrella V. Garcia. She was up to her neck in whatever was going on. Why hadn’t Brock known that? He worked right there in that office at times.
Clint saw that one note in all those papers. Maybe Veras would get rid of the notes she wrote. Brock had never seen anything signed that way. He might not have known her middle initial was “V.”
Damn! Brock was right all along in thinking that he was being scammed! She and Veras were behind the whole thing!
Her name would be Estrella Veras Garcia. She would be his sister. This was probably her scam. She was playing the secretary who hated the boss as a way to work the scam.
Clint said he saw it was getting to be the time for Veras’ appointment, so would move on. He would be in touch a little later after talking with his investor friends.
Scam artists were the easiest people the world to scam. They would probably think they had erased anything that could connect them to someone who died in a mugging. A coincidence, just like the one where the detective was looking for investments for some rich gringos and happened to come there. Hell! They felt protected from anything anyhow. He was an idiot who thought he knew all about the scams in Panamá! These were some coldblooded people. They’d killed at least two already running this scam.
The searchers of his house. This was something backed by a drug lord or cartel. From Colombia.
Clint went out to the office and told Estrella the whole thing seemed legitimate. He DID have the papers and forms, all of them up-to-date, stamped and notarized.
“Well, I sometimes think there’s something going on. I’ve checked and the only thing is that person who has a claim. They DO have the funds to pay him what he wants, so that will go away. Maybe it’s just because I don’t like Veras and certainly didn’t like Brock.”
“That can cloud your judgement. I’ll check out a few things. Maybe my friends can invest in it. It’ll be a little slow, but will be pretty sure. They’ll make a bundle in a couple of years. Like they need more millions!”
She laughed and said, “Isn’t THAT the truth. Those who have, get.”
Clint waved and left.
Clint looked at the registration for cedula his friends on the police brought up for him.
Estrella V. Garcia wasn’t Estrella Veras Garcia. She was Estrella Vega Garcia. Did that make a difference?
Another few minutes of reflection and he decided it damned well did! It explained quite a lot!
He sighed and went with Ronaldo Amorosa, his police friend, to the office. Veras wasn’t there so he asked Estrella to come into the office for a talk. She was nervous, but agreed. They all sat around Veras’ desk.
“Was he your brother?”
She studied him for a long moment. �
��My uncle. Armando is my father.”
“Did you manage to get Brock killed? In revenge for him having your uncle killed?”
“I won’t answer.”
“If it was that way, if you didn’t kill him yourself, tell us about it and you won’t be charged,” Ronaldo promised. “I would do the same if it was my uncle that was dead in some crooked scheme to steal his property.”
She studied him for a minute. “I made contacts with people in Colombia who were backing the golf course. It is partly legitimate. They checked Mr. Faraday and said he knew nothing or less. He then came here, so I knew he did know something. I saw that as an opportunity to make Veras pay the same price Brock paid.
“You see, Brock found a note from me to Veras that I signed with my initials. I only did that with Veras and he didn’t know it was from me. He thought someone he didn’t know about was dealing with Veras. He asked me who EVG was and I almost told him, then remembered the note. It said nothing, only made him suspicious.
“I used that to leave another note that would make him become dangerous to my Colombian ... contacts. They are not friends by any stretch of the imagination.
“I knew about Mr. Faraday from another time here when he found a killer. Those disgusting English people. Brock asked me if I knew of any investigator to find what was going on and I told him about Mr. Faraday, then made some e-mails that would seem to be from Mr. Faraday to him that would scare the people in Colombia. Mr. Faraday used a contact to ask about EVG. That scared the Colombians even more and they killed Brock so he would no longer be a danger. They told Mr. Faraday’s contact that they would not, but he knows nothing about it. Brock didn’t know anything about it. He killed my uncle and I vowed to have revenge.
