by Moulton, CD
“Well, she acts like an airhead’s airhead, but things slip into it that make it very damned sure obvious that she’s smart as all hell. She can’t resist getting a zinger in on some of the others when she gets the chance. That takes a really quick fucking mind.
“I don’t know if she was flirting. It seemed like it.”
“Promising looks, then she’s insulted if you take her up on it. Too many like that anymore.”
“Yeah. I got my rusty ass burned enough that I act like I don’t get the fucking hint.”
Clint bought another beer. Two bucks apiece here, sixty cents in Panamá.
“I have some suspicions. Things happened in other places that they let little things slip about.,” Clint confided.
“Something damned sure as hell happened in Mexico or Guatemala! I heard that Lily woman saying she was worried that they might get the same kind of thing in the countries down here,” he said. “We’re all so backward and prehistoric in these rathole places. Fucking enough to make you want to smack her in the fucking puss!”
“Too many gringos like that. We all have to live with what people think of us because of them.”
He nodded. They chatted for a little while and Clint started talking to an attractive girl. She turned out to be very interested in him, too. Fifty bucks worth of interested.
Clint told her he didn’t screw around on his girlfriend. Maybe some other time. She lost interest. Clint went to the pension and to bed.
What to do now? He had the information he needed from Costa Rica.
Clint looked over the papers from the court. He could go anywhere with government sanction from Mexico to Brazil.
So he’d go to Mexico. Oaxaca. He called for a flight and took a bus, then a cab to the airport in San Jose’. He was landing in Oaxaca at dusk. Seemed like that’s when he got anywhere.
This would be different. He couldn’t get his information in a little local pub in Oaxaca.
Good lord! He didn’t tell Sergio he was going to Mexico!
He called and Sergio said he suspected that when Clint didn’t come back. Stedmann was allowed to go to David about four o’clock. Judi Lum said she had some information about things that Clint might be interested in knowing.
Clint called her. She said there was some talk in Bocas Town about the supposed accident on the Changuinola road. It seemed Dona Sanchocho’s husband, Juan, was cutting nispero not five hundred meters from the socalled accident. The man in the car had lied when he said there was a truck to run him off the road. There was no truck. He told the police that and gave a statement, but they let the driver go. Probably paid off.
“Paid off? Sergio?” Clint asked.
“Exactly what I told them. There’s no way anyone paid off Sergio Sanchez.
“I figure you’re investigating that accident? That’s why your phone’s turned off?”
“Yes, I’m investigating it. No, my phone’s not turned off. I was in Costa Rica yesterday and am in Mexico now. Home tomorrow, I hope.
“See what the scuttle’s about among that bunch, Okay?”
“Other than that one of them is a sex-bomb, I haven’t heard much. I’ll listen and suggest.”
“Thanks, Judi. This is kind of strange. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
“Clint? Manny’s got connections that could help in Mexico.”
“Thanks! I hadn’t thought of that. If I can’t find anything on my own I’ll call him.”
They chatted a bit, then Clint went to a good restaurant for a mixed mariscos dish something like paella. He would go to the police station in the morning.
“I did not believe what they told me, about her cutting herself on some shells in the ocean in Mar Vista and that it became infected during the drive to here, then she took some antibiotics from a farmacia, but she wasn’t conscious much in the hospital here. Her nurse, Carmencita Vilas, said she kept trying to tell her something, but she didn’t make sense and she didn’t speak Spanish enough to make her understand what she was saying,” Sgt. Mario Cestas read from the report. “That was from Officer Cortez, who makes out police reports when someone dies.”
“Thanks,” Clint said. “Can I find him to ask a question or two?”
“He will be at ... (he looked at a work sheet) the morgue. He is talking with the family of a lady who died of too much alcohol. It is a great problem here.”
He explained where to find the morgue and gave him a short note that Clint was authorized to make inquiries into past deaths. Clint found the morgue and waited outside until Cortez finished counseling the family.
“I need to know whatever you remember about this case.” He handed Cortez the report. Cortez raised an eyebrow.
“You said you didn’t believe them?”
“They seemed to be placing a false face. What has happened?”
“Two more in that group have died under suspicious circumstances.”
He nodded and sighed.
“That woman who looks like a movie queen was impatient that they had to get to Guatemala to meet another partner while two of the group had to get back to Texas? Her business partner and friend had died the night before and it was an inconvenience, no more? They had an infection like that, a resistant strain of staphylococcus, and bought some expired antibiotic cream from a local farmacia? They had already made arrangements for the body to be sent back to Texas for cremation? A prepaid funeral and cremation is rather common today, but the family and friends generally go to the funeral, at the least.
“The HUSBAND, `Donny’, they called him, only was concerned about some kind of contract she was supposed to sign and was wondering if perhaps he could sign it with a copy of her death certificate?
“I made the certificate to say she had died of the staphylococcus infection, but there were serious questions as to how and why she became infected and not treated immediately. I noted on the report that I didn’t believe them.”
“The nurse said she tried to tell her something?”
“I ... yes, I noted that. You may speak with her. I will translate.”
“Yo hablo poco bien el espaniol. Mil gracias por sus consideracion.”
“Muy buenos dias.”
Clint looked up the nurse. She wasn’t on duty, but the receptionist gave him her address and celular number. He called her and arranged to meet her for lunch in the Buena Vista Hotel restaurant.
“Miss Vilas? I’m, er, llamame Clint.”
“Cita. Que desea?”
(translated) “I have to find what I can about a Wanda Wentworth who died of a staph infection here a couple of weeks ago. You reported that she tried to tell you something? Can you remember anything about it at all?”
“I understood only a very few words. `Killed Sammy’ and `Houston Texas’ and `Veronica’. I think she was saying she had killed someone or that someone there had killed someone named Sammy. I think Veronica was ... I don’t know.
“Clint, they are very strange and cold people who talk only of money and contracts while one of their friends and partners is dying right in front of them. Why was that resistant staphylococcus even in this part of Mexico? There had been two cases in Mexico City last year. Never here or in Mar Vista. They bought some antibiotic cream in a pharmacy that was expired and didn’t seek a doctor when it didn’t work? They drove all the way here with her unconscious part of the time in one of their cars?
“Excuse the vulgarity. Bullshit!”
“Two more have died. Both under what we call questionable circumstances. I’m trying to find what the hell is going on. I don’t personally care if they kill each other off to the last one. I want to know why.”
She nodded. “Perhaps Mario of the police will be able to find some information about Sammy or Veronica. His cousin is working for the police department in Houston, Texas.”
“Thanks, Cita. This is a big help. I’d ask for a date if I didn’t have to go. You’re a beautiful woman.”
She laughed. “You would have to first garner permis
sion from my husband!”
They chatted a few minutes, then Clint headed back to the police station.
“You can get the info?” Clint asked.
“I can try. I think, yes,” Mario answered. “I was more than a little concerned and have asked that Harry find what he can, but there was no urgency. Your papers indicate that I may treat this as an official inquiry. Texas is cooperative in many things.”
He used the computer to call Houston, ask for official connection with Sgt. Harold Guterez, and explained what he wanted if he could find any connection with the people on the list he gave two weeks ago.
I have already found that the name, Frank Carlysle, was probably who is in question. He was killed in a mugging a month ago. The fourteenth. There wasn’t any way to find who killed him. He ran errands for the SfTSpec, for whom he was delivering a package when killed. Veronica could possibly be Veronica Mayfield, the girlfriend of a man in the group who wasn’t there in Oaxaca. Markus Stedmann. She has disappeared three days later. It is reported by the woman who runs the apartment building where she was staying that she is hiding from someone, perhaps a mean suitor or past boyfriend. There is no more I can discover.
“The SfTSpec?” Clint asked.
“I think perhaps that is the name of their company. I will see.” He ran a Google search on the name. It was a company registered to that group and six others. “I imagine it will take perhaps three days to gather all the information about the company and the partners from Texas. I will give you the internet code for my machine and will arrange to transfer any details to your own computer.
“I must say that computers have proven a great boon to police work in some ways. So much is there. It is merely a matter of knowing where to find it.”
Clint was about to ask him to check further on that company, but was, apparently, anticipated. He used the computers quite a bit, but this was the first time he actually saw an official police investigation use Google! Now he would continue the search and send him the results.
Hell, the information is there. Use it.
He said his thanks and goodbyes and headed for the airport. He would get to Panamá City at eleven the following day.
He went to the hotel and got a good night’s sleep after calling Sergio with what he had learned.
Time Out!
“Well, I’ve learned enough that you can freeze their movements,” Clint told Sergio. “It would be a lot of lawyers and affidavits and such in the states. Here, you just arrest them.”
“I’ll have an order issued that they may not leave Panamá City until the investigation here is completed.”
“I think maybe I’ll just sit back and wait for the information to be sent to me. It’ll take a few days.
“How long can you hold them?”
“For as long as the investigation takes. I will simply tell them they may remain free, but will be arrested and held in carcél should they be so stupid as to try to leave the country. It would be seen as a sign of guilt by the courts.”
“I can use a day or two for fishing and such. Going out of Panamá tires the hell out of me.”
“I will inform you if there is any progress or detail that should come to your attention.”
“Thanks, Serg.”
They talked a bit more, then Clint went to his place, spent what was left of the day with Judi and Ben, a neighbor. Dave was in town so they went to El Ultimo Refugio to see him play with some of the local musicians. It was a pleasant night, but Clint went home early.
In the morning Clint went to all the regular stops to talk with the regulars. Manny and family (Manny Mathews, actually Marko Bocinni, a retired godfather Clint helped find a way to raise his family without interference by the old mob in California) came to shop a bit for groceries. Clint told him about the case. Manny said he would put out a notice for information. Clint said he would ask if it came to that point. He may get it without the hassle.
“I seem to have a nagging feeling that I know something about that bunch. The name of the company seems familiar, somehow. Maybe it’s connected, but not very strongly.”
They talked about a lot of things, then Clint went out to visit friend who lived at The Bluffs, then he went fishing for about an hour for his supper. It was a pleasant laid-back day in paradise.
He went to Isla Carenero to see how friends there were doing that evening until about eleven, then home to grab a good sleep. He got up at six in the morning, back to his normal schedule.
Manny had sent a bit of new information on the computer. It seemed there were some unanswered questions about that company and some of the people who ran it. Someone had disappeared a couple of years ago and there was a stink, but nothing was ever proven on any of them. They claimed Robert Mesmer had absconded with a large sum they couldn’t file charges on through legal channels – which meant they were what’s commonly called “Unreported income” in those circles.
There were some things to be learned from Atlantic City and Chicago. He would have someone dig a bit for his own curiosity.
This thing was stretching out into the past. Clint decided he would try to find what had happened to anyone in that company from its inception. He wanted to see exactly what this was about. Was it some kind of survivor’s club where one or two of them were trying to see that they were the survivors? Were more taken in along the way?
Clint remembered a book he’d read long ago called The Hunter’s Club. It was a group who decided hunting big game was getting boring. The standard targets had no way to fight back. A shot from a high-powered rifle from 200 yards wasn’t much of a challenge. They decided the only “worthwhile” game was man. The reactions of these people showed it may actually be some sick kind of game they were playing.
Sergio called and said the evidence they had now, including the witnesses and type of physical damage was enough to convict Stedmann. Should he proceed in that, or wait?
“Serg, there’s something strange and sinister about this thing. Let’s take a time out and watch them. I’m gathering some evidence that this may be ... what it’s beginning to look like. That’s very scary.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s see how far back this thing goes if we can.”
“We know about Costa Rica. We can’t prove anything there except the connection. One and one is still two.”
“Depends on the math you’re using. It can be a lot of things. I don’t think just two.”
“Two we know about. It is our basic pattern.”
“Three, then. Mexico’s more certain than Costa Rica.”
“You know a great deal more than I do about this. They aren’t going anywhere. We’ll take, as you say, a time out.”
Clint called Manny when Sergio hung up to ask if anything new had come up. Manny said there seemed to be some kind of attempt to hide that company from public view.
They chatted about various things, then Clint went to his computer. A Google search followed by a Yahoo! search proved to be much more interesting. SfTSpec was a company started, according to three hours of searching, in 1998 by a group of people who owned businesses having to do with construction and home repairs. It also had a member who had a heavy equipment parts distributor company. There were twenty original members. Clint did a search on all of them to find little except that Susan and Kyle Long, who owned a lumber mill and a chain of retail outlets for building materials had died in a car wreck when their brakes failed in the mountains in Colorado in December of 1998. There was some suspicion the car had been purposely damaged, but nothing was found in the investigation. There was no apparent motive for anyone in the area to want to harm them. The possessions were in a corporate holding so no individual would profit very greatly. All the members of the corporation were independently wealthy.
Clint sat back to think. There were a number of questions to ask a computer from a number of angles. It was a time-consuming task. (God! He was thinking in those terms?)
Well, onward and upward.
Or downward. Or sideways. How many?
He had Wilber Stenson. One, and he had Oliver Haverton and Wanda Wentworth. Wanda wasn’t in the corporation. Was that important? Did it take motive away from anyone?
What was the name Sergio’s cousin sent? Frank Carlysle?
A check showed he was just a delivery service. A deeper check showed there were a couple of complaints against him for opening packages ... so that could well be motive. He found something in a package.
What about Wanda Wentworth? They said no one seemed in the least concerned that she was dead. She found something, too? Hubby Dear left some papers around or something?
Clint checked Texas and Mexico to try to get a connection that wold involve her with something else.
Acapulco. James Smart, an original member of the group and his lover, John Truman, had died in a boating accident two weeks before on their way from California to Acapulco in 2007. From what could be pieced together from the evidence there must have been a gas leak and a spark set it off when they anchored out from Acapulco and came in the dingy to spend two days there. When they returned and started the engine the boat exploded in a manner that indicated a poorly vented engine compartment. No mention was made of the company. There was no connection anyone knew about. Unfortunate accident.
How many others? One and one was now six. Time to dig deeper into this.
Who was close when all of the deaths occurred?
That couldn’t be traced easily. Some of it was more than ten years ago.
All he could do was try. He called Manny and told him what he’d found to date. Manny suggested any connection could lead to other connections. They had something more to work with.
He decided to see what he could see about the company. Maybe the founders’ list would give him a clue. He still didn’t know if it was one, two, the whole group, or what.
Donald Fieldman, Harold and Faith Richards, John Truman, James Smart, Mark Stedmann, Eugene Williams, Oliver and Anne Haverton, Donald Wentworth, Bart Green,Georgia and Samuel Hicks, Barbara Manson, Lonnie Gene Michaels, Susan and Kyle Long, Lucille Baldwin, Samuel Green, Wilber Stenson.
