by Moulton, CD
“Do you need more? I’ll make it for five. That should give you a buffer.
“Judi, when these things come up come to me first thing. Please!”
“Oh, Clint. We hate to always keep begging and imposing!”
“Judi, I started these ideas. It’s part of the deal that you come to me.” He scribbled a note and handed it to her. She said she would go straight to the bank, stood and said she hated to come in and run, but this was important. Maybe she could stay next time. Some things couldn’t wait, others could.
Jac had sat there dumbfounded through this. He stammered a goodbye and stared at Clint. “Five million dollars? Just like that?”
“What? Oh. There’s fifteen million set aside for those things. She always hums and haws like she’s asking for a handout. Hell! They’re my projects, anyway! She’s not begging to ask me to give out the funds that are marked for those things! I’ll never understand people. I never will understand them.”
“But ... five million and you write a little note to the bank? They’ll give her five million dollars because she has a note from you?” The accent was gone. Wow!
“Juan knows all about the projects and who’s involved. She didn’t really need the note. She could go in and tell him to give her the money for my projects.” (True. Judi was administrator for the projects, as were several friends. The money was in their names as much as Clint’s. It was money Clint got for solving cases he was helping the police with. Most of it was because crooks had put his name on things to try to hide them from the government or from other crooks. In two cases they were killed by other crooks while the money was in Clint’s name – that he didn’t even know about in one case – and it became his. He wanted enough to get by and had always spent what he could to help the Indios. It was natural for him to use the money that way.)
Jac seemed stunned for a minute more and Clint acted like he didn’t notice. He was soon back to normal and said a couple of things, then the accent started again so Clint knew he had thought of a plan.
“Ah! I have off-TEN made donations to such wor-THEE causes, myself. I am more restricted in amounts, but would vair-EE much like to fund two vair-EE excel-LAUNT causes in Frahnce, but my parents do not aGREE, you see. They wish to have the mon-EE for the sake of hav-ING mon-EE. It is vair-EE sad!
“Ah! But you do not wish to speak of mon-EE! We will discuss oth-AIR things – such as that vair-EE pretty laid-EE by the wat-AIR there!”
They chatted about women for a few minutes, then headed back to the internet. There was one machine available and Clint insisted Jac take it. He said he was late already and wanted to get to the bank, then he’d go home and use his comp there. He went around the corner to find Lars and Gus talking with Suzanne and Annette outside the Toro Loco. He greeted them and Annette said she saw him sitting at the hotel with Jac. “Be careful! He’s a snake!”
Suzanne seemed embarrassed at the remark. Lars nodded slightly and Gus didn’t react. Clint said he didn’t seem the type anyone could trust. Maybe it was the phony accent that kept changing and coming and going.
“That isn’t the only phony thing about him!” Annette said. “He’s a snake!”
Clint agreed and said he had to get to the bank and home. Maybe he’d see them around later.
“I hope you didn’t let Jac know you were going to the bank,” Annette remarked cynically. “He’ll follow you and try to con you out of your last fifty!”
“I know the type very well. I have quite a lot of experience with them here. He’s welcome to try.” He waved and went on. Judi was waiting near Las Brisas and they walked on to Saigon Bay and home. Clint went into his house and worked on the computer awhile. He called Sergio and asked that Jac be investigated very carefully.
“He didn’t kill Swenson. He wasn’t up there with the group.”
“I know. I think he was on the road. I think he pushed the body into the cleft and ran.”
There was a silence, then, “So he didn’t do the killing, but he was part of it. I think I see where you’re going with this.”
“I think Swenson’s body wasn’t the one he expected to see falling off that cliff.”
Investigations
Clint cleaned up at six and went to town. He had dinner at El Ultimo Refugio and chatted with friends. His nutty musician/botanist friend was there with Curtis and Rob to play music. Paul joined them and it was a good night until about ten, when Clint said he had a date of sorts and had to go. He went to the Barco, then to the Mondo Taitu. He found Paul Sontag, Erik Marks, and Robert Robertson at the Rip Tide staring out over the water and talking with four of the local girls. The girls all knew Clint and asked him to come over, seeing he was alone, to even up the table. He hadn’t spoken with those three so thanked Elena for the invitation and sat with them.
“Faraday? You’re the big-time detective who’s investigating us?” Robertson asked with a smirk. Clint didn’t care if they knew it so nodded and said he usually helped the police with people who spoke English. It saved having to use the local interpreter, who had a lot of other duties.
“And you’re the one who came up with the bigshit theory that one of us shoved Larry off the cliff?” he asked. His tone wasn’t the least bit friendly.
“No. Sergio, the captain here, knows the area well and immediately saw it couldn’t have been an accident, though I imagine part of it was.”
“Oh, really? And what made him come to that conclusion?”
“The body fell straight down onto the road, not in the ditch the fall runs into? It then rolled fifty feet uphill and under a guardrail with heavy brush growing there? It doesn’t take a genius to figure something isn’t right about that idiotic scenario.”
“The police there didn’t seem to see anything odd about it,” Marks pointed out.
“They weren’t investigators. They were told to get statements from the witnesses to an accident and to transport the body to Changuinola. That’s what they did.”
There was a short silence. The girls tried to change the subject. All of them except Robertson seemed to think that was the best idea. Robertson said the police were stupid. So was anyone who would believe that kind of thing about any of them.
“I wonder why you’re so adamant about this?” Clint asked. “Where were you – how close – when Swenson went over that little cliff in the one spot it would result in the long fall? When there was just some kind of birdcall just below that isn’t like any call any bird or anything else makes around here? A call that was like certain birds found in Mexico and Guatemala?
“I was only looking into it for the police, by their request. Now I have a personal reason.
“Why would anyone who was involved in anything like this be so insistent that it happened in a way it wasn’t possible for it to happen? Hmm?
“I think the stupid one is at this table. It ain’t me, Babe!”
“Maybe there are a few things you don’t know!” he snarled. “Maybe several of us aren’t what we try to make people believe! I guaran-damned-fucking-tee you none of us are lily-white! Larry was probably the worst of us, but no one would kill him! That’s ridiculous! It would make better sense the other way around!”
“No one suggested you were innocents. I found a few things already. I think one of you, at least, is in cahoots with that French character in some kind of deal. It won’t be a lily-white deal by a long shot.”
“Bob, what the hell are you trying to prove?” Marks demanded. “All you’ll do is make them dig deeper into all our private lives. None of us are completely without things we’d rather not have known. Drop it or leave!”
Robertson got up and stamped out.
“I think I finally have one solid suspect I can concentrate on a bit more!” Clint said. “Enough of that! We have four beautiful girls and just three guys. I kind of like those odds!”
The party was a bit nervous for a little while, then loosened up. They went to several places, then it broke up and everyone went where they had
agreed individually. Clint walked with Gloria and Marks part of the way. Marks said, much as he hated to say so, Robertson was right in that he would be the one to kill someone, not the one to be killed.
Clint went home to get some rest. He felt he could put one more step of this thing together now. It was a strange thing that could probably be cleared up if everyone would just tell the truth. Then again, he could see a reason none would dare.
He thought a bit, then decided to accidentally drop in at the Barco Hundido. Jac would be out there, probably.
He wasn’t. He was across the pass at the Splash. Clint went home, got his boat and went to tie at the crowded dock. Jac was there and drinking alone. He would leer at the single girls, who were studiously avoiding him. None of the others were there. He didn’t have anyone to get anything from if he spent more than he had. Bummer!
Clint waved at him and went to talk with three girls sitting at a table. He knew them and bought a round of drinks. They chatted a bit until Clint went to the restroom. Jac quickly came in and said, “Clint? I hate to have to ask, but I left my money at the hotel and don’t even have the two dollars to get back to Bocas! Could you spot me twenty until tomorrow?”
“I don’t have anything with me. I drink on a tab here and pay at the first of the month. It’s not smart to carry cash around these places at night. I’m going back across in about half an hour. I’ll give you a ride. I have my own boat.”
“Er, oh, well, thanks! I’ll take you up on that! Wave when you’re ready to leave.”
Clint agreed and thought, How strange! No accent at all! Vair-EE interesTING!
He took Jac and two of the girls back to Bocas Town and went home. He was going to be busy tomorrow. He was coming up with a few little new ideas. He felt he was right dead on target to think Swenson was probably the wrong victim.
Who was the right one?
Jac was skating a good bit close to the edge himself. Robertson knew something. It could well be that they were afraid of each other for some reason. Jac, more than likely because Robertson could prove he was the one waiting down by the road. It could be that Robertson was supposed to be the victim. It could be several things. Clint would have to eliminate all he could to get to it. He was beginning to believe the girls, most of them, didn’t have a clue. The guys, most of them, knew or thought they knew. There was a most definite scenario where they would stay shut up about it. He could end up drawn into another complicated case he didn’t want.
No. This wasn’t about that kind of thing. He would know by the way an outside character would begin to interfere before this point was ever reached. Tom’s “information” was just something he thought up himself and yammered about because he didn’t think anyone would challenge him. If there was any suspicion of any type about that bunch selling or transporting drugs it would have come out with red flags all over the page on the net. The police nets would have been buzzing with warnings and advice. There was nothing there – nothing.
Which could be suspicious in itself.
Act in Character
Clint finished his mug of coffee just as the comp dinged. He had an answer from someone!
It was from New Scotland Yard. Robertson was pretty much a normal sort of person for the time. He had been in trouble over a girl three years ago who was supposed to be underage by about four months. They didn’t pursue it because the girl had instituted the affair and had lied about her age. She looked more like twenty five than seventeen. He had a difference of opinion about something or other with two men, but it seemed resolved. It was suspected that they were trying to extort money from him. The case had been continued with the caveat that he would pursue it if they ever again approached him with their veiled threats. It was quite possible it was attached to the underage girl, but that wasn’t revealed by anyone. He was an independently wealthy man, having inherited more than half a million pounds and a small retail business from a grandfather. The shop dealt in highest-end imported sporting gear and returned him a very comfortable living even without the inheritance.
More and less than he expected. It did give him something more to investigate. He wanted to know who the two were who had tried to extort from Robertson.
There was nothing more for the moment so he went to town to listen to the gossip. Tom was there, saw him coming and left suddenly. Jim and Paul said he said he was going to get even with Clint, but was such a blowhard wimp he decided to not be around to face another confrontation where he’d come out a long second place.
“He told us he was leaving only because if you provoked him again he would have to kick your ass on general principles,” Charlie said, laughing. “I think you’d kick his ass in your sleep with your pajamas tangled up in your arms to where you couldn’t move.”
“I don’t wear pajamas,” Clint replied with a grin. “Why can’t that ass see he wouldn’t always be in hot water if he’d learn to keep his mouth shut? He doesn’t have the intelligence to see that, when he knocks everybody he comes across, he’s setting himself up.
“Anymore gossip about the accident that wasn’t any accident?”
“Not really,” Paul replied. “Gisela tells me that French phony tried to get some more from the English one at the Taitu last night and got told off pretty good. I think maybe they’ve finally seen enough of him to catch on that he’s a bum and won’t ever be anything else. Maybe the dead guy was the one he needed to keep his act going, now he’s gone.”
“He makes me wonder,” Clint agreed. “If he can’t get anything more from them he’s in a hell of a spot. I think, from what I’ve seen of him, his parents won’t send him money to get home. They’d rather he was around the world from them somewhere.”
“He whines,” Paul said. “I never could stand a whiner.”
They chatted about other things for awhile. Clint had one more piece of evidence for something. Jac had come here from Carenero with Clint and gone to the Mondo Taitu for money instead of to the hotel where he didn’t leave the money he didn’t have in the first place. He was a pathetic sort.
Okay. He was waiting down on the road for someone’s body to roll down that cliff. It wasn’t Swenson. That meant it was one of the others. Clint originally thought it was Robertson, but he wouldn’t have cut Jac’s funds off it was.
Would he? What had changed?
New scenario: Robertson had something that would prove Jac was on that road waiting. Now the blackmail evidence being used against him was useless because Robertson had evidence of his own. That would mean Jac now had to try to start putting the screws to whoever the victim was supposed to be, otherwise he would end up in Panama’ with no way home and his tourist visa running out in a month or so. He had to live until then, on top of that teensy little minor problem. This might suddenly get interesting in a completely different way!
Clint went to the police station. Sergio hadn’t found anything new about any of them. He said those types of wealthy families could keep most negative publicity from ever being circulated in Europe as well as in Panamá. There were some things that seemed obvious as to who was what in this one, but there was always that little thing that denied it. The thing that seemed true from the first moment, that Roberson was supposed to be the victim, was negated before more speculation showed he probably wasn’t.
The scenario, as Clint saw it, was that someone else was supposed to be dumped, but because of the clothes or something else the wrong one went over the cliff. The one who did the pushing saw the mistake immediately ... uh-huh. There was too much Clint didn’t know. One thing he was fairly sure of: Swenson must have been wearing the wrong stretch suit. That would mean that Larson, Borsen, Marks or just possibly, Fontaine, were supposed to be the victim.
Were two of them wearing the same colors? Swenson and someone else? From the back a mistake was very easy to make. From the back there was just a solid color. The front had the different band or design or whatever. There were only two colors in the group from the back. Blue and green. That di
dn’t change the scenario, it only modified it a little and reduced the number of people he had to check closely. He would still check them all, but could use a bit of logic to direct his more intense concentration. He would see if anyone remembered who else had the same color back as Swenson.
He went back to his Saigon house to check his computer. Not much new. Chastity and Helene were definitely cleared. Annette probably was out of serious consideration. Suzanne was proving difficult to trace with any degree of certainty. There were conflicting things in her records.
Suzanne, Annette, Liam, Robert ... Sontag and Marks were off the list for now because of size. Jac wasn’t a consideration for that part of it. He was the only one it could have been on the road.
Judi called to say that she’d learned a little. She’d run into the girls and had coffee and gossip with them. Clint said to come on over and he’d fix some gumbo. A friend had brought him some crawdads from the mountains. The Indios didn’t eat them and Clint had enough okra from his and Dave’s yards to make a good pot of it. She said she had some spices that would go well with it and would be right over.
The gumbo was delicious. Judi waited until they were sitting on his deck to give what information she had. It didn’t seem like much to her, but she knew Clint saw things she didn’t in this kind of thing.
“None of them like that Jac character. They say they think he has something on a couple of the guys or something because he comes to them all the time for money and never pays any of it back. The only one who defends him is that Suzanne. She’s the only one I have any suspicions about. She’s lying sometimes. Her eyes give her away.
“Anyhow, they also think Lars and Gus are the only two in the group who have nothing to hide. They all admit that there are things they’d rather not have known, but none of it is anything some creep could hold over their heads. If Chastity’s mom knew she’d been sexually active since she was thirteen she’d go through a bit of hell, but it wouldn’t last long because her mom had also admitted to her that she was no virgin when she met her father. She said her mother’s big gripe would be that her name was Chastity. She had let the father pick the name and had hated it all her life. That’s why all she would ever call her was ‘Honey’ and ‘Darlin’ unless she was being introduced to someone.
