Clint Faraday Collection C: Murder in Motion Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  Robinson’s finca was about three kilometers east. It wasn’t much. He’d been trying to sell it for years. The description was excellent, but the buyers would leave almost immediately when they saw it. Lorenzo took Clint out to a small island that was considered part of his property to point out the place to him. It had a lot of small islands out from it and was a very rocky small peninsula that was only about a foot or so above the waterline at high tide. At low tide it looked very nice from that distance, with beautiful patches of white beach between the points of rocks.

  “There is no water at low tide. It is maybe six or eight centimeters deep where there are no rocks. The sand is only for a little bit, then it is more rocks. The bushes and other things make it very difficult to get to the water at all. The land can’t be farmed except in small patches. There are too many rocks and cattle will break their legs. There is little where a plant can make roots. It is not a good place. The Robinsons are not good people. They are not honest so the rest of us will not stay silent when they try to get money from others for the land that is not worth anything.”

  “There’s someone named Williams who’s thinking of buying the land,” Clint said. “I’m investigating. I think Guillermo Robinson killed two people. He’s working with a crooked lawyer-cum-real estate-agent in Chitre.”

  Lorenzo nodded and said that was about what could be expected from such people. Clint could expect full cooperation with almost anyone here. Certainly with his people.

  Then he showed Clint things to change in his disguise. Only the Indios would even notice, but Robinson was mostly Indio. It was simple little things and surprised Clint with how much it was effective. He remembered a time in Puerto Armuelles when an Indio friend saw through his disguise from fifty feet away. It was because his hands were different when he took off the little ring he often wore or something Clint never understood. Lorenzo said that was obvious. The ring would distract from seeing the little scar on his thumb and would hide the way the veins crossed just before the fingers on the backs of his hands. He then showed Clint how differently the vein pattern was on his hands. Two others there showed their hands and Clint could just barely make out the pattern. It looked as distinctive as a fingerprint when he trained himself to see it.

  Lorenzo showed him how to use a very small bit of darker pigment from some handy clay to change the pattern to the eye. The clay would make a different pattern and was the same slightly darker shading as his veins – and that was just one of several things they would notice without being aware of using any such odd means of identification! It was automatic with them. He could wear sunglasses to hide the pattern of his retina. He knew about that, but his personal notice wasn’t ten percent of what was automatic with the Indios.

  When Clint left to go to the Robinson farm he looked exactly the same from sixty or seventy feet, but was very different closer – in ways gringos and the Spanish and mixed Panamanians wouldn’t notice. Clint didn’t look like Clint to even them when they finished showing him the tricks.

  A photo wouldn’t show anything different at all unless you used a magnifying glass and knew what to look for.

  Clint wondered if a program could be made for computers that would find those features in a photograph and could positively identify anyone, anywhere.

  Probably, but there was already far too much intrusion into peoples’ lives by the agencies that surveyed them now. Screw it!

  He said his goodbyes and promised to come visit again. He really meant that! He would definitely come back to this place. It was as much a paradise as some other places he’d visited.

  Panamá was paradise to Clint, but these places were special places in a special place. He rented a car in Arenas and drove to the gate that had a sign that said, “Se vende” and had the phone number of the owner or real estate agent. He called it and was told there was no one available to show the place at this time, but he had their permission to go in as he pleased. There was an apology because the road only went in a short way and not to the coast. Clint said he would look over what he could from the road and thanked the woman for her time.

  He went in and parked at the end of the little road. It was no more than fifty meters inside and ended surrounded by small scrub trees. He could see over in spots and all he saw was the scrub for a few meters, then the land dropped and he could see the ocean about 600 meters past. He couldn’t see much through the scrub, but a person would assume it was the same as this small area. Good solid land, just covered with the scrub.

  There were large trees in the area. A lot of them, but this was only scrub?

  Clint dug up some of the soil. It wasn’t the type by the road. This was filled.

  Okay. They had filled a few meters close to the road and planted that scrub that would grow so dense you couldn’t get through without a way to cut a path. Where the land dropped was where the original grade was. It was steep enough that you couldn’t see what it was like through that scrub. People would assume it was the same as what they drove past.

  There was a small break to one side where someone had cut a path at one time. Clint had a machete in the car so he re-cut the path that led through the scrub to a rocky slope down to the ocean. It was obvious from there that the land was worthless and the shore was worse. The tide was low enough that he could see nothing but rocks with small puddles between them to the islands, which were covered with mangroves that no one could cut. It would make a nice picture of a rocky Oregon coast with mangroves, but wasn’t useful for anything at all. Clint went on along the rocks and didn’t see anything more.

  Did Williams make that cut? If so, why was he still interested in this land? What about it gave it any value at all, except as a bird preserve or something.

  Now he had a real puzzle! – unless Williams didn’t make that cut. Did Santamaria?

  That was something to consider. Santamaria found something that would show Williams the land was worthless and had died as a result.

  He took pictures from all angles he could for as much of it as he could, got in the car and headed back to Arenas.

  He decided to find what he could that people in the town knew. The Indios kept out of it, didn’t like the Robinsons and didn’t know much about any business deals. The other people knew that the Robinsons were trying to sell the place and weren’t having any success. Most of them were more or less neutral about the family, but some didn’t like them at all. He didn’t find anyone who actually did like them. They knew some gringo was interested in the land and had come there several times, once with a university professor named Guerra. Doctor Guerra. He thought he was smarter than anyone. They didn’t like him, but that was his purpose. The type wouldn’t mix with the normal people, only with other professors and politicians.

  “Yeah. A real pain in the ass type? Better than anyone?” Clint asked Gloria, the pretty waitress.

  “Better than god if you accepted his attitude,” she agreed. “We get some, but most are just gringos being gringos.” She had a sparkle in her eyes as she said it.

  “Yeah, we don’t just think we’re better we know we are!”

  “Some of you are fun. Some are, as you said, pains in the ass. People are people, no matter where they come from. Guerra is Panamanian.”

  “Does the Castillo woman come here much?”

  “Castillo?”

  “Bienes raices. Real estate agent.”

  “In the fancy silver car? A few times. She’s a crook you can smell from ten kilometers away. She doesn’t know how to act any different than a crook. Her father was the same. He came before her to find land to sell around here. If you’re raised by pigs you’ll act like a pig.”

  Clint liked her immediately. She had a very good sense of humor. “Are you married or seeing anyone special?”

  “No and no. I get off work at six when the other girl comes on duty.”

  “I’ll be here. Do you know any good places to go?”

  “Two. That’s all we have.”

  “We
can try them both. Do you know of a good restaurant?”

  She laughed. “This is as good as we have.”

  “It’ll do. Six o’clock.”

  He hadn’t planned to stay the night, but what the hell? He hadn’t planned not to, either! She was a bit younger than most of the girls he dated, not being more than twenty five, but she was the one who suggested it and she was great looking with a great personality. Why not?

  He spent the rest of the afternoon, after booking into the one hotel he’d seen, meeting people and chatting about anything that came up. About four he went back to Lorenzo’s finca and told him he was staying in town tonight. It was business so he couldn’t be at Lorenzo’s home, much as he would prefer that. He didn’t want them to think he chose to do that. The Indios would wonder if they had done something to make him choose not to stay with them. They were sensitive and would worry that they’d said or done something to offend him. Coming to explain made it plain that he wasn’t there because of other things and not because of anything they’d done.

  His night was great. Gloria was a lot of fun and knew everyone in town, it seemed. She was popular and several men told him they would give up limbs if she would take them seriously, but she was determined to wait for some man who wouldn’t treat her like cattle if they got serious. She knew men and she was smart. She wasn’t pretending to like the gringo because gringos always had so much money. She wasn’t impressed by that type.

  That made him feel good. He was used to having a good time with a woman, but nothing serious. It was fun with someone he could care about. He liked to sing “What’s love got to do with it?” when starting on a date to let them know it wasn’t to go further than fun unless that developed naturally from getting to know each other.

  Gloria was as frank and felt much the same. They got along far better than he would have expected.

  They went to the two places she recommended after having a good meal at the restaurant. Clint liked them both and liked most of the people he met there. He was very definitely coming back here as much as was reasonable and little enough that it wouldn’t grow old and stale. This was like Cusapín. He doubted that it would grow stale if he was there permanently.

  They went to his room for the night at twelve thirty. Almost everything in town shut down at eleven at the latest, but they were in a small bar with good people. It stayed open later because the gringo was so popular.

  He was going to have to get back to his case.

  Tomorrow.

  Stupid Move

  Gloria had to be at work at 6:30 and was a little worried he wouldn’t want to get up that early. 5:30, so she could go home and change. He said he was always up before that, anyhow.

  When she was gone he went out front to find a place to get coffee. The only place was a small restaurant where the Indios went to get rides to work or to find someone who needed workers for one thing or another. He liked the place and he liked the coffee and he liked the people. Everything that happened made him like the place more.

  He talked about anything that came up and put in little suggestive words or phrases the way Judi had taught him. He would get answers that way when the person who gave the answer wasn’t aware he had said anything and where he would seem almost not to hear the answer. It was a disarming technique that put people off their guard from an unexpected angle.

  The Robinsons weren’t liked by other Indios. Williams was alright, but not too smart, they felt. Castillo was a crook, the same as her father had been.

  They were jealous that Clint was with Gloria (good-natured) when they all tried and she would date some of them once or twice, but refused to get serious. They every one wanted to get serious with her. She wasn’t Indio, but she thought and felt like an Indio. Her grandfather was a Cuna. It wasn’t an act.

  Clint had all he was likely to gain from being there. He hated to leave, but there was no point in staying – now. He would be back. He turned in the older car he’d rented and caught the bus for Santiago. It went through Divisa so he’d pick up his own car there and head for ... where? Back to Santiago? David? Bocas? Panamá City?

  He was still undecided when he got his car. He’d gotten rid of the disguise and was Clint Faraday again.

  That’s the trouble with having everything so good for a few days. It leaves you in a state where all you really want to do is go back.

  He would drive to Santiago. The detour was fixed and open so he wouldn’t worry much about getting stuck again – though the rains were back to excessive and were getting worse. La Niña, they said. Maybe.

  He was on the detour for about twenty kilometers and had noticed a car behind that seemed to stay a certain distance. He slowed, it slowed. He speeded up, it speeded up. He was being followed. All he could see about the car was that it was a silver-gray smaller car.

  A Nissan Sentra?

  He went around a curve awhile later and came to the spot where they had stayed in the culverts. He pulled off the road and waited until the silver-gray car came around the bend and saw him sitting there. They came to block his way out with their own car, which made him feel like an idiot. He knew better than to pull into a place where that was even possible!

  He reached under the seat and took out his Glock. This might get hairy. This was the last time he’d ever take that detour – one way or another. He hoped he’d survive to take it!

  Robinson got out of the car with a pistol in his hand. Clint brought the Glock to just below the window where it would be ready and out of sight.

  Robinson came closer cautiously. A woman was sitting in the car. She might be armed, too. Clint would have to be ready to move fast. He tensed and waited, looking like he was relaxed and eating a snack (he had some hojaldres and a thermos full of coffee).

  Robinson came to the window, pistol pointed at Clint’s head. Clint grinned and pointed to the (phony) videocam on the dash and said, “Smile! You’re on Candid Camera!”

  Robinson didn’t get the reference. He shrugged and said, “So you have a recorder. It can be erased.”

  “Not if you can’t get to the recorder. What do you want?”

  “I want to know why you’re interfering with my business!”

  “Because it goes so far beyond business when people start getting killed. I’d think even a stupid shithead like you could figure that!”

  “They were going to cost me fifteen years of work!”

  “Oh. Then it’s alright. They deserved to die if they were going to expose some slimy sleazeball crook.”

  He looked exasperated. “Do you know how much money’s involved here? What would you do?”

  “God! Everyone who uses that question has to be a scumbag like you! I’ve heard it from ten people and all ten were the same damned kind of worthless slime! Money isn’t everything, it’s not even much.

  “I wouldn’t be trying to run a crooked damned scam so I wouldn’t do anything.”

  “I’m not going to let you get away with it! You don’t leave me any choice!”

  He pointed the pistol directly between Clint’s eyes. Clint looked over Robinson’s left shoulder and smirked. Robinson instinctively glanced back to see who was there. Clint shot him three times before he could turn back. The Nissan’s tires spun on the gravel and it headed back toward Divisa.

  Clint didn’t have pictures of the encounter, but he had recorded it on a cassette recorder he carried. He got out and checked Robinson’s body, finding the name and number of a Lawrence Williams, which he copied.

  A bus came around the bend and Clint flagged it. He told the driver there was a dead body there. He’d been shot. As soon as he could find a signal, possibly just ahead by the ravine, call the police and report it. He’d wait for them there.

  The driver looked scared and said he’d see it was reported now if there was anyone the CB would reach. He tried and got a weak response. He explained and was told it would be reported immediately.

  The bus left. Clint sat on a culvert with a branch above to gi
ve some shade and waited. The police truck came about an hour later. Clint identified himself and told them exactly what happened. They would get an alert out for Castillo and her Nissan. They had a radio and a relay vehicle so it was done in seconds.

  She had time to get to Divisa. That was the first place she could leave this road and find another that went anywhere else. They could trace every road out of Divisa she could have reached in an hour’s time at the maximum speed she could go in that car in the mountains.

  Clint stayed until they had everything he could help with wrapped up. They said he was acting with those police papers so they wouldn’t make him leave the gun with them. He might well need it again and he had established a very good reputation with the police.

  Clint headed back toward Divisa. This would be the last trip on the detour through Hell! Things were so perfect everywhere else!

  As soon as he could get a strong signal he called Williams. He got the voice mail and said to please call him on a matter of grave import as soon as he possibly could. He drove on. He was just getting to Divisa when Williams called. He told him some of what had happened and wanted to know if Williams knew that property was a worthless pile of rocks. Robinson was dead.

  “Where are you?” Williams asked.

  “Divisa.”

  “I’m only a half hour away. I’ll meet you there in forty five minutes. I have to finish this, but I’ll come as soon as it’s done. It’s business and the Robinson property is involved. Meet me at Yolanda’s?”

  “Which is where? I don’t know Divisa.”

  “On the edge of town heading toward Chitre.”

  “I think I’ve seen it. I’ll be there.”

  All he could do was wait. He found Yolanda’s and used the time to call Judi to give her an update on what was going on. Williams came in fifty minutes from the call so he wasn’t on Panamanian time. If he was it would be at least three more hours before he showed up. Clint was pointed to him as he came in. He came to the table and Clint said to bring two Balboas to the pretty waitress and introduced himself. Williams introduced himself as Larry.