Clint Faraday Collection C: Murder in Motion Collector's Edition (38 page)

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 give 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.