Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (37 page)

“
Mierda!”
Vito snarled. “Doctor, show me the place the blood was drawn!
Now!”

The doctor went to the drawer, paused, opened
the door, paused and turned to say, “I didn’t have time to take it.
I have that bus accident with six bodies and can’t waste my time
with a drunk driver! The man in the ambulance said she was really
drunk!”

“
Except
that she didn’t drive and didn’t drink more than a glass of wine
with a meal,” Clint said. “You have a double homicide there that
you don’t do an autopsy on because some flunky in an ambulance says
it was a drunk driver? I don’t believe one word of it. Who told you
to not do an autopsy and to report it as a drunk, then rush her off
to be cremated so the evidence is gone? Come on, Vito. She was a
citizen of the US who was murdered in Panamá City and there will be
no further investigation because a stupid ambulance driver said she
was drunk? That’ll really add to tourism here when I smear it all
over the net!”

“
Oh,
there WILL be an investigation. A very thorough one!” Vito
promised. “Doctor, this is your next project and it will be done
with the greatest possible attention to the smallest detail.
Claro?”

The doctor looked very sick. He nodded.

They went back to Vito’s office, where he
fumed for a few minutes, then asked Clint what else he could tell
him about it. Clint said he had to know who was behind it. That
should answer most of his questions.

Vito called in three other officers (one was
there, the other two arrived in about twenty minutes) to ask if
they had noticed Arnold at the Hotel California. One said he had
seen him working in the restaurant often with a computer. Various
people would speak with him. Clint had been there once. A woman met
with him several times, once with a large man in an expensive suit
who had two people with him who stayed outside when he and the
woman went in.

Vito showed him a picture of Monica and he
said that was one of the women. Clint looked thoughtful and took
out his little pocket camera to check the photos and asked him if
Yvon was the other woman. No. He got an idea and asked if this man
and woman had met with him. He showed the Cartworthys. The man had
come once, but seemed to just have a message or something to hand
him.

Batty? Yes. Several times. Sally Wallace?
Yes. She was the other woman from a few weeks ago. She had gotten a
little drunk and was saying something about a gusher. Arnold said
he didn’t like being around a bigmouthed drunk and walked out.

Vern? With Sally. Never with Arnold.

Lariez? That was a known criminal. He had
been in the restaurant several times when Arnold was there, but had
not spoken with him. Lariez had his own home, but he sometimes had
evening meals, espagetti con camarones in particular, at the hotel.
He may be a criminal, but he’s always pleasant to the police
there.

Clint thanked him. He left and Clint asked
why they had a man at the Hotel California.

Because some important people stayed there –
and a few who were no more than thieves and scam artists. They
could keep an eye on certain types and warn the tourists if they
seemed to be getting too chummy.

“
He’s
good!” Clint said. “I never spotted him.”

“
Yes.
That’s because he’s always there,” Vito replied. Clint thought a
minute, then said, “I’ll be damned! He was sitting right there when
I came out to come here! I’ve seen the others there, too. I’ll be
damned.”

They chatted a bit more. Clint wanted to know
if the officer ever saw the man in the expensive suit again. He
felt that may be the real head of the bunch.

He went back to the hotel where he called
Marko. He didn’t know anything more except that a black man by the
name of “Ras” was a specialist in staged accidents with cars. He
might or might not have information. The Top Place billiards hall
out toward the end of Via España. Take care.

Ras would be a Rastifarian, thence the name.
Probably ten of them, but worth a shot. Maybe only one a
specialist.

The Top Place is a chain of billiard halls
all over Panamá. They are almost always upstairs as a gimmick. This
one was loud and dirty with a clientele that would scare the piss
out of most people. Clint knew it was mostly an act, but there were
a few violence freaks in any such place. There were four blacks
with dredlocks. He asked which one was called “Ras” – the auto
specialist.

About six o’clock. Thin creepy type, but
scary. Crazy. Hit women and backed down from men.

Clint thanked them, bought a round of beers
and went to wander the shops in the “bad” end of town. He saw and
talked to three people he knew from Bocas and one from David. At
six thirty he went back to the Top Place to meet “Ras” Smith. Not
his name, but it would do.

Ras Smith was wearing four heavy gold chains
around his neck, had four very fancy rings on various fingers, a
copy Rolex watch and four very distinctive large diamond
earrings.

“
Flint
Hardy,” Clint introduced himself. “Not my name, but it’ll do.” That
got a grin.

Clint bought a beer for himself and a Ron
Abuelo with Coke for Ras and asked him if he was the one who
screwed up the hit on Arnold and Standing. He knew he had it from
the look of fear that came across Ras’s face.

“
Screwed
up? How ... I mean ... I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”

“
Oh, it
was probably mainly because the stupid dickhead didn’t give you
enough information – such as the tiny facts she didn’t drive and
never drank. Now they’ll check it a lot closer than they ever would
if they hadn’t learned that. There won’t be any
cremation.”

“
Oh,
shit! No one told me ... I mean, you say somebody set up a hit and
didn’t even tell the one they hired something like that? Shit,
man!”

“
I’d
suggest the person who set it up contact the employer and get it
straight that the fuck-up was because of what the employee wasn’t
told. Those people are usually a lot more careful than
that.

“
I guess
it was a rush job and no one checked it out far enough,
hunh?”

“
Yeah.
shit man, I mean ... they hire somebody and don’t give all the
facts, man? That one will have his ass in a real crack if they can
find him!”

“
Well, I
guess I’d better get on back. Hay cuidado.”

He went out and waited just around the
corner. Ras came out a minute later and went to stand in the
doorway of the closed store beside the stairway. He took out a
fancy cell phone and called a number. He kept calling for several
minutes until he finally got an answer.

“
Llama
Gordo! Muy importante!”

(Call Gordo. It’s very important.)

“
Si. Yo
intiendo. Digarle mi obra es fucked porque el no ... Si! Policia
conoce!”

(Yes. I know. Tell him the job was fucked up
because he didn’t ... Yes! The police know!)

“
Porque
el no ... es importante sus trabajadores conoce total! El
no....”

(Because he didn’t ... it’s important your
workers know everything. He didn’t....”

“
Es no
falta de mi! No miculpa! Digarle!”

(It’s not my fault. Tell him that!)

“
Okay.
Esta bien. Ya voy.”

(Okay. That’s good. I’m leaving.)

It wasn’t a gringo. He spoke English and
would have used it there if just because passers-by wouldn’t speak
it, either. The head man – or contact man – was called “Gordo”.
That was a fat man and a rather common nickname.

Clint waited until Ras almost ran to a nearby
cheap apartment building and went inside. He expected someone would
come to explain to Ras that saying the wrong name to the wrong
person would result in another death by accident. His.

An hour later, Ras hadn’t come out. Eleven
people had come and six left again. Four others left in the
interim, apparently people who lived there. Clint took all their
pictures, but they wouldn’t be clear with the bad light. He
certainly couldn’t use the flash.

He strolled into the hall and asked a woman
there which place was Ras’s. She pointed to the stairs and said,
“Dos once.” (211). He went up the stairs and saw the door to 211
was ajar. He never carried a pistol, though he had a permit, but
wished he had one now. Whoever came for Ras might still be
inside.

No one was inside. There were some signs of a
minor struggle or Ras might just be a pig who lived like a pig. The
only way out he could see was the door. There was one window,
closed.

He went to the window and opened it. Fire
escape?

There was no fire escape. It was a sheer drop
to a brick paved alley. There was a body under the window that had
apparently fallen on something raggedly sharp that has skewered it
through the lower chest.

Clint went back down and out to find the
alley entrance was on a side street and had a locked gate across
the entrance. He called Vito and waited eight minutes for him to
arrive with a crew. They forced the gate and went in. As soon as
Clint saw the body he shook his head and looked up at the window.
He said, “Neat! He had it all planned.”

There was a ragged broken-off 2"X4" stuck
into the slot of a concrete block directly under the window. It had
gone through the body at a slight angle and had entered from the
back just below the heart. There was no reason for anything like
that there unless it had been put there deliberately for exactly
this situation. The body was a slick Latin man in his early or
mid-thirties, medium but strong (workout) build, expensive suit,
expensive rings and watch.

“
Don Juan
Castillo,” Vito said. “Enforcer for someone we haven’t been able to
identify yet. Ras Smith lives in that apartment. I can deduce that
this one was sent to take care of Ras and that Ras expected and
prepared for exactly that. That means Ras knows who or what you’re
here for. You are here because you wanted to talk to
him.

“
Did you
talk to him?”

“
Yeah. In
the Top Place on the main street up there.” He pointed to the Via
España.

“
You then
followed him, so you saw this one come in?”

“
Yeah.
About three quarters of an hour ago.”

“
And Ras
didn’t leave?”

“
Probably
through this alley.”

“
But it
was padlocked ... forget I said that. He could open the lock to put
this trap here so he could open it to make his exit. As you said,
neat and well-planned.”

“
Let me
check something. He may still be here. It would be the smart thing
to do. He wasn’t stupid, but he is a cokehead, judging by the way
he impressed me in the Top Place.”

Vito raised the eyebrow. Clint pointed to the
fire escape.

“
He came
down to ... he didn’t come down here and he didn’t leave through
that gate. The watch and rings wouldn’t still be on this one had he
done so.”

“
No, he
went up the fire escape and is probably on the roof. Have a man at
every exit here and that building across the alley, though I doubt
he’s over there. The rings etc. wouldn’t be here if he’d come into
the alley at all.”

Vito nodded and called an officer over to
tell her to see that all exits were watched. No one was to leave
the building until he said so. Clint went inside and to the fire
escape at the end of the second floor hall, then climbed to the
roof. Ras was there. Just at the top of the fire escape. His throat
had been cut ear-to-ear.

He called down to Vito that Ras was there.
Dead. Clint checked the body while he waited for the crew to come
up. This one, the fancy gold chains, watch and rings were gone.
Also the fancy earrings. Clint smirked and nodded.

He went down to tell Vito to get an immediate
alarm out for those earrings to every pawn shop and fence he could
cover. He had good pictures of Ras and the items if he probably
didn’t have a good one of whoever offed Ras.

“
We have
a sort of deal with the types of places that would deal with such
as those earrings,” Vito said three hours later at the station. “We
overlook minor infractions and they cooperate on major matters or
we put them out of business and they might serve three years for
dealing in stolen properties. If those items are shown to anyone,
we will know in minutes. You said to not do anything except make
sure whoever tries to sell them can be located quickly and surely.
That will be handled because of the value of the items. Those
earrings are worth more than a thousand balboas each so the seller
will have to return in one hour for the cash to be delivered to the
buyer.

“
It is
now a time to wait.”

“
I’ll be
at the hotel. Just call me and I’ll manage to be at the place the
seller will return to. Damn! I’m beginning to talk like
you!”

Vito gave him the finger. He grinned and went
to the hotel restaurant to put on his disguise. It would be fairly
certain that the killer would recognize Clint Faraday as the one in
the Top Place and later loitering outside the flop house.

The call came just before five. A pawn shop
in the outer part of town to the east. A woman was trying to sell
the items. A known local prostitute. She had the whole lot.

Clint barely made it to the place before she
came back for the money. Vito was waiting in a café two doors down.
He and Clint went to the shop just after the woman came back.

Clint had to admit she was a looker. She was
the more expensive type who worked out of the most exclusive clubs.
She wouldn’t steal that stuff because it would destroy her chances
of ever working those places again. She claimed it was all stuff
some guy had given her for special favors. It was by far the
biggest payment she’d ever gotten! Vito was about to say something,
but Clint shook his head slightly so he simply said the stuff was
stolen from a man when the man was murdered. They wanted to know
the name of the person who gave her the items.