Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (83 page)

It was a nice enough ride. He sat with three
Indio friends to Santa Marta, then with a gringa for about half an
hour. He usually enjoyed talking with tourists on the bus, but
Jillie, this one, kept complaining that she was nothing but a
doormat to the people she came to Panamá with and was getting
damned tired of it. They just brought her along for someone to use
as a servant and babysitter while they saw all the places and went
out every night. It was supposed to be a free vacation for her, but
she had only had two days in two weeks when she could go anywhere
or do anything on her own. Even this trip was for her to pick up
stuff for them in Chiriqui Grande. She and the two brats had to eat
at cheap restaurants and hang around close while the wonderful,
considerate gotrocks ran all over the country.

Clint managed to get away from her just
before Rio Uyama to sit with his good Indio friend he hadn’t seen
in months, Emilio, who had a seat open for him – finally!

He chatted with Emilio, who asked why he
would abandon the pretty gringa. Was it because she was only pretty
outside?

“
Yeah,
you could say that,” Clint replied. “She probably is a doormat, but
she’s the type to be one because it’s her personality.”

“
Sad.”

“
Uh-huh.”

“
Clint!”
Judi Lum called across the water to him from her deck when he went
out on his deck over Saigon Bay. “Welcome home!”

He waved and called that he would be over
after while. He had to check his e-mail and such. Judi waved and
went back inside. He checked the e-mail, then made a couple of
overdue calls and went to Judi’s to be caught up on Bocas. Not a
lot new.

“
There
are a couple of people at the Swan’s Cay who you’ll end up
meeting,” Judi warned. “They come off as fairly nice people so long
as they’re not around their children and slave.”

“
Slave?”

“
She
might as well be. A semi-pretty girl about eighteen or nineteen
they brought along as a babysitter or something and they make it
damned plain she’s there at their expense, enjoying this fantastic
vacation because that was the deal.”

“
Name
Jillie?”

“
The
girl? You met her? The people are the Petersons.”

“
I met
the doormat on the bus. Poooor poooor pathetic me.”

“
She
really is, Clint.”

“
Oh, I
agree, but whose fault is that?”

“
I’ve
talked with her a lot while they’ve been away,” Judi answered.
“They tricked her into coming, promising to show her a great
vacation and all she would have to do is babysit four nights a
week. They would hire someone here to babysit the rest of the
time.”

“
According to her.”

“
No.
According to the e-mails and a couple of letters they sent her in
Arizona.”

“
Maybe I
misjudged her.”

“
She’s
scared they’ll leave her here and run away or something. She does
NOT like some things about them.”

“
Oh?”

“
The
children don’t act right. She doesn’t think those two are their
real parents.ª

“
How old
are the kids?” Clint asked, looking serious.

“
One and
one and a half. See?”

“
I’ll
check it out.”

“
Hi!
Remember me?” Clint said to Jillie in the China Hawaii. “We talked
for a few minutes on the bus?”

“
Oh.
Hello. I tend to run people away, but I was at the end of my
tether. I apologize.”

“
I had to
speak with Emilio, but it was only part of why I left. I’ll be
honest about that. I may have made a wrong determination about you,
according to a friend.”

“
Oh? In
what way?”

“
I
thought you had made your bed with your eyes wide open and found it
was a mistake after you were here.”

“
But you
changed your mind. Why?”

“
Because
the children are about half a year apart,” Clint answered, watching
her carefully.

She looked thoughtful, then said. “So you are
the detective friend of Judi. Clint Faraday?” Clint bowed his head
slightly. Then looked a question at her.

“
I didn’t
think much about it. That is, until I found that they are not
adopted, and that was here. I would never have come if I knew that
back in the states.

“
Mr.
Faraday, I saw the supposed birth certificates Pete is using for
them to travel. Both of them say they are their children and both
of them are from a hospital that I know was closed more than two
years ago. The new General was opened and Charter closed. My mother
was a nurse at Charter for more than fifteen years. She went to
General and stayed there for just three months until she retired. I
don’t know what’s going on, but they sent some strange e-mails to a
man in Tempe, Arizona. I made a copy of them. It’s on a flash drive
I keep. I don’t think they know that the server keeps sent
messages. Yahoo.

“
See, I
... let’s go somewhere else to talk. This isn’t a good
spot.”

Clint agreed. He took her to the Golden Grill
for coffee and empanadas. She gave him the memory stick and said
the e-mail messages were in a file marked ‘people’ in a folder
marked ‘clubs’ – because no one would think of looking for them
there. They were in the one marked ‘Mondo Taitu’.

“
They
demand money. I think this person they call Sam127B at hotg dot net
is either some kind of collector for money or ... something,” she
explained. “I think those children are ... I don’t know how they’re
involved.”

“
So. You
think they’re kidnaped and that you’re pulled in as a cover?” Clint
asked, still watching her carefully. She was extremely nervous and
seemed a little scared.

“
I don’t
know what’s going on – and yes. I’m scared that they might be
kidnapers or something worse.”

Clint nodded and said he’d look into it.
Don’t let them get a hint. Try to get copies of the papers and
their passports, if possible.

“
I
already have all that! They don’t carry their passports when they
go out on the boats and that kind of thing so I made copies of
everything!” She rummaged around in her maleta and handed him a
thick manila envelope.

“
That
will be a huge help. Not many would think of it.”

“
I tried
to think of anything that might be useful. I just want to go back
home and get away from this mess.”

Clint slid the memory stick into his computer
and studied the things on it. Several things besides the files she
said to check.

The first of the e-mails said that the
payment was due on the first. That wasn’t much time. Make it damned
clear to them that there wouldn’t be any extensions.

The next one said it was one week to go. The
money had better be there – or else.

Clint checked the headings that came when you
took an e-mail off the computer. He shook his head and turned to
the papers.

The birth
certificates said Linda Marie was born to Paula Louise
Baker-Peterson and Peter Willard Peterson on February
6
^th
of 2009, and George Andrew
Baker-Peterson was born to the same two on August
21
^st
of 2009. The script was
different on the certificates. At least one of them was phony –
both, if Jillie was correct.

Clint saw too many discrepancies. Why didn’t
immigration find them?

The passports were legitimate. The children
... so that’s why. Different dates of arrival. He came in with
George one day before she came in with Linda.

What was missing here? They had legitimate
airline tickets so they weren’t hiding from anyone – so weren’t
likely to be holding any kidnaped children. Nothing was adding
up.

Clint went back to the e-mails and went
through the whole process. There seemed to be something ... such as
no message code, just a ND message sent within a minute of the
sending time and code.

Clint called Douglas, a friend who works on
computers and knows more than anyone else about them in the
area.

“
ND means
there was a mailer daemon alert sent saying the message was not
deliverable.” Clint thanked him and slipped on a shirt to go to the
immigration office at the airport. He asked for a report on the
passport of Jillie somebody who came with the Petersons and the
children.

She didn’t. Without a full name they couldn’t
say when she arrived or with whom.

He called Judi, who said her name was Jillie
Baker. They didn’t have a record of her at the airport so they
called Panamá City. She came in through Sixola or Fronterra or by
boat to Colón. There were three Jill Bakers in Panamá at the
moment.

Clint smirked and went to the Swan’s Cay and
asked to speak with the Petersons. They were dining at The Reef
according to the desk girl, Nilda. Jillie was out with the children
somewhere. Clint asked Nilda about the passport of Jillie. They
only had the number because Mr. Peterson got the room for her. She
gave Clint the number. He called Sergio, the police jefe, who had a
check made on that passport number. It was reported stolen two
months ago in Limón, Costa Rica.

“
What do
the children look like?” Clint asked. “More like her or
him?”

“
Like
neither,” Nilda replied. “They look more like Panamanians than
gringos. They speak Spanish, I think. I never heard the girl say a
thing in English to them.”

“
She
speaks Spanish?”

“
Very
good, but more like Colombian than here.”

This was getting scary. Clint called a couple
of friends who kept up with what was going on among the super-rich
and infamous in Panamá, Colombia and Costa Rica. They would get
back in the morning. Clint went home, cleaned up and went to The
Reef, where he managed to meet the Petersons. He wasn’t impressed,
but they didn’t seem the type to be behind anything. He was almost
stupid and she was an airhead. Jillie saw him go in from the
Gourmet, across the road from The Reef, and came in. Pete seemed
surprised that she would be there and demanded to know where the
children were. She was supposed to be watching them. It seemed to
be contrived.

She said she had met Clint on the bus and saw
him come in so wanted to say hello is all. He demanded that she
return to the children. After all, that was what she was PAID
for!

It was an act. What was going on here? No one
would put up with that crap!

She looked like she would cry, said she would
see them later and left. Peterson complained they couldn’t even
trust another gringa anymore.

Clint said he was going to the Lemon Grass
and left.

“
Clint?
Turn on your phone!” Judi called across the bay just before dawn.
“It’s Sergio. Call him.”

Clint groaned and called. He was told that
Peterson was in the hospital in critical condition. The girl
working for him and the children and his wife had disappeared.

Clint dressed while he waited for the police
truck to pick him up. Sergio was driving. He said Peterson was
trying to tell them something, but wasn’t coherent. He had a
fractured skull, broken ribs and some very painful bruises and
burns. One look was enough to tell Clint he had been tortured. He
was sedated and wouldn’t be able to talk for several hours at
least.

Clint called Manolo and said he had to have
the information he’d asked for yesterday.

“
There’s
a rumor that the children of two of the Ochoa family are missing. I
can’t get solid confirmation about anything in that family, but the
fact that they aren’t answering answers a lot. They’re also looking
for some girl. I mean REALLY looking.”

“
Who is
Jillie Baker? Really?” There was a pause, then, “If you know and
she’s the one they’re after I wouldn’t want THEM to know you
know.”

“
I think
I can get ... I might want you to contact them. I don’t know enough
yet, but might in a couple of hours. Something’s coming together
that we do NOT want here!” He talked for a bit more, but didn’t let
anything out. When he hung up he told Sergio he had to go
somewhere. By boat. That would hold them off for a very little
while. He hoped it was enough.

He pulled into the dock in Chiriqui Grande,
tied his boat and asked Nicanor to watch it for him. Nica said
there had been two men in town the day before asking about the
gringa who had come there.

“
Where is
she?” Clint asked.

“
I don’t
know. I don’t think she’s here.”

Clint nodded and went into town, then took a
cab out to the main road and stopped at the bombas. A couple of
women and two children had come through on the late bus last night.
The older woman was a gringa, but the younger one was dark and
spoke perfect Spanish. The children weren’t theirs, they didn’t
think, because they looked more Indio and acted like Indios.

Clint took the Mali bus and stopped in Punta
Peña. They didn’t come through, so he went back to Rambla. They
might have been the ones who went to the hospital from the late
bus.

Clint went to the hospital. They weren’t
there. The women. The children were left there for observation. By
a gringa who said they were the children of a worker at her finca
and that there was something wrong that she couldn’t understand
because she didn’t speak Spanish. She left a deposit and would
return later today.