Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (59 page)

“
He’s not
worth mentioning,” Judi replied. “He’s purely obsequious.” No one
argued the point.

“
He SEEMS
purely obsequious,” Dave warned.

“
This one
is,” Judi insisted. Clint said he had to agree. If Manny checked
him out and didn’t find a hint of anything, there wasn’t
anything.

“
He
checked them all out,” Dave pointed out.

“
And
found lots and lots of little things about every single one of
them,” Judi said. “The things didn’t mean much by themselves, but
added up to something. George wasn’t even important enough to be in
the equation. He was just there, and so what?”

Another no-argument.

They chatted awhile, then Manolo had to get
back to San Blas. Bobby went with him to the airport. Dave smirked.
Judi said she wondered if Bobby would be able to seduce him. Clint
said, “Who cares?”

“
Bobby!”
Dave said.

They gave him the finger.

“
You have
to get those damned flasks out of my kitchen,” Judi said to Dave.
They went to her house.

Clint took a quick shower and packed a bag
for Ecuador.

Maybe he’d wait a few more days as Manny
suggested. He certainly had no compassion for Frank Lindsay and
what Amanda might do to him. Or vice versa, though he had liked
Amanda. He’d make a decision tomorrow.

Celinas is a beautiful place on the Pacific.
Clint had come here because of the mention of the little pink house
on the cliff overlooking the sea. He could check the registro to
see if anyone named Lesley had bought a house in the area.

First, the best way to find someone new in a
new place Clint had found: Go to the nearest popular local pub.

The Buen Vista Mar was a fairly small clean
place just outside of town where the usual group Clint found
anywhere in such places were giving him the once-over. There was
the too-loud music from the distorted speakers that everyone except
two men and women at a back table ignored. Three fat women in their
forties or fifties who were openly trying to flirt with him. A
morose somewhat bullish man in camouflage khaki leaning on the bar
and glaring at anyone who came in, a couple of probably underage
punky thin over-jeweleried men, a disinterested bartender having a
game of liar’s poker or something such with two thirty-something
dark men and an overdone but actually rather pretty prostitute who
was a bit drunk and lolling all over two worker types. The barmaid
was bubbly and friendly, but Clint could tell she would rather be
almost anyplace but there.

Who would know most?

Clint
smiled at the three fat women, ordered a beer, walked to look
through the music CD’s by the player, then turned when he saw one
of the women coming up behind him in the mirror over the player to
“accidentally” bump into her. He said he was sorry, he always did
that. She said, “No hay cuidado!” and that her name was Gigi.
(
If that
doesn’t kill the classic movie nothing will!
Clint thought.) She asked him how long he
had been there – and she wished she had seen him sooner! He was a
VERY handsome man!

“
I just
came in this afternoon. I’m supposed to visit some friends near
here, but don’t have a clue to where their place is. The net went
down and they don’t have it at the place so all I know is that it’s
fairly close. Name’s Lesley. Amanda Lesley.”

She didn’t know anybody by that name.

“
Well,
she’s married now, so maybe her name would be Amanda Lindsay.
Amanda and Frank Lindsay. They have a house on a cliff by the
Pacific. Rosada.”

“
Probably
south of here. There aren’t many houses this side. It’s too rocky
and not solid so houses move and crack. The Indios can build those
wood houses and they stay. I’ve never been able to understand it.
We build them the same way and they come apart.”

“
They’ve
had a thousand years to figure it out, I guess. I suppose I’ll have
to go south. Thanks.”

“
Oh!
Don’t LEAVE yet! You can always find them tomorrow!”

“
It’s
business, so I want it done as fast as possible, then I can relax
and spend some time here. It’s a beautiful place. The people are
very amiable.”

She tried to get him to stay. He could sleep
at her place and she’d make him a good breakfast. The native food
was very different and very good. He said he might just take her up
on that when the business was finished. She wiggled and giggled a
bit, then he left.

He walked across town to see where everything
was and went into the Mar Grande Bar y Café on the south side of
town where he saw much the same things as in the Buen Vista Mar. He
learned that there were several pink stucco houses along the coast
fairly close, but they hadn’t noticed who was there. Most of them
were just construction workers or food service people who worked
all day and stopped for a beer or three on the way home. Clint
chatted with a few and found them to be very much like the people
in Panamá. He liked them and he liked the place.

The Indios were quite different and didn’t
seem nearly so outgoing or trusting. Clint heard and saw enough
about the drug dealers to be able to understand that. He was a
foreigner – and that much too often only meant more trouble for the
Indios.

He went to the hotel and had a good night’s
sleep.

In the morning he ate a very hardy breakfast
that was different from Panamá only in the spices and vegetables
used in the omelet. It was tasty and filling. He always was up
before six. Nothing much was open until nine so he walked around
town to locate the offices he wanted. The registro was in a large
building with other government departments. The Spanish here was
different from Panamá because of Portuguese influence. The Indio
dialect was totally different. He may have some trouble with that,
but everyone assured him that many people spoke English. That would
help.

He walked along the Pacific for awhile, then
went to the registro at nine thirty. The woman was helpful and
showed him how to find the entries he wanted with the computers.
There was nothing in the name of Lesley or Lindsay.

Ditto with Orison.

Ditto with Rasmussen except for a Sarah
Rasmussen who had a place in town.

It was under LoboPad, S.A. Finca #46783.

Now to find where Finca # 46783 was.

On the cliff road, Calle Orilla. Maybe half
to three-quarters of a kilometer outside of town. Mar Pacifica side
of the calle.

Crap.

He walked along the gravel road and spoke
with several Indio women who were selling sweetcorn cakes. No one
of the descriptions he gave was known to them – but they didn’t
know any of the gringos in those fancy houses.

The third pink place had an old Indio named
Manuel working on the lawn. The people in the house were Aimie and
Francis Something and fit the descriptions except she had red hair
and he was very blond – that was not what his darker complexion
showed. They didn’t come out of the house much.

Clint thanked him and strolled back to town.
He went to the policia station and asked for some cooperation in
locating a couple of people who had killed some people in Panamá
and the states. They were known to be living in a house on the
coast.

“
We have
no jurisdiction for people from the United States,” Gonzalo
Gonzalez said stiffly. “They have not committed a crime here so we
cannot help you.”

“
Dealing
in large quantities of drugs is not a crime here?” Clint asked
innocently. “It is suspected that the killings were because of the
discovery of VERY large offshore accounts in Panamá. It is
suspected by some people that the money being laundered and hidden
there was from drugs produced here.”

“
Er,
there aren’t many drugs produced from this area. I don’t
see...?”

“
The
drugs are produced and sold in Ecuador. The senate in the United
States is demanding a complete investigation as to what is
happening to the money being supplied to stop the trade. When
innocent people are being murdered by these people and nothing is
done to cooperate by officials here there are too many unanswered
question for the funds to continue. I can’t understand why Ecuador
would protect those kinds of people. All I want to do is make them
go back to Panamá or, better, the states. Nothing would happen here
in Ecuador – like one of the killers killing the other here. That
couldn’t be hidden or excused if it was simply because Ecuador was
protecting them. You can’t protect them from themselves. They are
what they are and will always be what they are.”

Gonzalez was very nervous. He said he would,
most certainly, cooperate with Clint. He merely didn’t want any
trouble in his town with drug dealers or American police. He looked
up the passport records. Aimie and Francis Lourdes. French
passports.

“
What can
we do?” Gonzalez asked.

“
Trace
those passports! They’re phony! You can then deport them according
to the laws of this country and drug deals or anything else
negative will never be mentioned. You’re only doing your job –
which is to be sure people are here legitimately.”

“
You are
right! We will not have to know WHY they are here with false
passports, only that the ARE here with false passports! They will
be held in carcel until the next flight to France and sent! It is
the standard procedure! You are right and Ecuador and this town
will not be dirtied with suspicion of deals with drug people!
Excellent!”

He called in a secretary and requested that
the two passports be scrutinized very closely. “The numbers aren’t
correct,” Clint said. “It may be a simple thing, but it may be
something else. Check with Interpol. They may have interest because
we suspect they are art thieves hiding here.” He winked at
Gonzalez, who nodded vigorously.

“
Yes.
Interpol is the fastest and most accurate way to check European
passports, Mr. Faraday. I thank you for suggesting that particular
search. How long before we can expect response from Interpol, Miss
Lucas?”

“
I would
estimate one to two hours, Sir.”

“
Get on
it! Get it done!” She went out.

Clint chatted for a few minutes and said he
would be back in a couple of hours and they could discuss how to
handle it so there wouldn’t be any problems with the US senate or
anyone else. The likely drug connection could be transferred to
Panamá, leaving Ecuador out of that part totally, blah, blah,
blah.

Clint stepped outside and called Manny, then
Manolo. Manolo said he would leave a hint at Interpol that some
people with French passports – that may be false – were doing
something in Ecuador that could lead to other things that would be
of great interest to the agency. Name was Lourdes on the passports.
He was having a police inquiry into those passports through a
friend with another agency in another country. It could prove to be
most interesting if they were deported to, say, Panamá instead of
France. The last destination on the legal passport was for Panamá
and there was no record of her leaving. He was from California but
was supposedly married to her.

Clint then went to a local restaurant and
spoke with several people. A couple from Texas, the Williams, were
there. People seemed mostly neutral about them. They had a house on
the cliff road.

“
Oh?
Close to the Lourdes’ place?” Clint asked.

“
Lourdes
... those new people? We don’t know them. They seem very
stand-offish. They’re really not our kind of people, if you get
what I mean,” Sally replied. “They’re from Europe somewhere, I
believe.”

“
France,
they claim. They have horse ranches all over the world. Very big
one in California, a large one in Switzerland, that kind of
thing.”

“
Horses?
That’s a good way to lose your tail-feathers!” Bob said. “They have
several places?”

“
Yes.
Breeding race horses, mostly. They’ve made a bundle on it,
actually. They ... well, I’m speaking out of turn. They have some
hundreds of millions in offshore accounts in Panamá and, just
between us, the IRS in the states wants to know how much and where
it came from. They know about ten or twelve million from the
horses, but not anything like hundreds of millions. I think they’re
here because the US can’t do anything to them here.”

“
Hundreds
of millions?!” Sally cried, eyes wide. “Good lord! THOSE people?
They look like stable-hands!”

“
She’s
actually a baroness or something on that order. Family’s got lots
of relatives in German and English royalty or something. He’s a
horse trainer who worked for them in California. It’s possible the
rest of the family doesn’t ... approve ... of her highness marrying
a horse trainer.”

“
Well, we
certainly misjudged THIS one!” Bob said.
“Who’d-a-thought!”

“
We
should call on them and explain that we are very naturally
suspicious of new people here because we never know WHY they’re
here and the most respectable-looking ones can be the worst,” Sally
suggested. “We can tell them we checked and see they’re not what we
were afraid of.”

Snobbery was dripping off of her since Clint
said, “... hundreds of millions.” Lovely snobs – but typical. He
said he had to get back to work now and excused himself. Maybe they
would get to know lovely Amanda and Frank before they watched them
being expelled from Ecuador.