Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (72 page)

“
You
don’t know how gringos think. I HOPE they’ll allow it.

“
It
doesn’t say where the child is here.”

“
We had
the police check the address there. The landlord said she had a
sister somewhere who sometimes came to take care of the baby for a
day or two. She was there on the night Serena disappeared. She was
gone the next morning. They’re trying to locate her.”

“
Serena
will have a way ... didn’t she have a cell phone at the place in
Punta Robalo?

“
I know
she did! I brought it back!”

Sergio went to properties and came back with
the things. There was a notebook in a code that might make this
easier.

“
What’s
the sister’s name?” Clint asked.

Sergio looked at his notes. Lorna
McMillan.

There was a code, SLM, with a number. Sister
Lorna McMillan possibly?

Clint called the number in Champlain. He got
an answer from a man and quickly requested, “Is Lorna handy? I’m
calling for Serena.”

“
A
sec.”

She came on after half a minute and said,
“Yes?”

“
I’m
Clint Faraday in Bocas del Toro, Panamá. I work with the police.
Have you been contacted about your sister by any official
here?”

“
Oh, God!
Is she in trouble? Contacted? Why...?”

“
I’m
afraid it’s worse than that.”

“
Worse?
Is she sick? Hurt?”

“
Worse.”

“
Oh, God!
Oh, no! How? Did he find her?” she asked dejectedly. “She thought
she would be safe there. He wouldn’t be able to find
her.”

“
I have a
request and I need some information. First, who was she hiding
from?”

“
I don’t
know. He’s married and she can’t make him see she won’t cause him
any trouble if he’ll just pay for the boy. She would never do that.
He says he doesn’t trust her an inch. He beat her up
twice.”

“
The baby
is biracial. Black?”

“
Yes.”

“
The
father will be here. Can you tell me anything, anything at all,
about him?”

“
He’s
pretty big and he has a job that they would fire him from, an
important job of some kind. I only saw him once from a long way
off, but he was big. Not fat. Big.”

“
My
request: we need a DNA chart of the boy. It will give us the proof
we need to prosecute him here. Will you allow it?”

“
Yes.
Certainly.”

“
This is
a secure line and he’s here in Panamá now. Captain Valdez will take
an address and send someone to take the sample. It’s a very easy
thing.”

“
I know.
I watch CSI Miami. I’ll do whatever I can.”

He turned the phone over to Sergio. Sergio
took information and said he’d make the arrangements and call her
back. Do not give any information to anyone unless they first say,
“Panamá Red’s the best.” That included whoever came to take the
sample. He then called the Police in Champlain and asked them to
obtain the sample and send him a DNA chart. They said it would be
done.

Now they’d have to wait for that part, but
Clint would go after the killer. It helped knowing he was very big
and that he was black and that he had an important job that could
be placed in jeopardy if it was known he had a child out of
wedlock.

None of
the group he already met were what he would call big, though
Withers was far from small. Mohammed was smaller than Withers, but
just a little. That meant the list. This one was traveling with his
wife and family. Travers was big, but not what was described. He
tended to fat.

He sighed and got out the list of people who
were traveling with their families. He could eliminate most of them
because they weren’t blacks.

Wrong! George Killian, William Bert, Yancy
Bottoms and Joseph Bills were blacks.

Crap!

Okay. Killian was a construction worker with
his own contracting business. He could be big enough.

William Bert was a cop. Maybe.

Yancy Bottoms was a lawyer. Probably not.

Joseph Bills was owner of a trucking firm.
She had once worked with a moving and storage firm. As a secretary
– but he owned the place, so how could he be fired? Maybe a big
contract that wouldn’t happen if it was known. A church group or
something such?

Unlikely, but there wasn’t anything likely.
He would have to meet all of these people face-to-face. Traveling
with families would make them easy to trace.

Sergio had a check made. Bills was staying in
Punta Pena, close. Killian was in David. Bottoms was in Puerto
Armuelles. Bert was in Santiago, David, Gualaca and Chiriqui..

All of them except Bottoms less than four
hours from Almirante by bus and all of them where they wouldn’t be
asked for ID to move. Double crap!

Clint would take a bus to David and get off
at Punta Pena and, later, Chiriqui.

“
Mr.
Bills? I’m Clint Faraday. I’d like a word with you about a murder –
but you are no longer a suspect in this one.” Bills was fairly
large, but flabby. He wasn’t overly large. They chatted for a few
minutes. Bills said he’d met a gringo from Louisiana for a few
minutes while he was in Panamá City. He was big. He couldn’t
remember his name. He had a beautiful wife.

Clint caught the next bus to David when it
was passing and got off in Gualaca. Nobody knew anything and no one
knew anybody by that name who was very large who was staying in the
area.

Next bus, Chiriqui. Same result.

On to David. Killian was staying at the
Puerto del Sol with his family and had been there all along. He
liked David for the casinos and had won quite a bundle so far. He
wasn’t nearly big enough.

Bus to Puerto Armuelles. One short look and
Clint knew this one wasn’t it. Bottoms was a little weasely type.
Clint didn’t even bother to speak to him. If it was one of these it
would have to be Bert. He was a cop so how would he be fired ... a
cop who was into politics? Running for sheriff or something?

Clint headed back to Bocas. He was told that
a really large black gringo man was staying in Chiriqui Grande. He
seemed a really affable sort and was liked. He had a knockout wife,
which didn’t hurt anything!

Clint didn’t feel he needed to meet Bert.
Yet. He had to get some information about him first.

He got to Almirante late. There were no more
water taxis to Isla Colón.

Well, Dave was tied in with Hotel Chadam. It
wasn’t open yet, but Kevin gave him a room.

“
Sergio,
I think William Bert is our killer. I really do! I have to get
everything you can get on him. He’s a cop in Shreveport who’s going
to run for sheriff or something.”

Sergio grunted and asked Jorge, the desk
sergeant for the moment, to get the Shreveport police on the line –
again.

“
We got
the DNA chart this morning. If this Bert is the father we can tag
him.”

Clint nodded. The line came on. Sergio turned
it over to him.

“
I’m
Clint Faraday, working with the police here in Panamá. I have to
gather what information I can about a police officer there. He’s in
the area. I have to know why.”

“
Lt.
Carnovey,” he answered. “Who?”

“
A
William Bert.”

“
Bill? I
know him, sort of. He’d be what we call a politically-motivated
upwardly-mobile type. Gonna be governor in five years and president
in ten. He’s squeaky clean. Doesn’t let anything that could hurt
his plans get in the way.”

“
If a
woman was going to get in the way?”

“
Hmm. I
see. He once had a rep for his wild womanizing. With white
women.”

“
You
black?”

“
Yo, Bro.
You?”

“
No. No
one here pays any attention to that kind of thing.

“
Can you
get me the particulars on him?”

“
Pretty
easy! He has a nice press release all ready to be sent out to
anybody on the computers. I’ll send it fax or e-mail.”

“
Been
swept, huh?”

“
Oh,
yeah! I’ll go through the old stuff to see if anything’s been
hidden from public view, if you dig.”

“‘
Preciate it!” Clint said. They chatted a bit about Bocas
and Carnovey said he’d like to take a vacation there. A few minutes
later the fax dinged and the resume came through. He was a lawyer
turned cop. He had a good record and was, as Carnovey said,
squeaky.

What was the problem? The election was over
and anything that might come out before the next one could be
handled easily with the time to handle it.

The fax dinged again. It was just:

Aug. 4, 1998. Complaint that he hit a girl at
the college. She dropped charges the next day.

May 7, 2001. Complaint that he got in a brawl
in a bar. Woman said he slapped her and her boyfriend got into it.
Charges dropped.

The D.A. here is in trouble and is about to
step down. WB’s in line for appointment.

“
YES!”

“
What?”
Sergio asked.

“
It’s
Bert. We have his ass!”

“
If we
can find him,” Sergio pointed out.

“
He’s in
Chiriqui Grande.”

They called the police helicopter and headed
for Chiriqui Grande. Bert was on the bus for David.

He’d get a reception he hadn’t counted on
there!

They took the copter on to David to be there
when Bert got off the bus. Bert wasn’t on the bus, but the driver
said he’d gotten off at the bombas (gas pumps). Chiriqui. They met
the Panamá City bus and he and his wife got on.

Clint grinned. Sergio called Tolé where the
bus would stop for ID checks, the only place that was done between
David and Panamá City.

He wasn’t on the bus when it reached Tole’
twelve minutes later. The driver said Bert and his wife got off
about a kilometer before the checkpoint. They got a detail map.
Bert must know someone in the area. He could walk into Tole’ on the
Chiriqui side and into Veraguas a little past the checkpoint. He
could catch the next bus to Panamá City after he passed the
station. They had the chopper, so flew over the road. A large black
man and a woman were walking along a rock road half a kilometer
past the checkpoint. They were pulling suitcases on wheels.

The pilot landed the chopper in a pasture
beside the road and they waited for the two to come. She sighed and
got on the chopper, but he had to be put in cuffs. He was going to
fight it out, but Sergio put his Glock against the side of his head
and suggested he give him the very tinniest reason to blow his
brains across the road. He still didn’t think they had one little
fact that could tie him to anything in Panamá – and what was it
about, anyhow?

“
We can
tag your ass and tie you to a murder,” Sergio said. “You should
have left well enough alone. She wouldn’t cause you any problems
that you didn’t bring on yourself.”

“
You
might be careful about accusations you can’t prove!” Bert snarled.
“I’ll bring some charges against YOU! I know the law!”

“
Not
here, you don’t. Here, you’re guilty until proven innocent. We can
prove it very easily.”

“
Oh? And
how are you going to prove whatever you think you can
prove?”

“
DNA,”
Sergio said. “I’d think a wannabe DA would know about
DNA.”

“
So we
had sex. So what?”

“
So now
you know who we’re talking about all of a sudden?” Clint asked.
“You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“
You
can’t use anything I say here against me. I SAID I know the
law.”

“
Got some
news for you, Dude!” Sergio said. “No Miranda here. No lawyer
during questioning unless we say you can have one. If you say
anything under any circumstances it can be used against
you.

“
That’s
not the DNA I’m talking about. The half-match DNA from your son
with her will tie you tight!”

“
WHAT
son? With WHO!” his wife cried.

“
It’s
bullshit! I don’t have any son.”

“
Then the
DNA test will clear you – for that,” Sergio said. “Then all we’ll
have is that you’re here, you’re from where she was from, she
wasn’t here long enough to make any enemies, she was murdered after
she was located by you when she applied for her visa renewal, she
was raped and it’s your DNA.”

“
RAPED?!”
his wife spat. “You said you just wanted to talk to her so she
wouldn’t cause you a lot of trouble about the affair you had with
her when you were in college! You KILLED her?”

He shut up and stared down at the floor.
Clint was thinking about what Sergio said and got a little smirk on
his face. The rest of the trip was in complete silence. At the
station he said they couldn’t show that he was the only one who
could want her dead. They couldn’t show he was ever trying to find
her. He just happened to see her on the street and renewed the
acquaintance. They had a roll for old time’s sake.

“
That
doesn’t work here, either,” Clint said. “We can definitely show you
were searching for her.”

“
Oh
really? How?” He was looking a bit more confident.

“
Why, no
one can get the information about visas in this country except
police officials. You had to present those credentials to have it
reported when and where she applied for the extension. Changuinola
has a copy of that request form with your signature and passport
number plus your proof of being an officer with access to that
information.