Clint Faraday Mysteries Collection B :This Job is Murder Collector's Edition (25 page)

“
Matt! Be careful!”

“
You watch too many old ... TV shows,
too.”

She laughed.

Clint locked the place and climbed into his
boat. Next stop, Almirante.

The bay was a bit choppy, but not too bad. He
stopped on the way to talk with an Indio family on their way to
Almirante with a cayuca full of plaintains. It was about a forty
foot cayuca that was piled high with the heavy fruit. The seven and
a half horse motor was moving it right along. Clint was always
amazed when a dugout boat like that could carry a couple of tons of
such as the plaintains at that rate with such a small motor, but
the centuries had resulted in a design for the boats that made them
stable and with little water resistance.

He crossed in the middle of the reef and went
on to the dock.

Deadly Trail

Serg had the police truck waiting. The
driver, Amos Tomas, said that Serg was waiting at the
accident-that-was-no-accident scene. He arrived with a lot of
traffic backed up while the towtruck pulled the car onto the road
to be carried in a slidebed to the police compound, such as it
was.

Sergio showed Clint a long series of digital
photos of just about every inch of the scene. That was a great
thing about a 4G card. They could literally take a couple thousand
pictures.

The blood on the windshield was almost an
obvious smear. The closeups of the head wounds showed Clint he had
been killed with a baseball bat or something like one. Very
obviously, also, was that no flat windshield could produce those
wounds.

Clint took a quick look into the car. The
photos showed the crash bag on the driver’s side had deployed.
There wasn’t one on the passenger side of that model. The passenger
seatbelt was in the withdraw. There was a picture of the mechanism
of the seat belt that showed it was damaged. The belt couldn’t be
used. The papers showed the car was a rental so that was a very
deliberate bit of damage.

Stedmann was a fairly large bullish and
slightly fat man, maybe six two or three and three hundred ten
pounds. He had dark medium length hair and brown eyes. He was
wearing reading glasses in some pictures, Clint had noticed.

Sergio pointed to one picture of him with the
hair partly in the sun and partly in shade. It was obviously
dyed.

Clint singled out a picture that showed him
from a slightly back angle.

“
Wig,” Clint said and pointed to the
hair just above the right ear. The color difference showed plainly
on one spot.

Sergio grinned. “A small bit of alcohol when
I dabbed some on the cut ear. It didn’t look right to me at the
time.”

Clint was always impressed by the quiet
subtle way Sergio carried on an investigation. The very
professional and complete way.

“
Steddman has been taken to the
hospital for observation, but the air bag and belt left him with no
injuries. He scratched the ear deliberately, I am quite sure, to
cause us to believe that he was slightly injured. He complained
that his back and neck hurt. Sometimes he would favor the right
arm, sometimes the left....”

“
So he wasn’t in any pain,” Clint
agreed. “I think I should speak with the poor guy to be sure he
isn’t too seriously hurt.”

“
Yes, please. I am to return to
Changuinola immediately. Now the automobile is on the way my job is
done here. You are requested by the Policia Nacionál to assist in
traduciendo. Mr. Stedmann does not speak well the
Spanish..”

“
And you don’t speak
English.”

“
Not that Mr. Stedmann
knows.”

Clint and Sergio got into the police truck
with several of the accident scene investigators. Sergio got
reports that there was nothing wrong with the car before the crash.
Everything was functioning properly.

“
Stedmann says he was run off the road
by a truck. One of the dirt haulers that come regularly along this
part of the road. Testigos state very plainly that there was no
truck. It was at seven twelve when it was reported by Stedmann as
having occurred within a very few minutes. Less than three,
according to him. The trucks do not move before seven thirty. They
belong to the company or the nation and are not taken to the homes
of the drivers, as the independent truckers do. I have checked with
the man who watches the Ojo de Agua project trucks and find there
were none other than those on the road from there and they would
have to have come from there to run Mr. Stedmann off the
road.

“
I did not immediately arrest Mr.
Stedmann because I know how you work on these things and know you
will want to investigate. All such investigations by yourself have
proven very helpful to my department in the past. This is a way to
have you volunteer without necessity of my requesting
formally.”

“
Oh, why?”

“
Because I seem to remember that the
friend of Mr. Stedmann, Mr. Oliver Haverton, who Mr. Stedmann
listed as a contact upon entering Panamá, was involved in a fatal
accident in Costa Rica a week or so ago.”

Clint nodded. Sergio was probably the only
officer in the area who would automatically remember such
details.

They got to Changuinola and went to the
police station. Sergio would want Clint to have all the information
available to date before meeting Stedmann. He would supply the
information about the group traveling together and the contacts
listed by all of them when they arrived in Panamá. Stedmann was in
a group looking for investment in supply-side construction
materials and machinery. They owned a semi-large dealership in the
states and had several exclusive contracts with major heavy
equipment manufacturers.

Gloria and Wilber Stenson were mostly in
plastic and aluminum materials.

Donald Wentworth was in fastening materials.
(“Like what?” Clint asked. Sergio handed him papers. Nails, special
glues, window bracket holders, acrylic glues, and other such
things.) His wife, Wanda, had died a month and a half ago in Mexico
from some kind of infection. Clint raised an eyebrow and went
on.

Harry and Faith Richards. Molding forms for
concrete or composites.

Ben and Lilian Banks. Steel materials.
(Rerod, security doors, etc.)

Anne Haverton, electrical. Her husband,
Oliver, was deceased in a whitewater rafting accident in Costa
Rica. Their contacts were mostly legitimate large construction
companies. Fanny Martinez, Changuinola, was listed as a friend who
was supplying habitations. Francisco Arauz was a friend of the
Banks. Arturo Serano was a friend of Anne Sanders and her local
lawyer. Enrique and Eladio Flores, lawyers and close friends of
Stedmann.

Not a lot that was unusual – except that this
was the third death among that group in two months and they kept on
with the business trip?

“
What information can you get about
Haverton from Costa Rica?”

“
Very little. It was a supposed
accident in a river near Nicaragua. The question was why such an
accident could happen there. There are many rafters in worse
seasons and there has never been a fatal accident there. They
listed it as a probably unfortunate accident that happened because
the man was drinking too heavily to be on such an adventure.”
Sergio took a couple of pages from a file and handed them to Clint.
They said almost exactly that.

“
Know anything about the death in
Mexico?”

“
Other than that it was in Oaxaca and
was the result of an infection, no. It seems the group was the same
as here except Stedmann and Faith Richards weren’t along then. A
man called Frank Carlysle and a woman called Georgia Manson were
with them. They went back to the states, Texas, and Stedmann joined
the others there for the rest of the trip.”

Clint nodded and asked for permission to call
the Costa Rican police for information. Sergio said to make any
calls he felt were necessary, but they wouldn’t tell him
anything.

Which was true. They seemed to have an
attitude.

Clint sighed.

“
Will you follow the money on this one,
as they say in the movies?”

Clint nodded, then shook his head. “I think
it’ll be more productive to follow the blood. I don’t like the
looks of this.

“
Serg, this could be some kind of
serial killer. They all have a lot of money, I think. This may be
some nut killing off people to show he’s smarter than the cops or
something as strange. It would be Stedmann, but that would mean he
didn’t kill ... I don’t get it.”

“
I think I’d like to see what kind of
contract they have among themselves. It could prove interesting and
informative.”

“
I can’t argue that one! It could be
behind the whole mess – or not.”

“
Whatever. I have to go to interview
Stedmann now. Would you be so kind as to volunteer to
traducir?”

Clint gave him the finger. They went to the
truck.

“
This is Donald Wentworth and this is
Lilian Banks,” Stedmann introduced. “They’re traveling with our
little group and came to see what they could do to help. Our little
trip seems jinxed.”

Clint and Sergio shook hands and gave their
names. Sergio asked Clint, in Spanish, to please translate what was
said as his English was bad. Clint noted that Lilian seemed to
understand Spanish, so said, “Glad to. You don’t speak
Spanish?”

“
I speak only a very little,” Lilian
answered. “I haven’t heard Mark say anything past `cerveza’ and
`buenos dias’ and that kind of thing.”

Clint nodded and said Sergio had asked that
he translate.

“
First, what’s the skinny? You hurt or
just shaken up by this?”

“
I’m alright except I’ll have some
muscle pain for a couple of days and have to be careful about my
neck,” Stedmann replied. “I guess I just lucked out. My number’s
not up quite yet.

“
I tend to fatalism. I think when it’s
your time to go there’s nothing you can do about it. If it isn’t
your time, it isn’t.”

“
No muy serioso,” Clint said to
Sergio.

“
What, as exactly as you can remember
it, happened?” Clint asked.

“
I don’t know. I was driving toward –
David, actually. We have an appoin ... great Scott! Lilian, please
call Jorge Franciso and tell him why we aren’t getting to David
right about now!”

Lilian looked shocked and went out.

“
Anyhow, we were talking about a big
job a company in David’s doing that has connections with the
project here – we supply all kinds of materials and equipment for
large construction jobs, you see. This is a working vacation for
us. We’ve come all the way down through Central America.

“
We were right there at that curve and
a Walker sixteen – that’s a dirt hauler truck – came across the
center right at us. I went toward the side of the road. The wheel
dropped of into a soft rut or something. I remember yelling to hold
on, then nothing until I came to with the car having that tree ...
Ollie seemed dead or definitely in bad shape. I climbed out and
called the emergency number. I got woozy for a few minutes. I
remember some people coming from the side of the road a little ways
back, then the police. You know the rest. The officer was
there.”

“
Estas hablando. Un Walker sixteen
camion, afuera la calle, no recorder mucho mas.”

“
Walker diez y seis?” Sergio
asked.

“
Uh-huh.”

“
Bueno. Continuar.”

“
Anything else?” Clint
asked.

“
No. That’s about it,” Stedmann
answered. Clint said that’s all he remembers.

“
Okay,” Sergio said with a sigh and a
shake of the head. “Es cierto is un Walker diez y seis? Tu conoce
problema con esse.”

“
Are you absolutely certain it was a
Walker sixteen?” Clint asked. “There aren’t a lot of those here.
Too big for that stretch of road. Too heavy. It must have been
empty and traveling too fast for the conditions. Maybe they can
find it pretty fast.”

“
Well, it was a sixteen or twelve, but
I’m pretty sure it was sixteen. It’s possible the fact it was
barreling at me and I exaggerated it in my mind, but I really don’t
think so. It was awfully fast.”

“
Mas cierto. Possiblemente is doce,
pero el no crea.”

“
Gracias por su testimonio.”

“
Thanks. He’ll make the
report.”

“
We have to go to David. Today, if
possible.”

“
Necessario esta por David hoy, si
posible.”

“
Otros si, pero el es por aqui hasta
reportado. Hoy? Posiblemente, pero probablamente una
dia.”

“
The others can go on, but you have to
stay around to formalize your statement. Possibly today, but
probably tomorrow.”

“
I can live with that.
Thanks.”

They left. Lilian Banks was talking to a man
in the waiting room. She introduced Harry Richards. Harry said this
was terrible! They were cursed! Clint said life seemed that way at
times. They certainly had their share of bad luck.

He went on to the station with Sergio. “I
think I want to go to Costa Rica and poke around a bit. It
shouldn’t take long.”

Sergio said he’d have him taken to the border
and slipped through without delay. He wouldn’t be delayed coming
back because he would be carrying National Police papers. He took a
form out and filled it in, then signed it and had a man take it to
the court to have a stamp put on it. Clint went to Almirante in the
police truck and got his backpack with clothes and such, then was
back in Changuinola for the papers, then to Sixola, then into Costa
Rica, where he got a bus to Limon. He went on to a little town
called Piedras (rocks) near the Nicaraguan border. He arrived just
at dusk, so got a room in the only pension there, ate a reasonably
good meal at the restaurant and went to one of the three local bars
to ask a few questions.