Beneath Forbidden Ground (21 page)

“Detective, er...Scallion,” he said, looking again at the ID. “We’ve got a full house in here already. A few of your other guys are down there now.” He pointed to the house where the activity seemed to be centered.

Peering down the drive, Scallion saw a body bag being gurneyed to an open ambulance.

“I can see that,” he answered. “I’ve got information that may be crucial to the investigation. I need to see Detectives Ross and Sadler.”

“Yeah, I think they’re somewhere in the house. I guess it’s okay. But you’ll have to park out on the street. There’s barely room for the ambulances to make it out.”

Backing out, Scallion fell in behind the media vehicles, parked, then made the short walk to the beehive of activity milling around Kevin Brand’s house. A few civilians appearing to be neighbors stood in a cluster in one of the yards. Reaching the end of the driveway, he wasn’t entirely shocked to see Otto Howorth holding forth in front of a gaggle of reporters. Standing next to him was a man he recognized as the Missouri City police chief. Directly behind them stood the familiar figure of Maurice Brand, staring at the ground through dark glasses. His face was contorted with grief. The sheriff spotted the cold case detective approaching, leveling a curious look of displeasure. He mouthed a silent “what the hell are you doing here?”

Ignoring his boss, and the crowd outside, Scallion showed his ID to another officer in front of the house, then ducked quickly under the yellow tape stretching across the front of the building. Entering the front door, he first saw Sam Ladner, intently studying a series of photographs and recording notes in a flip-pad. The black detective did a double-take when his eyes locked on the new arrival.

“Pete? What the hell?”

“Sam. Just couldn’t pass up a good homicide scene.” Scallion scanned the imposing great room as he made his way into the house. “Where’s Wendell?”

Ladner gestured with his head toward the open french doors. “Out by the pool. One of the bodies was found out there.”

Keeping his hands in his pockets, hoping to stay as innocuous as possible, Scallion moved carefully through the room. A diagram of a body’s outline was near a wall, with blood smears on the floor inside it. He nodded in that direction. “That where Brand was found?”

“Yep,” Ladner said without looking up.

“The news said a woman was found too. That who’s outside?”

“Right. She was a floater. But she didn’t drown. Appeared to’ve been strangled.”

“And Brand? He must’ve been shot, based on the blood I see?”

“He was shot all right. But he was clubbed on the head, strangled too.” Ladner paused, perhaps thinking he may have said too much. He looked at the other detective. “Exactly
why
are
you here, Pete?”

Before he could answer, Scallion’s attention was drawn to the door leading outside. Wendell Ross was entering the room, taking stiff, short steps. Images of the hulking creature in the
Frankenstein
movies he had seen as a child came instantly to mind. It was impossible to suppress a teasing grin at the man’s obvious discomfort.

Ross came to a stop, spotting his ex-partner. He looked confused, as if things were out of whack. It took only a second for him to regain his equilibrium. “Hi, Pete. I’m guessing the early-bird special’s done for the night?”

Glad to see the man in his usual form, Scallion replied, “Good to see you too, Wendell. Happened to be in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by and solve your case for you.”

Ross seemed to ignore the comment, instead eyeing the man’s outfit. “Nice of you to dress for us. Too bad you didn’t have time to slip into your p j’s.”

Scallion and Ladner both chuckled. The man was definitely fully recovered, except for perhaps a tender back side. The laughter was doused when a second body bag was carried through the room from the patio. Everyone in the room grew quiet and stopped to look, giving a semblance of respect.

The wounded detective then continued his duck-walk into the room, pausing to lean against the back of the sofa. A dozen years younger than his ex-partner, he stood roughly five-eleven, with sandy brown hair. A slight paunch was beginning to peek over his belt. “What’s up, Pete?”

Scallion looked around the room, noticing people from the coroner’s office, plus a few local cops milling about. “Is there somewhere we can talk, Wendell?”

“How ‘bout the kitchen?” It was Ladner who spoke. “It’s been cleared.”

“Okay,” Ross agreed. “After you.”

Scallion and Ladner took their seats at the thick, glass-top table in the dining area of the kitchen. They peered up at the third man, hovering over them.

“Think I’ll stand,” he said, as if there was a choice to be made.

The seated officers exchanged quick muted smiles, but said nothing.

Scallion looked from one man to the other. “I’m pretty certain I know who your killer is. Or at least, who’s behind it. A developer—named Luther Kritz.”

Ross reacted with his standard sarcasm. “Now, you see there, Sam. Once you start slowing down, easing into retirement, you get senile. Start imagining you know the answer to everything, even before you know the questions. I was afraid this would happen.” He shook his head.

Scallion leaned in his chair, stung once more by the man’s acerbic humor. “You want to hear this, Wendell, or not?”

Ross raised his hands in surrender. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. We’re listening.”

“Your case overlaps with one Murtaugh and I are working on. I’m sure of it. These killings were done to cover up the disappearance of four women and an excavation contractor back in ninety-one. You two might recall the girls, all in their early twenties. Their cars were found scattered over areas west of Houston. Bodies were never found.”

“I’ll never forget it,” Ladner said, nodding. “My partner and I worked that case real hard for a year, maybe longer. We talked to families, co-workers, friends—anyone who might point us in the right direction. But nothing. Something else I recall. The father of one of the girls almost drove us crazy. Stayed on top of us all the time.”

“That was Stanley Crews. His daughter was Tamara Crews. Mr. Crews passed away about a year after she vanished with the others.”

“Right. Crews. An attorney, right? He was one persistent dude. Can’t say I blame him, though. Got a daughter myself.”

“I remember it too,” Ross said. “But that was about the time you and I matched up. I don’t think we worked it.”

“We didn’t,” Scallion confirmed.

“So,” Ross said, “what’s it got to do with our deal here?”

Scallion spent a couple of minutes covering what he and Murtaugh had learned over the past two weeks, starting with the placing of the four victims together at Cypress Bridge Acres on the last afternoon they were known to be alive. The odometer check on Laura French’s car, the interview with the shaky Carlos Valvez, and the discovery of the disappearance of Billy Lamb over the same weekend were all recounted.

“And this all leads you to believe...what?” Ross said, shifting the position of his legs.

Scallion was amazed how thin it all sounded when telling it, no matter how convinced he was. “That the girls, and probably the contractor, are buried beneath the lake. I think Luther Kritz did them all, buried them with Lamb’s own equipment, then forced Valvez to help move the vehicles.”

“Forced him? How?”

“I’m pretty sure Valvez was illegal at the time. He admitted Kritz has done a lot to help him over the years. His boss probably held the threat of turning him in over his head, until he was able to get his citizenship. And then there was Valvez’s reaction each time I mentioned the girls. Wendell, you know I’ve always been able to read people, follow their thoughts.”

Ross had found a serious tone. “Yeah, okay. But you still haven’t connected Brand, or the woman, to this. Her ID says her name is Ginger Howard, by the way.”

Scallion next described the homeowners’ meeting, and the panic Ktitz showed at the threat of having the lake disturbed. “I think he would’ve silenced the guy right then and there if there weren’t a couple of hundred witnesses around.” Seeing the other detectives letting it sink in, he continued. “After the meeting broke up, I talked with Brand. He said he was mystified by the developer’s reluctance to convert the lake to income-producing property. Said it wasn’t true to Kritz’s nature.”

Ross and Sadler exchanged looks that indicated “maybe”, but said nothing.

“Let me take a wild guess here, guys,” the Cold Case detective said. “Now, I’m not trying to weasel my way into your case here, but were there signs Brand knew the perp?”

After a pause, Sadler answered. “Could be. Whoever did it ripped out an intercom system in the hall.” He gestured in that direction with his head. “It’s the type with a recorder inside. Brand most likely let the guy, or guys, in by releasing the gate from here. Probably wouldn’t have done that less he knew the person.”

“And the perp was afraid the tape had his voice, probably even his name recorded?” Scallion finished the theory.

“Right,” Ross agreed. “but it could’ve been anybody Brand knew.”

“Found any prints? Any possible DNA specimens?”

“Not yet. But it’s early still.”

“I’m also guessing none of the neighbors saw or heard anything?”

“Nobody we’ve talked to yet. This house is the last on the drive. It backs up to another complex behind it. We’ll be talkin’ to those folks too.”

Scallion was about to continue when Otto Howorth entered the kitchen, evidently finished with the media’s countless questions. His expression was anything but pleasant. Eyeballing his three detectives gathered at the table, his gaze lingered on the older man, squinting at his get-up.

“Sorry, Otto,” Scallion said, feeling almost naked. “ I wanted to get here before everybody left. Didn’t have time to change.”

Howorth squeezed his handlebar between his fingers, then rubbed a hand across his face. He looked tired, obviously exasperated by the Saturday night interruption. “Damn it, Pete. Are things so boring in Cold Case you have to go looking for action on the weekend?”

Ross and Sadler smiled with satisfaction at Scallion, but Wendell then came to his former partner’s defense. “Pete’s convinced our murders are related to something he’s working on. We were just comparing notes.”

“Oh?” Howorth squinted again at Scallion. “What case is that?”

“It’s the one Denny and I talked to you about last week, Otto. The missing girls—and Luther Kritz.”

The sheriff appeared puzzled by the sudden news. He shook his head. “How in the hell...? On second thought, never mind. Save it ‘til Monday morning. I want all three of you—Murtaugh too—in my office. We’ll hash things out. I’m too beat to digest it all now. In the meantime, Ross, you and Sadler follow up with whatever you have, including anything Pete’s told you that might be useful. I’ve told Maurice Brand we’ll have things wrapped up in a few days. Don’t make me out a liar.”

Before Howorth could make his exit, Maurice Brand suddenly entered the room. Removing the dark glasses, he scanned the faces of the others. His grief now appeared to be changing to anger, the friendly salesman look they had all seen on tv ads for years twisted into rage. His thick, silvery hair was dislodged from its normal swept-back, perfectly in place existence.

“Gentlemen, I want whoever did this found and punished. Kevin and I have had our differences over the years. But he was my son, and I loved him, just as much as anyone would love their children.” Pausing, he softened his tone only slightly. “If any of you can find my son’s killer, I’ll be eternally grateful.” He was about to continue, but emotions began to take hold. “Sorry, Otto,” he said to the sheriff, “Just needed to speak my piece.” Replacing his sunglasses, he walked slowly from the kitchen, careful to avoid looking at his son’s bloody crime scene.

Watching the grieving man leave, Otto Howorth took a last look at the detectives, then at the scene in the house, then followed Brand out.

When the two were out of earshot, Scallion said, “Trust me, Wendell. You guys need to take a look at Kritz.”

Sadler rose to return to the great room, concentrating again on the pictures, assuring himself all angles were documented. He made a few more notes.

“We’ll do that, Pete,” Ross said. “By the way, I should’ve asked before. How’s Marti doing?”

That was the thing about Wendell. Although his caustic tongue could wear you down to the point of annoyance that was sometimes hard to take, his true spirit would eventually surface. It was the only reason they had co-existed for as long as they had.

“She says she’s okay. Don’t know if that’s for my benefit, or if she really feels that way. She starts radiation therapy next week, so maybe we’ll know something for sure soon.”

Ross nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. He shifted his stance again, apparently stiffening-up standing in place. “Well, here’s hoping things go well. Tell her hi for me, will you?”

“Sure thing, Wendell. Thanks.”

Ross turned away, taking baby steps as he left the kitchen. Scallion didn’t attempt to hide one last grin at the expense of the man’s delicate situation.

22

Scallion kept a close eye on his partner’s mood, while trying to concentrate on the discussion getting cranked up in the room. After several delays, caused by clearing the schedules of the people involved, the Monday morning meeting had finally kicked-off at 10:30. Sheriff Howorth’s office was the gathering spot.

Ross and Ladner had taken seats on the sofa across from Howorth’s desk, with Ladner helping his partner ease into position. There was no way Wendell was going to embarrass himself by standing while the others sat, especially considering who the others were. The Cold Case detectives sat in chairs on opposing ends of the sofa. A third visitor’s chair had been brought in for an invited guest. Corrine Baker was an assistant D. A. in the Harris County District Attorney’s office. The sheriff had asked for someone in the D.A.’s office to attend, wanting to bring the prosecutor up to speed on what was to be discussed, plus get an opinion on what was needed to produce indictments, if any could be justified.