Beneath Forbidden Ground (24 page)

Pete trained his bloodshot eyes on her, gauging her mood. She was steady, as always. He was trying to hide his own trepidations, but evidently not doing it very well. “Okay. I am worried. But I feel helpless. I wish there was something I could do besides being a useless slug, standing by while you go through this.”

The corners of her mouth creased upward, showing a wry smile. “You’re not entirely useless, as slugs go.” Stretching her arms, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her mid-section under the pink t-shirt her doctor’s nurse had given her, she felt gingerly under her left breast, minding her incision, searching for any surprises. Pete looked away. It was a check he didn’t particularly enjoy watching her conduct. He chose to think that whatever had been there was gone, and wouldn’t be returning. His wishful logic told him if she didn’t look, there was no chance she might find anything. But then, she was much more courageous than him.

Satisfied there was nothing new, she said, “By the time these next few weeks are done, we’ll both feel like we’ve been through the wringer. Three solid weeks with no breaks will be a test.” She paused. “Which reminds me, Pete. There’ll be no need for you to babysit me all day after tomorrow. I’ll be fine. And with Julie coming during her spring break next week, she’ll be here to relieve you.”

Taking his own sitting position on the edge of the bed, Pete was ready to argue.

“We’ve been all through that, dear. I’ll head back to work when I’m sure none of the reactions the doctor warned us about show up. Not before, whether Julie’s here or not.”

“What about your cases? Especially those girls? You’ve got to give those families some peace.” Marti hated the word, “Closure”. She frowned. “I get a shudder whenever I think about that lake. I wish I had never gone out there now.”

Pete eyed her carefully, noticing she was actually giving it some thought. She didn’t need to be bothered by anything other than her own condition. “Spoken like a true detective’s wife,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Well, in that case,
Detective
Scallion, how about getting your business done in the bathroom so you can get to work. One of us has to stay busy for the next twenty-four hours, or we’ll both go nuts.”

It was almost 9:00 a. m. by the time Scallion finally reached the compact Cold Case Department, a makeshift area carved out of a larger room that housed a few “normal” detectives, plus various administrative personnel. The arrangement exemplified the status of the unit, still under question regardless of the notable successes it had achieved.

For a change, Murtaugh was already deposited in his chair, and had been for a while it appeared. His tie was loose around his thick neck, sleeves rolled up. He was on his cell phone, speaking in guarded tones again. Glancing up, giving a quick nod of greeting to his partner, he turned away and continued his conversation. Although Scallion tried to turn a deaf ear, the two cubicle desks were within ten feet of each other, making it impossible not to catch a word here and there.

“Morning, Pete,” Murtaugh said, ending the call and placing the phone in his shirt pocket.

“Denny. Sorry I’m a little late. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” He offered no explanation, since the other man’s mind was obviously wrapped up in the echoes of the phone call, and couldn’t have cared less. Having a good idea what the subject of the call had been, he decided to get it out in the open. “Was that about Cindy?”

Murtaugh hesitated, then gave a helpless look. “Yeah. It was my ex. She’s been talkin’ to someone in a hospital up around Rusk, even deeper up in the woods. They’ve got an opening now, so we have to come to a decision pretty quick. Her counselor up in Lufkin knows about the place. Says it might be a good fit for her.”

Scallion was familiar with the facility; it was not a cheery place. Primarily a hospital for the criminally insane, it also had units set up for patients who needed help in re-establishing their balance. Once, early in his homicide days, he had solved a particularly gruesome murder, resulting in the guilty party being shipped to the state-run compound. The fact it was being considered for his daughter’s care was not a good sign; his concern for his partner deepened. The awkward silence that followed meant both men were now fully aware of her circumstances.

In spite of the girl’s situation being no business of his, Scallion found himself speaking up. “If there’s a chance, Denny, you’ve got to take it. Use all the time you need to make sure she gets in. I’m sure Otto’ll tell you the same. I’ll man the fort here as long as you need.”

Murtaugh rubbed his forehead with his hands, staring at the floor. He looked up, staring blankly. “There won’t be any need for that, Pete. I’m going upstairs to talk to the boss. There’s no use in kiddin’ myself any longer, this business with Cindy has me twisted ten different ways. Can’t concentrate on the job enough to do the department any damn good. Ain’t fair to you either, partner.”

Scallion couldn’t deny another feeling of relief in hearing the words, but still hated seeing the man suffer what must be an enormous humiliation. “If you’re sure that’s what you want,” he said.

“I’m sure.”

“Want me to go with you?” He realized it was a dumb question as soon as he spoke it. This was a private matter, needing to handled as such.

“No. That’s okay.” Murtaugh rolled his sleeves down, and snugged his tie up as far as he could stand. Rising from his chair, he stopped for a moment. “One thing, Pete. Before I turn in my badge, I’m going to do all I can to help you put that bastard Kritz away, and prove what he did to those girls.” Grabbing his coat, he left.

Scallion was watching the man trudge slowly toward the stairwell when his phone rang. He answered, keeping his eyes focused on his hurting partner.

“Detective Scallion? This is Darrel Wade. You wanted me to call?”

Scallion had to think for a second to recall the name. His partner’s sudden decision had put his brain in idle position. The contractor. “Yes, Mr. Wade. Thanks for calling.”

“You wanted to know about the work I did out at Cypress Bridge Acres?”

“Right. If you’ve got a minute, I’d like for you to tell me all you can remember about what you did out there. I understand you came on the job after someone else had started it.”

“Yeah. But there wasn’t a helluva lot left for me to do, as I recall. But that was a long time ago. What kind of things are you looking for?”

“Mainly anything to do with Luther Kritz, the man who hired you.”

“Oh, that s o b? The main thing I remember about that asshole is he watched us like a mother hen. Never left the job site the whole time we were out there.”

That made sense. “Did he give any reason for keeping such close tabs?”

“Oh, some cockamamie story about the lake being his pride and joy. Just wanted to make sure we didn’t mess anything up. Thought it was a bunch of bullshit. I see the guy as a control freak.”

“The guy who you took over from, Billy Lamb, did you know him?”

“We’d worked a couple of big jobs together. You know, the kind that were so big one outfit couldn’t handle it all.” Wade paused for a second. “I just remembered why Kritz called me on his job. He said Lamb up and disappeared on him, with no explanation. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen or heard of the man since.”

“What did you think about that explanation?”

“Didn’t think anything one way or the other. I was just glad to get the work.”

Scallion suddenly recalled a theory Kritz himself had offered. “Do you know if Lamb had a drinking problem or not?”

“Nah. Didn’t know him that well. The only thing I do remember is he was kinda fiesty. Liked to get right up in your face. Did good work, though. Like I said, I just finished up what he’d started. Only an acre or less was left before the earthwork was done, and the spring-fed creek re-directed to fill the lake.”

“Did Kritz pay you on time?”

Wade growled into the phone. “Are you kiddin’? There ain’t never been a developer who paid his subs on time. But this guy stretched it to the limit. Took almost a year to squeeze anything out of him.”

Kritz had said he’d paid Lamb his wages before he’d left that afternoon. Highly unlikely, based on what Wade had just said. But he was drawing a blank over which way to turn next. Something the man had said earlier prompted another question. “Which section of the lake did you work on?”

“The back section, farthest away from the road. Hey, something else just came back to me. He actually had a nylon cord tied across the lake bed, separating what I was supposed to be working on from what had already been done, as if I couldn’t tell by looking.”

“Can you show me those two sections?”

“When?”

“As soon as possible.”

Wade hesitated. “Tell you what. I’ve got to leave for a job site in a few minutes. I think I’ve still got a copy of the layout of the lake somewhere in my office, showing the elevations and whatnot. I can leave it with my secretary if you’d like to come by and pick it up. I’ll make notes on it, showing my part, plus the section Lamb completed.”

“Thanks. That’d be a big help.”

Before hanging up, Wade asked, “I probably don’t want to know, but what’s this all about anyway?”

“You’re right. You don’t want to know. But it has nothing to do with you, I can assure you of that.” Another thought struck Scallion at the last second.

“One more thing, Mr. Wade. Since you have a history with projects of this type, if that lake were to be covered over, and new homes built on it, in your opinion, would it be necessary for the lake bottom to be bothered? Or would it simply be filled in?”

“Why? Is that mother-humping Kritz talkin’ about doing that?”

“I think I can say without any question, he’s not. But I’d like your opinion anyway.”

“Well, I’ve seen it done both ways. But if I was involved in it, I’d want the banks ripped out, either replaced or mixed in with new soil.”

“Oh? Why’s that.”

“Two reasons. First, the dirt on the edges of those banks was likely sheared when they were dug out, meaning it lost some of its stability. Plus, the water has eaten into it over the years, causin’ all kinds of strength problems. If you’re talkin’ ‘bout building homes on that site, you’d want to stabilize the edges before you filled in the rest of the lake. Otherwise, you’d be leaving yourself open to all kinds of lawsuits from homeowners who built near the old edges.”

“Makes sense,” Scallion said, almost to himself, rather than to the contractor.

“I really gotta get goin,” Wade said.

“Okay, and thanks.”

Scallion made notes from the call, then sat and rehashed what the man had said. It all made sense, but added nothing that might incriminate his suspect. Kritz had stood guard while Wade moved his dirt around, making sure he didn’t disturb his handiwork. And the threat of the lake bed being torn up was there. But how to prove it? Deciding it would be worth a trip to pick up the plans, he waited for Murtaugh to return from his meeting with the sheriff, assuming he would return at all.

The older detective was in a lighter mood when he finally re-entered the department, evidently having part of his burden lifted by his talk.

“How’d it go?” Scallion asked.

“Okay, I guess. He’s gonna make it as easy on me as he can. Looks like thing’s will work out fine.” Murtaugh eased into his chair. “But I meant what I said, Pete. I wanna help you get Kritz.”

“In that case, how about you and I make another run out to Wade Excavation. He called right after you left. He’s marking off the part of the work he did, and the part Lamb did before he vanished on a site map of some sort. Said he’d leave it with his secretary. I’ll fill you in on my conversation with him on the way.”

An hour and a half later, the Cold Case detectives returned to their office with the faded site plan in hand. It looked every bit of a decade old, with coffee stains and dirty smudge marks dotting it. Using the conference room again, they examined it closely. Wade had circled the area he had dredged, making up roughly a fourth of the entire lake. He also had added a dotted line indicating where Kritz had placed the insulting cord line, meaning, “stay out”.

“My guess is,” Scallion said, “if they’re buried under the lake, it’ll be up near the front section here.” He pointed. “My thinking is he was in a panic, knowing he had to act quickly. Taking the path of least resistance, he would’ve buried them in the closest place he could find.”

“I can buy that. But that still leaves a good bit of ground to cover. And it won’t do us any good unless we can get the lake drained and start looking. I doubt if Otto’ll go along with that yet.” Murtaugh shook his head.

“You’re right,” Scallion sighed. “We need more.”

Frustrated by not gaining any worthwhile ground, the detectives fell into a familiar tedium as the day wore on. Balancing out the lower stress level of working cold cases was the maddening fact that there were periods of extended inactivity where nothing happens. These cases had no fresh crime scenes; no smoking guns, or other warm pieces of evidence to tear into. Growing complacent was something to guard against, with nothing except a strong sense of justice helping to keep focused on the work at hand. Scallion was sure he still had that focus, and hoped Murtaugh could hang on to his for a little while longer.

Around mid-afternoon, the older detective decided to clear out, saying he had a meeting with his ex-wife to discuss Cindy’s next move. He departed, leaving behind the impression he was dreading having to deal with the former Mrs. Murtaugh almost as much as wrestling with his daughter’s bleak future.

Left alone to finish off the day, Scallion dialed the number given by the disagreeable secretary for Carlos Valvez once more, in hopes he had returned to the area. He knew he should go check out the address, just to ease his mind, but for some reason, was resisting the urge. Seven rings proved useless. He hung up, thinking for a moment he might put an early end to the day himself, go home and help Marti prepare for tomorrow’s ordeal.

The obnoxious buzz of his phone short circuited his plans.

“Scallion.”

“Whatta ya say, Petey?”