Beneath Forbidden Ground (29 page)

“Oh, by the way. We checked out Kritz’s truck in the club parking lot. There were marks where you said they’d be.”

“Good work, Wendell. Thanks.”

“No problem, old-timer. So, you will call Marla?”

“I said I would.”

“Great. You’ll make her day.”

Scallion shook his head. The comedian couldn’t resist one final jab. “Goodbye, Wendell.”

He went to check on Marti; she hadn’t budged. Closing the door again, he returned to the den, ready to key in Marla’s number. Before he could, another call came in. It was Murtaugh.

After inquiring about “the wife”, he brought Scallion up to speed on what had, or more to the point, what had not happened. “Still no sign or word of Valvez, although I don’t think either one of us expected there would be. If he’s still breathing, it’ll be a friggin miracle.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Denny.”

“I do have one bit of news, though, but not directly related to our case. Ross called me yesterday, filled me in on your run-in with Kritz Tuesday night. Can’t believe the jerk had the balls to do that. Guess we’ve got him on edge.”

“Uh-huh.” Scallion wanted him to get to whatever news he had.

“Anyway, I remembered on most murder cases I worked over the years, when there’s a gun involved, the perp got rid of it soon as he could to avoid ballistics match-ups. So, when Ross said the guy you saw at your house had a gun, I played a hunch, started checking all the sporting goods stores and pawn shops to see if our boy bought a replacement since Friday night. Just got word he did. A pawn shop out on Hempstead Highway.”

Scallion was immediately struck by the fact Murtaugh had thought of something he, Ross, and Ladner hadn’t. It was basic police work. The man was still a good detective. “That’s great work, Denny. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

“You got your hands full already, partner.”

Since he was obviously referring to Marti’s situation, Scallion thought it only fair to ask about his daughter. “What’s the news on Cindy?”

“She’s being admitted to the hospital in Rusk Friday. Looks like I’ll be up there all weekend gettin’ things squared away.”

“Well, good luck. And remember what I said. Take all the time you need. My daughter’s coming over to relieve me next week, so I’ll be manning the fort.” He spent a few minutes going over the call he’d just had with Ross, and suggested he give the homicide detectives the information about the new gun. “It might come in handy if he decides to use it on somebody else.”

“Here’s hoping it’s ain’t you, partner.”

Murtaugh’s parting sentiment was still wringing in Scallion’s ears while he dialed Marla Evans’ number. An assistant picked up.

“She’s conducting some tests right now. Can I tell her who’s calling?”

Scallion hesitated, not wanting to use his identity as leverage. But if it helped, then why not? “Detective Scallion, Cold Case unit.”

Within thirty seconds, she was on the line. “Hello, Pete. Nice surprise.”

The casual tone of her voice immediately put him on guard. Just stick to business, he told himself. “Marla. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important. Sounds like you’re busy.”

“Never too busy for you, Pete.” She gave a nervous laugh, perhaps covering up the fact even she might realize she was too giddy. “What can I do for you?”

“Marla, I know you’ve only had it since last Saturday, but I was anxious to see if you’ve had a chance to look at the cup Denny Murtaugh brought in over the weekend. That hasn’t given you much time, but the suspect in that case is out of state, beyond our control. If there’s anything there, we need to get a warrant issued quickly.”             

“As a matter of fact, we started on that this morning. I can tell you we do have enough sample to work with, but we haven’t been able to break it down yet. Give me a couple of days.”

“Sounds good. And one other thing, Marla.”

“Yes,” she said, this time with an expectant lilt.

“I’m sure I’m pushing my luck here, but you should have some possible DNA on a bathrobe that was taken from a murder scene, also last weekend. Detectives Ross and Ladner are working that case, but it happens to overlap with an old case I’m handling. Or, I should say, Murtaugh and I are handling.”

“Oh, him,” she said, not attempting to hide her distaste for the man.

“Denny’s not like he came off last time, Marla. He’s a good cop. And he’s retiring soon, so cut him some slack.”

“I’ll try. He just needs to work on his social graces.”

“Maybe so.”

Following a pause, she said, “Tell you what, Pete. Check with me on Monday if you haven’t heard from me by then. I’ll try to fast-track both samples.”

“Can’t ask for anything more. I really appreciate it, Marla.”

“Sure,” she answered with a resigned tone as the call came to an end.

Scallion sat and thought about how the conversation went. Marla’s apparent leanings toward him, unexplainable as they were, always made him feel guilty, as if he were using a weapon he didn’t wish to possess. He was sure there was no reason to feel that way, but was thankful just the same Marti had continued sleeping through the call.

Tossing the phone back on the sofa, he went to check once more on his wife.

30

Scallion drummed his fingers on his desk, trying to come up with something useful to do. Waiting had never been easy for him, but on the following Monday morning, waiting was all there was. Murtaugh hadn’t shown, which didn’t help. It would’ve been nice to at least have someone to talk to. But in making himself scarce, Denny was only doing what he had been encouraged to do.

He had talked briefly with Ross Friday after he and Marti had returned home from the third radiation treatment. Relaying Marla’s promise of results, hopefully sometime today, the former partners agreed their con-joined cases would be in limbo until they got word. Scallion had chosen to wait until early afternoon to stir things up in the M. E.’s office, not wanting to put pressure on the lab. It could lead to mistakes. With the minutes and hours dragging on, he began to wonder if he could wait that long.

The weekend had gone well. Julie’s arrival early Friday evening with the girls in tow had lifted their spirits, bringing energy into the house. They were especially a tonic for Marti, as she began to adjust to the sessions at the clinic. By Saturday, and certainly by Sunday, she was able to stay awake most of the morning. Including today, there were six days down—nearly a third of the way through her program. That was one way to look at it; the other was there were over two weeks left.

The desperation of boredom caused him to take a cursory look at two files he and Denny had pulled from the stack that stood waiting for them—now just for him, given his partner’s career decision. One involved an elderly couple in the Spring area, a community in the northern section of the county. They were a popular pair, well-liked by everyone, with the apparent exception of whoever had bludgeoned them to death in their den on a Saturday night four years earlier. The shock in the community over the death of people with such a gentle nature was heightened by the brutality of the crime. He and Wendell had assisted the lead detectives for a few months, until it became clear there would be no quick resolution.

The second struck close to home—literally. A drowning five years back off a small pier in Taylor Lake, an offshoot of larger Clear Lake, within a few miles of his house. A physician with a hard-earned reputation as an indiscriminate womanizer had been found weighted down with chains wrapped around his torso a few days after he had failed to show up at his clinic in nearby Seabrook. As opposed to the other case, there was a long list of potential suspects to chose from: jealous boy friends; husbands; and in one case, a jilted girl friend; all with reason for revenge. So many that the case ultimately bogged down, until it was added to the cold case pile.

The cause of death brought his mind back to the girls at the bottom of the lake. He pushed the files aside. He knew his concentration was needed on his current case before he could move on. In fact, it would be hard to move on. The fate of the women remained lodged in his brain more than most mysteries he had encountered during his career. Massaging a hand across his face, he glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. His four women should be home by now. He decided to check in.

“Hello.”

Scallion was pleasantly surprised when the slightly husky voice of Marti answered. “Hi, honey. You must be feeling pretty good.”

“As a matter of fact, I am. The session didn’t seem to last as long this morning. Fatigue’s not as bad. I’ve actually stayed awake all morning.”

“No nausea?”

“Hardly any to speak of.”

He thought he could detect the usual smile returning to her voice. “That’s great. Maybe the worst is behind you. What’re Julie and the kids up to?”

“In the kitchen. I told Mindy and Matti I don’t much care for the banana-flavored yogurt, so they’re in there finishing it up for me. How’re you doing, Pete?”

“Bored outta my mind. Denny’s not here today. Or at least, not yet. Still dealing with Cindy’s problem, I suppose. Never thought I’d miss him this much.”

“You just need somebody to bat ideas off. Maybe Otto will find somebody for you soon to replace him.”

“You mean like a blind date?”

Marti laughed her wonderful laugh, but with a noticeable catch in her throat. “If you want to look at it that way, fine.”

“What are y’all going to do today?”

“We’re taking the girls up to my folks’ this afternoon, after lunch. They’ve been fine at the clinic so far, but we can tell they’re getting restless.”

“You sure you feel up to making that trip?”

“Yeah. Julie’ll drive. I’m okay as a passenger. If I get tired, I’ll nap. Mom and Dad want to see me anyway, make sure I’m not being fried like a chicken.”

Scallion chuckled, but he was only half listening. His eyes were drawn to two people standing near the elevator, at the entrance to his area. One man, the taller of the pair, a cop he recognized, was leaning toward the other, pointing in his direction. The smaller, dressed in jeans and faded t-shirt, was looking, nodding his head. Scallion glanced around him, wondering who, or what, they were zeroing-in on. Had to be him; there was no one else around. Looking back, a sense of recognition began to take hold. The compact little man, dark-skinned, with salt and pepper hair, was walking toward him. It was Carlos Valvez —in the flesh—and very much alive.

“Honey, I’ve got to go,” he quickly said. “Something’s come up. I’ll explain later. Say hello to your folks.” Without waiting for a reply, he hung up, standing to greet the visitor.

The man approached nervously, evidently unsettled by his surroundings. He glanced around the meager office, then stared at the detective.
“
Sènor Scallion
?
” he said guardedly.

Scallion thrust his hand out. “Carlos. It’s good to see you again.”

“Sì. Thank you, sènor.” Valvez shook hands, but seemed lost over exactly how to respond. His other hand clutched a small piece of paper tightly.

Scallion saw that it was the business card he had given the man weeks earlier. He stepped into Murtaugh’s vacant cubicle, grabbing the empty chair and rolling into his own area. “Have a seat,” he said.

The frightened little man took a seat, then looked around the small enclosure before focusing his eyes on the detective.

“Carlos...” Scallion started to speak, then paused, resting his arms on the arms of his chair, trying to decide where to start.

Valvez fidgeted, waiting for the first question.

“We’ve been trying to find you. We thought you were in Mexico. At least, that’s what Mr. Kritz’s secretary told us.”

“
That is where Sènor Kritz told me to go. But I did not go there. I took my wife and children to her sister’s home in San Antonio.”

“San Antonio?”

“Sì. Even though we are now citizens of your country, I did not want to make my family
go through the problems at the border when we came back. It is never easy.”

“I see,” Scallion nodded. He paused only slightly before he asked a question he hoped he already knew the answer to. “And why have you come back now?”

Valvez shifted nervously in his seat; he looked at the floor, his shoulders sagging. Then he raised his eyes.
“
Because I have something to tell you about the women you asked me about. And Sènor Lamb, the man who dug the lake. And I am very afraid.”

Scallion exhaled a sigh he hoped the man didn’t notice. Sitting back in his chair, he nodded slowly, giving himself time to decide how to proceed. He needed to ask a question first.

“Carlos, a little over a week ago, probably while you were still in San Antonio, a man by the name of Kevin Brand was killed. Could his death possibly have something to do with what you want to tell me?”

“
I think so, Sènor. That is why I am so afraid. For me, and my family.”

The day had suddenly changed dramatically. That heart-pumping feeling was back.

He knew right away Wendell would have to be involved, since his case was affected. And Otto too. He needed to witness what, in effect, would most likely be a confession. “Okay, Carlos, I want to hear what you have to say. But before you start, I have to get a couple of other people to listen also. This way, you’ll only have to tell your story one time, rather than two or three. And Carlos, I promise I’ll do all I can to protect you and your family.”

The bronze-skinned man shrugged, apparently prepared to do whatever was necessary to unload his burden. “Sì, I understand.”

Scallion was about to speak again, but hesitated when he saw the other man staring up behind him. He followed Valvez’s eyes. He was staring at the pictures of the four girls pinned to the side wall of the cubicle. They were kept there as a reminder to solve what happened to them.

“Are those the women?” Valvez asked, his face shrouded in something resembling a combination of guilt and dread.

The detective nodded slowly, looking back. “Yes. We need to give their families some peace, Carlos.”