Beneath Forbidden Ground (33 page)

Scallion didn’t respond right away. His mind was drifting back some eight months earlier, when the murderous politician he had sought for two decades had been killed by a bullet meant for someone else. And now, Kritz had also managed to elude the kind of  justice that would have been more satisfying—in court—in the full view of the public’s eye.

“You’re right about that,” he finally responded. “ He wasn’t about to expose himself as the monster he was. He was responsible for seven deaths, and the hell of it is, we may never know what started it all.” A sickening thought suddenly occurred; he hoped Murtaugh wouldn’t make it eight deaths.

Faver could only stare, not knowing the history the man referred to. He then spoke into his radio, giving the order to stand down, and send for the coroner.

Scallion turned his gaze out at the helicopter now beginning to drift away. “Say, Faver. Was there really a marksman out there?”

The tactical squad leader peered out at the aircraft as it disappeared behind a nearby building, then answered with a thin smile, his eyes hidden by the dark glasses. “As far as
he
knew, there was. And that was all that mattered. But that would’ve been nice, wouldn’t it?”

34

The following Monday was bitter-sweet for Pete Scallion, one that would see his emotions swing from one extreme to the other before the day was done. It began with the check-up for Marti at her oncologist’s clinic, with so much hanging in the balance for them both. They sat together in the doctor’s office, squeezing each other’s hand firmly, waiting for the verdict.

“Everything looks good,” the woman said, as she pointed to the relevant features on the x-ray mounted on a back-lit wall. “It’s early yet, but, as you can see, there’s been no re-forming of the mass.”

Neither Pete or Marti could make out exactly what the physician was highlighting, just as they could never see the offending tissue when it had been detected. But it didn’t matter. As long as she was sure, that was all that counted.

Pete’s grip grew so tight Marti actually winced. Relaxing his hold, he moved his hand to her shoulder. “So, it’s over?” he asked hopefully.

The doctor grinned. “I can’t say that definitively at this point. We’ll take one more look in two months. I’ll be able to give a more complete prognosis at that time. But right now, I’d say, yes, it looks good.”

A feeling of floating on air the couple shared when leaving the clinic had to be tempered somewhat. In less than an hour’s time, they would be attending Denny Murtaugh’s services. The troubled lawman hadn’t made it, losing his battle after surviving on life-support for a day and a half.

Later, nearing the downtown church where the services would be held, Pete recalled his partner’s pledge to help put an end to Kritz’s life of crime. He had fulfilled his promise, by giving his life to save his own. He had made Marti aware of the heroism of the man. She shared the feeling of loss for the tortured man who had taken a bullet for her husband. Having lost one husband in the line of duty herself, she was thankful not to lose another.

It was a small service, attended by a smattering of fellow officers from the sheriff’s department, led by a solemn Otto Howorth, along with Murtaugh’s friends and family members. During the modest visitation preceding the ceremony, Pete and Marti made sure to deliver personal condolences to Denny’s children, making them aware of their dad’s bravery, and how grateful they were.

Cindy had been allowed to attend, along with a sturdy-looking chaperone of sorts. The girl seemed dazed, not showing her feelings behind a pale, blank face. As soon as the church service was completed, she was escorted back to a white van for the return trip into the thick East Texas woods. There would be a brief grave-side service, but attended by only a few.

Pete had a chance to speak briefly to Denny’s ex-wife, who no doubt had shared equally in her daughter’s challenges. “Since it was line-of-duty, there’ll be an increased death benefit due,” she said. “It’ll be used partly to help care for her. The state’s taking care of it for now, but she’ll need it when they release her.”

He chose his words of sympathy carefully, not knowing the truth of how things were between Denny and his ex toward the end. “Denny was really torn up over Cindy. He worried about her constantly. I don’t know if he had a chance to tell you and the kids, but he had decided to retire. It was mainly because of her. He wanted to do what he could to take care of her.”

She showed a thin smile, but only nodded.

Wishing her luck, Pete went in search of Marti. They soon left, walking outside into the blazing furnace of a typical southeast Texas spring day, unable to celebrate as they should a day filled with the greatest news imaginable.

By Wednesday, the lake had recessed to the point where the search could begin. A decision had to be made before the actual process could proceed: whether or not to alert the family members of the missing supposed victims about the possibility the bodies might be uncovered. Sheriff Howorth made the call.

“We can’t keep them completely in the dark, especially since the media has connected Kritz’s death to their disappearances. But for now, we’ll simply inform them we have a new lead we’re exploring, and will keep them updated. If our search pans out, we’ll let them decide if they want to view the site. If my past experience is worth anything, some will, some won’t. In any event, we’ll need them to make I D’s at some point.”

With that decided, the Canine Unit of the sheriff’s department was put to work. Scallion was on the scene when the first cadaver dog, a four-year-old German shepherd, began to sniff the area. He wasn’t allowed to, nor did he want to, influence their search by indicating which section might hold promise. His opinion had been jaded by the map Darrel Wade, the excavation contractor, had given him. But the well-trained, usually accurate animals had to be trusted. In less than twenty minutes, the dog settled on one area, beginning to scratch furiously near the bottom of the lake bed in the vicinity Scallion had anticipated. The dog had to be restrained, pulled away before she dug too deep.

The first dog was removed, then a second of the same breed brought in. After an even shorter time lapse, the new dog marked the same location, also wanting to paw at the earth. There was always the chance the second animal was simply following the scent of the first, but the way he started to dig in the same spot gave credibility.

The officer in charge of the detail approached Scallion. “I don’t think there’s any question there are bodies under that spot, whether human or not. We’ve flagged it for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Dialing Howorth’s number, he received permission to start the macabre job of unearthing the bodies he knew were there.

Later that same day, he was joined by Wendell Ross and Sam Ladner, who had asked to be notified. What was now a crime scene was ribboned-off; a large tent was erected in case forecast rains materialized, and also to mask what they were doing. Then a small crew of masked people wearing yellow jump-suits disappeared inside the tent, beginning their macabre job. Their moving bodies created shadows on the walls of the tents, silhouetted by makeshift portable lighting inside. Within hours, they had carefully extracted five bodies. An even larger crowd of residents than the week before hovered around, made to stand well back, most of them silently watching, with what appeared to be morbid fascination.

Arturo Juarez was there, as were the parents of Laura French. The others said they couldn’t bear it. Scallion accepted without question the response of the parents of Betty Lynn Thomas, based on what Murtaugh had told him about them. But he had his doubts about the motives of Tamara Crew’s mother and her siblings. He couldn’t deny a gratified feeling over their absence.

By the end of the day, positive I D’s had been established for the women. The process was made easier by the fact Kritz had buried them with personal items belonging to all, most likely hoping they would never be found. William Lamb’s body was identified by his girl friend at the time of his disappearance. He had no personal items with him—not even a wallet. She recognized his boots, saying they were one-of-a-kind.

Hesitating to do so at first, Arturo Juarez approached Scallion haltingly before leaving, seeming to search for words. In the end, he simply shook the detective’s hand, and said, “You kept your word. You didn’t quit. My family will be eternally grateful to you for finding our Freda.”

Scallion offered words of condolence to Juarez and the Frenchs. He knew it offered little solace; there were no words that could make them feel anything but pain and loss. But he tried his best. It was a sad day from start to finish.             

35

Scallion drove his Harris County vehicle into the crowded parking lot. 9:00 a.m., and the store was already busy. It was the flagship store of the Brand-Named Furniture empire, and the largest of the four spread throughout the metropolitan area. Maurice Brand was known to keep a presence in the main store, sometimes even greeting customers personally as they entered. Scallion was hoping to find the man somewhere in the building. He was also hoping he had judged the character of the man correctly.

“Why don’t you wait in the snack bar just inside,” he said to his passenger. “I’ll talk to the man, then see where things stand.”

Entering the over-sized front door, Scallion was directed by a sales clerk toward the rear of the store. A studio had been constructed out of sight of customers to tape the countless TV commercials for the chain that seemed to run nonstop on all local stations. Brand was the spokesman in all of them, choosing to be his own pitchman. A taping was wrapping up when the detective finally reached the curtained-off area. He waited patiently while the furniture magnate discussed an upcoming spot with a camera operator and director. Noticing the visitor, he approached.

“I remember you,” he said, offering his hand. “You’re one of the detectives I saw at Kevin’s house that terrible night. One of Otto’s men.”

“Right. Detective Pete Scallion,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Actually, I’m with the Cold Case Unit. I was involved in a case that had a connection to your son’s murder.”

“Yes, I read your name in the
Chronicle’s
story about the case. It said Kevin’s death was related to another case you were working on. Those young women from several years ago. I was glad to hear they’d been found. I know one of the families—the Crews.”

“That’s correct, sir. It was gratifying to give those families an answer about their daughters.” Scallion wasn’t surprised the man had a connection to the Crews, but the other families were equally important to him.

Brand shook his head, his silver hair glistening in the klieg lights still illuminated in the makeshift studio. Makeup was still caked on his face, giving him an artificial appearance. “Have to admit, I didn’t read the entire article. Would you mind connecting the dots for me?”

“Glad to, sir. As it turns out, Luther Kritz, the man we’ve determined killed Kevin, was responsible for the murders of those women back in ninety-one, along with an excavation contractor. It’s ... sort of a long story, but to make it short, I’ll just say that the motive for killing your son was to cover up the earlier crimes. He also killed my partner, a good detective, before trying to escape.”

“Oh? Well, that’s terrible. He must’ve been a sick, twisted man. I’m glad to know he won’t be harming anyone else.” There was still a degree of pain in the distinguished looking man’s eyes, and his voice.

“Yes sir.”

“I guess I owe you my thanks for your part in tracking the monster that took my son.”

“No thanks are necessary, Mr. Brand. It’s my job. Besides it was a team effort.”

Brand nodded slowly, then leveled a questioning gaze at the detective. “What exactly can I do for you today, detective?”

Scallion cleared his throat, uncertain how the man was going to react to what he’d come for. “Well, sir. That night, out at Kevin’s house, you mentioned that if we could find his killer, you’d be grateful, and...”

“And I meant it. If it was you, then I’ll be only happy to...”

Scallion stopped him quickly, waving his hand. “Oh, no, sir. Nothing like that. What I’m getting at is, I’ve brought with me one of the men responsible for solving your son’s case.” He realized there was the faintest of possibilities that statement might not be technically true. Since Ross had been unable to entice a sample from Kritz before his death, tissue for possible DNA testing had been taken from his body postmortem, and was now being analyzed. Only after matching them to the sample from Kevin Brand’s robe would his murder officially be classified as solved.

“Then bring him to me. I’ll be glad to take care of him,” Brand said, his trademark smile making an appearance.

“Well, what I was hoping, sir...actually Sheriff Howorth and I both were, is that you might consider him for a job. Nothing on the high end, maybe warehouse work, landscaping around your stores, running errands, or whatever you might have. He needs a job to feed his family.”

Brand was staring, as if suspecting there must be more to the story. “I suppose it’s possible. But I’ll have to see him first.”

“Okay. But, before you do, there are a couple of things I need to explain to you—things that may affect your decision.”

Brand’s eyes narrowed. He was truly curious now. “Not sure what you’re getting at. But I’m listening,” he said.

Scallion started with the history of Carlos Valvez’s employment with Kritz Properties, emphasizing how valuable he had been to Cypress Bridge Acres. But the entire story had to be told, so he covered thoroughly the man’s help in disposing of the vehicles, and why he did it so willingly at the time. Since there was no way around it, he made it a point to mention that if Valvez had spoken up sooner, Kevin Brand’s death probably would’ve been avoided. He concluded by describing how the little man’s conscience had finally made him tell his story, which helped lead to solving Kevin’s murder.