Beneath Forbidden Ground (14 page)

With the passage of time, he began to relax, able to put the incident in the recesses of his mind. After all, except for the fact he had been unable to control his temper, the rest had been beyond his control. They had witnessed it, and would surely tell. His promising future would’ve been cut short, right when he was on the threshold of realizing his dreams. He couldn’t allow that to happen. It was an unfortunate sequence, now only a faded memory—a memory now resurfacing.

The first call placed to his cell phone was from the agent picked to move his property at Cypress Bridge Acres. He had been considering having her replaced by the agency she worked for anyway, not having received even a nibble the past two months. Her questioning tone about the missing girls told him he didn’t have a choice. Telling her not to worry—forget about it, he hung up, hoping that would be the end of it. He made a mental note to contact her agency.

The call from Carlos Valvez put an end to his hopes that the first call could be ignored. The Mexican laborer was clearly rattled by the detective’s visit. Carlos nervously read the name on the card over the phone, identifying the man as a member of the Cold Case unit of the Harris County Sheriff’s department. Although that fact made little difference to Kritz, it did alarm him that
somebody
was finally investigating. His financial worries now seemed small in comparison. How had the girls been traced to his development?!

“Exactly what did he ask you?” Kritz had demanded.

“
He asked about the women. And the man named Lamb. He asked me if I had seen them that afternoon, and did I know what happened to them.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“
Only what you told me to say, Sènor Kritz. I said you paid the man Lamb, and he left, and explained I had never seen the women. I told him of your meeting with them, and that they left together to go to a place you did not know.”

Kritz could only hope the version Carlos had repeated to the detective was close to the instructions he had gone over time after time with him. It had been several years since they had rehearsed, and details could easily have been forgotten. The game he and Valvez had played over the years, protecting each other’s secrets, was now being severely tested.

“
And, Sènor Kritz. He also asked a question we had not discussed.”

A mild shock went through Kritz’s body, wondering what the question might have been, and how the man handled it. “What question?”

“
He wanted to know if you reported the fact the women had been to see you when it was discovered they were missing.”

“And?”

“I told him I did not know, Sènor.”

The property developer decided his employee had done as well as could be expected in his answers. But there was little doubt in his mind the man had probably given off the wrong vibes with his manner and body language. It also helped him decide what he needed to do next. He would have to make a pre-emptive strike against the people investigating him.

Asking Valvez to read to him the name and phone number on the business card, Kritz jotted them down. Giving stern instructions to call back if the detective returned, he ended the call. The thought began to percolate through his brain that the little man may have just become a liability. Something would have to be done about that, because he didn’t think there was a chance in hell the detective wouldn’t return.

14

Storms moved in and out over the weekend, leaving a rare Houston morning in their wake Monday morning. Temperatures were still in the mid-seventies by 8:00 a. m., but the front had taken most of the humidity with it, leaving bearable conditions for a change. Entering the building housing the Sheriff’s Department, Pete Scallion was in a positive frame of mind, both due to the change in climate and his anticipation of the day ahead. He had a theory to try out on Murtaugh, one he had broken in on Marti over the weekend.

He hadn’t left her side the entire weekend, keeping a close eye on her recovery. Except for tenderness left from the surgery, she seemed to be doing fine. After putting Chris on the road early Saturday, they spent the next two days in the den, listening to the rain pound down, watching rented movies, and talking.

“I had some of the same feelings standing by the lake as you did last week,” Pete said, as they relaxed in the den Saturday night, describing his Friday visit to the remote subdivision. “I have to admit, my antennae were activated by the caretaker’s glance at the water. It was a purely instinctive reaction. The mere mention of the girls caused him to shift his gaze.” Pete paused for a second, almost questioning himself about what he was to say next. “I think he was looking at them, or at least in their direction.”

“Are you saying those girls are hidden in that lake?” Marti stared hard at her husband, her wavering tone indicating she may have the same notion, but hesitated to express it in words. She was curled-up on the sofa next to him, absorbed in his thoughts.

He nodded, answering slowly. “Yes. Or buried beneath it. And possibly the excavation contractor too.”

“Oh, my God, Pete! That’s too terrible to even think about.”

“I know, honey.” He ran a hand across her leg, hoping to soften the mood some. “And I also know you and I aren’t psychics. Well, maybe you are, but not me. But you sensed something the other day, and I had a feeling I can’t describe when I looked into that water again. I’ve felt it before when I’ve been in the vicinity of death.”

“That must mean you think Valvez had something to do with them being there?”

“Can’t say for certain. I don’t see him as a killer. There’s no doubt he knows something, probably protecting someone. Denny and I are leaning toward Kritz. He’s done a lot of favors for Valvez over the years evidently, so maybe he’s holding that over the poor guy’s head. We’ve known for a long time there was at least one more driver involved in ditching the cars. That could’ve been where he came in.”

“So how’re you going to prove it, detective?” She cast a reproving eye.

“Denny’s been anxious to have a meeting with Kritz. He’s had a run-in with the man in the past, and would love to lean on him. If that doesn’t get us anywhere, there are a couple of other options I can see.”

“Such as?”

“Put pressure on Valvez, see if we can find cracks in his loyalty to his boss. That’ll be the easiest.”

“And the other?”

“Drain the lake. Try and recover the bodies—if they’re there.”

“That won’t be easy.”

“That, my dear, is why I didn’t mention it first.” Pete straightened her legs out, beginning to rub her feet. He tilted his head, gazing at the slowly-turning ceiling fan. “I plan to go over all this with Denny, and maybe Otto too, if we can get him to sit still Monday morning.”

They lapsed into silence for awhile, listening to the calming rain as it steadied into an even cascade. He explained Murtaugh’s newest problem with his daughter, and how that might affect his ability to help on the case. Marti, always the concerned mother, commiserated, but understood the liability the man was becoming to her husband’s investigations.

Murtaugh strolled in late again Monday, only this time it didn’t have the same effect on Scallion’s opinion of the man. He could tell from the blood-shot eyes and stooped shoulders it must’ve been a long weekend dealing with his daughter.

“How’d it go with Cindy?”

Murtaugh eased into his chair, sighing as he leaned back.

“I was able to spring her by promising to put her in a re-hab facility. She fought me all the way. Christ, Pete. I think she actually wanted to stay locked up, just to prove she could handle it. Her mother and I spent all Saturday afternoon takin’ her up into East Texas. There’s a place up outside of Lufkin, deep in the woods. Supposed to have a good track record. A plus is she sure as hell won’t have any distractions up there.”

Scallion had been around enough addicts in his career to know how tough the situation must’ve been. “That’s rough, Denny. Here’s hoping it takes hold.”             

“Thanks, Pete.” The older detective stared at his desk for a moment, as if there were answers there, then shook his thoughts free. “What did I miss on your trip out to Bellville?”

Scallion re-hashed the visit with Sheriff Amos, the pointless interview with the real estate agent, and his conclusions after talking to Carlos Valvez. When he finished, Murtaugh agreed with the course of action Scallion had laid out to his wife over the weekend.

“I say we start by rattling Kritz’s chain. I think he’s as dirty as the mud under that lake.” Murtaugh was suddenly back in the swing of things, no doubt wanting to put his family problems behind him.

“Makes sense. I’d like to bring the boss up to speed before we do that? Depending on how far we get with Kritz, Howorth will have to be in the loop.”

Surprisingly, Sheriff Otto Howorth was available at first asking. The request for an audience came before other Monday morning headaches had a chance to hit the fan. Afraid he might change his mind, the Cold Case detectives rushed up the two flights of stairs to the man’s office.

“Luther Kritz? I know the name,” Howorth said, leaning his trim frame against his over-sized desk. Wearing his usual western-style jacket over a blue shirt and stone-washed jeans, he had his legs crossed in a casual manner. The man had an easy ability to maintain authority and a laid-back attitude simultaneously. “Other than that, you’d better go over what you have on the case.”

Being the senior member of the team, Murtaugh began by reviewing the history of the missing girls, throwing in the case of the recently discovered excavation contractor as collateral. Starting with the re-visiting of family members of the women, he moved on to the surprising news provided by Chip Luna, the art gallery employee. The visit made by Scallion to Staff Finders was explained, leading to the long-sought common thread binding the four together.

Smoothing-out his trademark grey-specked, handle bar moustache, Howorth interrupted. “That was excellent police work,” he said, looking in the younger detective’s direction for only a fraction of a second, not wanting to steal the older man’s thunder.

“We got lucky,” Scallion said, shrugging. “If Luna hadn’t spoken-up, we’d most likely still be chasing our tails.” He didn’t want to pad his own part in front of Murtaugh; the man deserved more respect than that.

The mileage check on Laura French’s final journey, the meeting with Sheriff Willie Amos, and Scallion’s latest call on Cypress Bridge Acres and his encounter with Carlos Valvez were all covered. When the summary was completed, no one spoke at first; the blanket of silence was uncomfortable for the Cold Case officers.

“So, what it boils down to,” Howorth finally said, “is you’ve put the women and the missing contractor at the same place at the same approximate time. How does that implicate Kritz?”

Scallion spoke up. “From what Valvez told me, no one other than Kritz saw the women or the Lamb guy before they disappeared, which is another way of saying he was the last person to see them alive. I might be willing to buy what Kritz told his caretaker about the girls leaving together to go somewhere. And I definitely could accept Kritz’s belief Lamb might have gone on a bender with a week’s pay in his pocket. But not both stories together. You know, Otto, one of the things you’ve always believed in is there are no coincidences, and I think it’s true in this case—or these cases.”

“Okay. I’ll agree to that for now. But what’s your theory on exactly what happened?”

Scallion glanced at Murtaugh, looking for permission to continue. The other man grunted, then nodded approval.

“I believe that either the girls saw something involving the contractor they weren’t supposed to see, or
he
saw
them
doing something that didn’t seem right. Whichever it was, the killer, assuming it was Kritz—and I don’t think there’s any question they’re dead—couldn’t let any of them walk away.” Scallion paused for a second. “Now, from Denny’s description of Kritz from his past history, I think he lost his temper over something, which led to the incident.”

“Which leaves us with one major problem. Where are the bodies?”

Scallion took a deep breath, about to wade into deep water, in more ways than one. “Otto, my instinct tells me they’re in the bottom of the lake near the entrance to Cypress Bridge. There’s no other way to explain the reactions I got from the Valvez guy.”

Howorth stared hard at the detective whose gut feelings had rung true more times than not in the past. He looked at Murtaugh for confirmation. The older man simply shrugged, then added, “Makes sense, Otto.”

“Well, I’m not ready to hang my hat on the reactions of one poor Mexican caretaker. Most likely, he was antsy, knowing you were the law.”

“Could be,”Scallion agreed. “But the other thing is, this Lamb guy probably had his excavation equipment on site. It would’ve been easy to dig a makeshift grave, dump the bodies, then cover them up.”

“One other thing, Otto,” Murtaugh said. “After the girls’ cars were found, there were days and days of news articles about their disappearances. You’d think, since he had been with them the Friday before, Kritz would’ve come forward with that information.”

“Maybe he did.”

Murtaugh shook his head. “Every tip we received, plus the ones H P D reported, are all listed in the file. There were several, some from out of state. But none from one Luther Kritz. If he is in fact the killer, he must’ve thought he’d pulled off the perfect crimes, just keepin’ his mouth shut until the investigation stalled.”

The sheriff began stroking his moustache again. Before him sat two of his best detectives, whose judgement he had no reason to question. True, Murtaugh was slowing down some, but his instincts were still good. He also knew that where they wanted to take their investigation could unleash a massive can or worms, the kind that could easily tarnish his hard-earned reputation. In the end, though, he knew it would have to be done, and if it proved justified, it could go a long way in validating the existence of the Cold Case unit—a group still having to prove itself.