Beneath Forbidden Ground (16 page)

Scallion sat alone in his cramped cubicle late that afternoon. It was the last Wednesday of March, and with daylight savings time not having kicked-in, five forty-five was bringing the first shades of darkness with it. His partner had checked-out for the night, leaving him time to decide if there was any sense in what he planned to do. He could envision nothing germane to the cases of the missing girls and William Lamb possibly arising from the Cypress Bridge Acres homeowners meeting. But it nagged at him the way things sometimes did, for no apparent reason, other than the three coincidental sightings of the meeting notices.

“You go on out there,” Marti had said. He’d called her earlier to say he might be late.
Might be
, because he still hadn’t decided on it when he’d made the call to check on her.

“But I’m not sure what good it would do,” he had countered. “Besides, I’d rather be there taking care of you.”

“I’m fine. The soreness has all but gone. The main thing is, I think there’s evil out among those beautiful houses. And you said yourself you keep getting reminders of the meeting. Those
are
signs.”

Having received affirmation, Scallion exited the Harris County Sheriff’s office shortly after 6:00, his decision made for him by Marti’s intuition. The steady stream of going-home traffic on I-10 leading out of downtown, then even more on the section of the 610 loop he needed to negotiate before reaching 290, then the gridlock on the expressway itself, had him arriving an hour later at the Cypress Bridge Acres sales office, which doubled as the community meeting hall.

It was a few minutes past seven when he pulled in to the development. Since most of the attendees had obviously walked to the meeting, he was able to find a parking place near the building’s entrance. Removing his tie, he rolled up his sleeves to blend in. Entering, he found the single large room in the building packed. Folding chairs were set up, with the only remaining empty ones squeezed into a corner. He chose one between two people already seated: an elderly woman bedecked in jewelry and too much makeup, and a rather large man with oily hair, wearing an olive green jump-suit. They eyed him in the suspicious way of knowing they hadn’t seen him before, but neither spoke. That suited him fine, hoping to be as inconspicuous as possible. He wore a baseball cap kept in his car for use when trying to avoid sunburn, an attempt at disguise. The noise level of a hundred or so homeowners murmuring among themselves, mixed with occasional laughter now and then created a steady roar.

He wasn’t entirely surprised to see Luther Kritz sitting in a chair to the side of a makeshift platform at the front of the crowd. The flier he had noticed on the receptionist’s desk was there probably to remind her boss of the meeting. He pulled the cap lower to hide his face from the one person who might recognize him.

Finally, after another ten minutes of buzz, an attractive, energetic brunette woman appearing to be in her early forties took control. Introducing herself as the president of the organization, she then had the other officers and board members stand. A brief introduction of Luther Kritz, the developer of their home sites, was made, to a round of subdued, polite applause. An agonizing half hour or so was then spent reading and reviewing minutes from the previous meeting, along with several heated discussions over matters Scallion thought should’ve been settled in one-third the time. He was beginning to understand he’d made a huge mistake, wasting time he should’ve been spending with his wife. Home, and Marti, were over an hour away, seemingly on the opposite side of the world, seemingly near the real Forbidden City.

When he thought he was either going to doze off, or else be forced to find a way to sneak out, Scallion saw Kritz suddenly sit straight up, glaring at the rear of the room. His eyes tracked the direction of the man’s gaze. A man had just entered the room, standing near the entrance foyer, carrying a briefcase. Looking back at Kritz, he could easily see the newcomer was the target of his interest. He was a younger looking man, perhaps in his thirties, trim, with jet-black hair. Leaning against the back wall, he seemed to ignore Kritz’s stares.

“Now, does anyone have any other new business to discuss?” the woman leading the meeting asked. Allowing a short pause of silence, she continued. “In that case, I’d like to introduce another invited guest, who has a proposal that might be of interest to all of us.”

A murmur of surprise worked through the crowd as the woman motioned toward the rear of the room. The mystery man straightened-up, then began walking between the chairs in her direction.

Scallion looked intently at Kritz, watching him shift uncomfortably in his seat. The big man never took his glare off the other man as he neared the front.

“I’m sure you’re all aware of the name, Brand-Named Furniture, one of the leading furniture store chains in the Houston area. Well, I’m pleased to introduce Mr. Kevin Brand, the son of the founder, Maurice Brand. Mr. Brand is an investor and entrepreneur in his own right, and has some ideas about Cypress Bridge Acres I thought you all may want to hear. Kevin?” she said, grinning at the guest and stepping away.

Brand smiled and cleared his throat as another ripple of curious voices filled the room.

“Thanks, Sandra. Folks, it’s good to be here tonight and visit with you smart people. I say smart, because you’ve chosen to live in one of the finest housing developments in all of Harris County, and probably in southeast Texas. And I’m glad to see Mr. Kritz here tonight,” he turned and nodded toward the big man, who didn’t smile, “because his foresight and attention to detail are two reasons this has been such a successful project. He started with nothing but bare land and a dream, and look at what it’s grown to.” Brand spread his arms wide, a move any preacher would be proud of. “I think he deserves your gratitude for what he’s done.” He led the group in another round of applause. It was obvious the man was enjoying having the floor; humility was obviously not one of his traits.

The furniture scion snapped his briefcase open, then pushed it to the side. “Now, folks, I have no standing in your organization—I own no property here. I am simply here to offer a few ideas that might enhance Cypress Bridge, make it an even better place to live, and a better investment for you homeowners. I have recently been in talks with Mr. Kritz about forming a partnership, one involving his remaining interest in Cypress Bridge, plus other future endeavors.”

Scallion was still observing Kritz. His face was reddening, mouth twisted in what was probably meant as a smile, but looked more like a sneer.

“One of the ideas I have mentioned to Luther has to do with the lake just outside.” Brand paused for a second. “Now, it’s a beautiful body of water, one I know you’re all proud of. But, if you think about it, it’s taking up valuable space. Including the space around it, you’re talking about a little over four acres of un-productive space. Enough room for twenty—maybe thirty homes.”

An elderly man near the front spoke up. “Wait just a damn minute! If you’re talking about doing away with that lake, you can just forget it! It’s one of our best selling points. It’s one of the reasons I decided to buy here!”

Several voices chimed in to show support, some louder than others.

Brand held out his hands in a defensive position. “I understand. Believe me I do. But, folks, just hear me out.”

Reaching into his briefcase, he extracted a stack of papers. “I’ve prepared some figures, along with a rough sketch of representative homes that could fit into the area. And, there are two factors you should consider that would affect you all. One of the expenses your yearly assessments have to pay is liability insurance for the lake, in case of accidents. Without the lake, you’d save that money. Upkeep would also go down, which is something to keep in mind. Finally, the additional assessments from the people who buy or build homes on these prime spots would most likely reduce what you’re paying now, since overall expenses would go down.”

The muttering grew more subdued. A few could be seen nodding their heads, apparently agreeing with the points made.

Kritz, seeing a shift in sentiments, couldn’t sit still any longer. Jumping to his feet, he waved his hands to get attention. He didn’t move toward the head table, apparently not wishing to stand near the younger man. Pushing his chair back, he addressed the crowd.

“As promising as all that sounds, I’m afraid it’s all wishful thinking,” the developer started slowly, trying to hide the desperation in his voice. “We all know that high interest rates are making it hard to move houses now. It would take years and years to have the houses Mr. Brand is suggesting occupied. So the cost savings to you he’s promising wouldn’t come about soon, if ever.” He furrowed his brow, attempting the most sincere expression he could muster. “But more than that, that body of water out there,” he pointed, “ is the symbol of Cypress Bridge Acres. Has been from the start, and should continue to be. And think about this. Once it’s gone, it’ll never come back. If you find you’ve made a mistake by digging it up—which I’m sure you will—you can never rebuild it.”

The tide seemed to be turning again, but it was impossible to read the mood of the gathering. He went on. “It’s true, Mr. Brand and I have had brief discussions about a partnership. But he’s jumping the gun a bit on where things stand. We’re not that close to a deal. This is
your
association, and these are
your
homes—I understand that. But as long as I have anything to say about it, the lake stays!”

The force of his final statement brought stares from his audience. A few looked at each other. Scallion happened to glance at Brand; a satisfied smile seemed to be showing.

Realizing he may have overstated his case, Kritz lowered his tone. “That’s all I wanted to say. I just urge you all to think twice before ruining the centerpiece of Cypress Bridge Acres.” With that, the large man stormed from the room, not speaking to anyone, and showing no recognition of the Cold Case detective, who sat slumped in his chair with his hand covering his face.

Kevin Brand resumed control of the meeting, saying he had information to pass out regarding his plans. His presentation finished, the president again took over, covering a few other matters, dragging things out to a tedious end. Following adjournment, several homeowners gathered around Brand, asking questions, while the others straggled out. Scallion hovered near the front door, wanting to have a minute with Brand. It was a long wait.

Shortly after 9:30, the last of the hangers-on filtered out the front entrance. Brand took a few minutes thanking the president for letting him attend, then headed for the door. Waiting outside was the Harris County Cold Case detective, showing his badge. “Mr. Brand,” Scallion said, introducing himself, “I wonder if you might have a few minutes for a couple of questions?”

Caught off-guard by the sight of the badge and the identity of the man who had stopped him, Brand hesitated for a moment. “Questions? Questions about what?”

The man’s cocky nature was more evident up close. Scallion looked around for nearby ears. Seeing none, he answered, “Just a few things about Mr. Kritz, and the disagreement you had with him.”

Brand looked back at the sales office. “In there? You were in there? What interest, may I ask, does the Harris County Sheriff’s Department have in a homeowners’ meeting way the hell out here?”

“Actually, our interests are confined to Kritz.”

Snorting a quick laugh, the man replied, “I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. What’d he do? Forget to pay a few hundred traffic tickets?”

This was going to be tricky. In no position to expose the reason for the inquiry, Scallion had to dance around the edges. “Just a few things to clear up regarding some old cases we’re trying to put to rest.”

“In that case, let’s get out of this steam bath. My car’s over here.” He pointed to a dark Mercedes sport coupe parked on the street leading in to the complex.

Slamming the car door behind him a minute later, Brand cranked up the engine, turning the a. c. on full blast. He trained a suspicious eye on the detective. “Okay. What is it exactly you want to know?”

“What do you know about the man’s history?”

“Nothing that happened over two years ago. Only known him since then.” The cold air filling the vehicle, he set the in-car thermostat at seventy degrees, lowering the fan speed. “You see, I don’t particularly enjoy the furniture business, which makes my dad crazy. So to appease me, and keep me out of the way, he staked me to a few projects of my own. Done pretty well at it too. Bought and sold a couple of businesses, invested in partnerships here and there. That’s what drew me to Kritz. He’s done well with Cypress Bridge, but he’s strapped, needs more money—money I can provide.”

“So you didn’t know him, say, ten years ago?”

“Hell no! Ten years ago I was in the Bahamas, trying to
find myself
, as my dad puts it.” Brand then displayed a puzzled expression, indicating he’d like to know the reason behind the questions, but perhaps thinking he may be better off actually
not
knowing.

Scallion let his eyes wander out toward the lake. “Why do you suppose Kritz is so set on protecting that lake? I’m pretty much a water lover myself, but thought you made some valid points.”

The dark-haired young man shook his head. “Beats the hell outta me. The Luther Kritz I’ve come to know the last two years isn’t the sentimental type. He’d sell his soul for a buck. It’s costing him millions in sales by being so damn stubborn. Might be a deal-breaker.”

“How close are you to gettin’ on board with him?”

“Except for the hang-up about the lake, I think we’re pretty close—closer than he’d admit. The arrogant s.o.b. sure needs my backing.” Brand hesitated, then looked at the detective and shrugged. “But, who the hell knows?”

Scallion inwardly cringed at the spoiled brat referring to anyone else as arrogant. It was hard ignoring the statement. “So, if you reach a deal with him, it’ll be up to the two of you whether or not to do away with the lake?”