Beneath Forbidden Ground (23 page)

How to answer a question like that? No law enforcement officer wanted to be put in position to rat on another, especially his own partner. But it was a tough, demanding job, requiring full attention, one that could never be put in jeopardy.

“He has good days and bad—just like all of us, I guess. Today seems to be one of the worst. Something happened over the weekend. Not sure what it was, but my hunch is it has to do with the daughter. He’s taking her situation pretty hard. But then again, last Friday, in Oklahoma City, he was his old self. He was really charged up, putting the screws to our suspect up there.”

“How’d that go, by the way? Haven’t had a chance to ask you.”

“Good. We were able to get a DNA sample. Least I’m pretty sure we did. Marla should be trying to match it up now. If it proves out, I think we can put that one to rest.”

“That’s good news.” Howorth paused, thinking things through. He put his hands on his hips, an indication a decision had been made. “Tell you what, Pete. I’m going to go over Denny’s situation with our H R department, see if we can’t work out something to make it attractive for him to retire—with full benefits, of course. You just keep an eye on him, and I’ll get busy on it.”

Scallion was about to turn and leave, when Howorth stopped him with another comment.

“By the way, Pete. I’m not too familiar with construction techniques, but maybe you are. Would it really be necessary to dig up the lake bottom in case Kritz did give in to Brand’s ideas? Couldn’t they just fill it in, meaning there wouldn’t be a threat of finding the bodies, assuming they’re buried there?”

The question hit hard. It was a point Scallion hadn’t considered, and he had no answer. “I’m not sure, Otto. Looks like I’ve got a little more digging to do...no pun intended.”

The moustache formed an arc over a hidden grin. “Then get at it. Not trying to douse your campfire. Just a thought.”

Leaving the sheriff’s office, Scallion mulled his partner’s situation, along with the sheriff’s questions. It was always traumatic to see a policeman’s career come to an end, no matter the circumstances. Unlike most professions he knew of, the job became an inseparable part of your life, a part that would leave a void when it was taken away. It loomed for him in a few short years—he could see the finish line. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny a sense of relief, not only for Murtaugh, but if he was honest with himself, for him as well.

23

It was nearing the noon hour by the time Scallion returned to the Cold Case Department, finding his partner speaking in guarded tones on the phone. Looking up to take note of the younger detective’s arrival, Murtaugh said a terse good-by, and hung up. He appeared bothered, but tried to put on a good face.

“How’d you think things went, Pete?”

Scallion exhaled a sigh of frustration. “Not sure, Denny,” he said, falling into his chair. He massaged his face with his hands. “At least we were able to lay things out for everybody, give our version of how it all ties together. They may not agree with us, but they’ve got to consider the possibilities. One thing’s for sure, though, we need to put our hands on Carlos Valvez. I
know
he’s the key. He knows what happened. We have to find him.”

“If he’s still alive.” Murtaugh pointed out.

“Right.” Scallion thought about it for a moment. “What say we take one last run out to Cypress Bridge, see if he’s returned to work. If he hasn’t, we’ll make a visit to Kritz’s office and ask for his address. I’ll buy lunch, since it’s my idea.”

“Okay, you talked me into it,” Murtaugh said, but with little enthusiasm.

Halfway out Highway 290, Scallion exited onto a cross street, then stuck to the frontage road until he reached a popular restaurant that specialized in Texas-style barbeque. They both ordered a staple of the area—an enormous baked potato, covered with so much chopped beef brisket and jack-cheese the spud would be barely visible. Finding a table, they waited for their orders, while sipping on ice tea. They were silent for a few awkward moments before Murtaugh spoke.

“Say, Pete. What did Otto want to see you about?”

Scallion’s body tensed, unprepared for the question. He didn’t want to lie to the man, but didn’t think the full truth would be accepted very well.

“He wanted to know how Marti is doing,” he said. Suddenly remembering he had kept Murtaugh in the dark about her condition, he knew it was time to come clean. “Actually, Denny, Marti’s had breast cancer surgery. She’s starting radiation therapy this Wednesday.” He was beginning to feel like a traitor, keeping secrets from his troubled partner. He peered sheepishly at his plastic tumbler, avoiding eye contact. “I guess I didn’t want to bother you about it, I mean the details, what with Cindy’s situation and all.”

Murtaugh’s face showed no reaction. No frown; no smile; no expression that he felt slighted. “That’s okay, Pete. But I am sorry to hear about the wife. I hear they have good results with radiation these days. Wish her the best for me, will ya?”

Scallion’s self-doubts were sinking to a new low. He now realized the man never meant to marginalize Marti by not referring to her by name; it was just his manner of speaking. It was old school—but not meant as uncaring. “How
is
Cindy doing, Denny?” he asked quickly, hoping to cover his guilt.

The older man shifted his girth, looking aimlessly around the restaurant before answering. “It’s not good, Pete. That’s who I was talkin’ to when you got back, the director of the place she’s in. Seems she might’ve tried to take her own life over the weekend.” After a brief hesitation, he corrected himself. “Hell. Don’t know why I put it like that...she did try. She got hold of a razor blade somehow. They found her in time, bleeding-out in a bathroom.”

Shocked into silence, Scallion could only stare.

“The director’s trying to find somewhere else to place her. Maybe a hospital ...somewhere. I don’t know what else in the hell to do.”

“I don’t know what to say, Denny. I’m sure this isn’t much help, but if I can do anything, just say the word.”

Murtaugh shook his head slowly. “Thanks, Pete. If I knew anything, I’d tell you. But the director, plus the other folks up there, keep saying it’s got to be left to her. The only successes they have is when the patients find something within themselves to want to quit.”

“That’s what I’ve heard too. Here’s hoping she finds it soon.”

Thankfully, their order number was announced. Scallion went to grab the tray at the counter, then returned to the table that now seemed shrouded in misery. They ate quietly for a few minutes, then Murtaugh had another question. “Otto asked about me too, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did,” Scallion said, almost choking on a chunk of brisket.

“Figured so. Otherwise, he would’ve asked me to stick around too. What did you tell him?”

“Well, he said he was concerned about you. I told him I was too—that you were under a lot of stress, but that you’re still a good cop.” That seemed close to the truth.

“I see. What’s he plan to do?”

There was no point in destroying the man across from him. “I’m not sure, Denny. Maybe you should have a talk with him.”

Murtaugh eyed him carefully, then started to dig into his potato again. “Yeah, maybe I should.” He took a bite, then shoved his plate away.

“I also filled him in on our trip to Oklahoma, and what we brought back with us. He was pleased, of course.”

“That’s nice,” Murtaugh said absently. Slouching in his chair, his mind seemed a million miles away.

Thirty minutes later, with Scallion behind the wheel, they were circling the lake at the housing complex, looking for any signs of Carlos Valvez. There were none. They decided to chance a stop at the sales office. Scallion waited while the older man went inside, since he had never encountered the sales agent, nor she him.

Murtaugh exited the building after only a few minutes, shaking his head. “The woman said she didn’t have the slightest idea who Valvez was.”

“What?”

“Said this was her first day here. She replaced the other woman who got canned last week.”

Scallion tried to decipher this latest surprise, wondering what it meant. He finally chalked it up to the fact that houses weren’t moving, so Kritz had made a change. Or just maybe, he thought she might start wondering about detectives asking questions about missing women. The man was getting desperate; maybe a good sign. Desperate people usually do one of two things: make mistakes; or take desperate measures.

Backing the car away from the office, he took another peek at the lake before leaving the development. It seemed to be taunting him—calling him out. He was beginning to wonder if its mysteries would ever be disclosed.

No Valvez.

Entering the offices of Kritz Properties for the second time, the Cold Case detectives received the same icy treatment as before. The receptionist, whose name plate read,
“
Trudy McDaniel,” was quick to inform them her boss wasn’t in.

“That’s okay,” Scallion said, “you can probably give us what we need.”

The woman sat up straight, making her blond hair piled high look even taller. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“We’d like the address of Carlos Valvez, the caretaker out at Cypress Bridge Acres. Phone number too, if you have it.”

She gave a satisfied smile. “I’ll give ‘em to you, but you won’t be able to reach him.”

Scallion instantly wished smugness was a felony, or at least a misdemeanor. “And why is that?”

“Mr. Valvez has gone on a vacation back to Mexico. Taken his family with him.”

Scallion and Murtaugh exchanged quick looks of concern. “Do you know exactly where in Mexico he went? And when he’ll return?” Scallion asked.

“I can’t help you there. Mr. Kritz arranged for Carlos to take the time off. I only know what he told me, which is that Carlos will be gone on an extended trip. Mr. Valvez has worked so hard for such a long time, it was time to give him some time off.”

“So, you have no way of contacting him? No cell phone, or pager?” Murtaugh asked.

“I’m afraid not,” she replied with another smarmy smile.

“We’ll take that address and phone number anyway,” Scallion said, knowing the information may be useless now. He was beginning to think that even if Carlos Valvez was still alive, he might never return. Then he thought about something else; something the sheriff had mentioned in the meeting, also something he should’ve asked during the first visit to the office. “Tell me, Miss McDaniel, ...”

“It’s
Mrs.
McDaniel,” she interjected quickly with a sour look.

“Sorry,
Mrs.
McDaniel,” he said, ready to slap the cuffs on her at any second. “Have you been with Kritz Properties for long?”

“Since the beginning. Thirteen years now.”

“I see. So, when Billy Lamb, the dirt removal contractor, disappeared from the job site at Cypress Bridge Acres back in ninety-one, who did Mr. Kritz hire to finish excavating the lake?”

“It was Wade Excavation. They did a fine job, completed the project with no problems, as I recall. Why do you ask?”

“Would it be too much trouble to give us their address and number also?”

The woman stared blankly. “Whatever for?”

“Ma’am...please. The addresses?”

With a heavy sigh to show them what a burden the two detectives were becoming, she spun the Rolodex until she found the two names asked for. Quickly writing the information on a card, she handed it over. “Can I ask what this all about, Detective?”

“We’re just trying to tie up a few loose ends from an old case.” It was Murtaugh who spoke. “Thank you for your time..., Mrs. McDaniel.” He looked closely at her name tag before speaking, making it appear he had forgotten her name already, a parting jab that another unpleasant look said she noticed

“I’ll have to tell Mr. Kritz about all this,” she said as they turned to leave.

“Yes ma’am,” Scallion replied. “You do that. Have a nice day.”

Safely back in the Harris County vehicle, the detectives agreed is was good leaving behind the woman’s toxic vibes. “Sure hope there’s no reason to come back here anytime soon,” Murtaugh said.

“If this case ever gets to court, I think she’ll be a classic example of a hostile witness,” Scallion added. While his partner drove, he studied the address of Wade Excavations. “This outfit is only a couple of miles from here. What say we drop by before heading in?”

“Why not? Anything to get the taste of that one out of our systems.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, then Murtaugh mentioned what was surely on both detectives’ minds. “If he wasn’t aware we were zeroing-in on him before, Kritz sure will be now. That woman probably had his cell phone dialed before we were out of the building.”

“Right. Maybe it’ll stir him up, make him a little careless. Also makes it doubly important we talk to Valvez, assuming he’s still out there somewhere.”

Murtaugh grunted agreement.

Darrel Wade, the owner of Wade Excavation wasn’t in when they arrived at his office, an anchored double-wide trailer surrounded by a chain link fence. The young, gum-chewing woman minding the store assured the two detectives her boss was the only person who had been around during the time they were asking about. “Turnover’s pretty brisk around here,” she said. Scallion gave her his card, asking her boss to call at first chance.

The address given for Carlos Valvez was farther south, a forty-five minute drive away. The decision was made to delay a trip to check it out, since they were sure it would be a wasted visit. Feeling they had accomplished absolutely nothing during the afternoon, Scallion and his partner drove back into the city.

24

“This is tough on you, isn’t it? Worse than it is on me.” Marti rolled to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back to rub her husband’s shoulder. It was almost 7:00 a. m. Tuesday; they had slept later than intended. A restless night occupied by thoughts of the first round of radiation treatments, beginning early Wednesday, had produced tossing and turning for both.