Beneath Forbidden Ground (25 page)

The surprise in hearing the voice shocked him into silence for a few seconds. When he finally answered, he did his best not to show his irritation; he wouldn’t let the man get to him as he had in the past. “Max. What an unpleasant surprise, after all this time.”

There was a chuckle. “You know you missed me, Petey. Ain’t you gonna welcome me back?”

Ignoring the question, Scallion asked one of his own. “Why’d you come home, Max? Ventura’s still out there. He’s been able to avoid being put away so far.”

“Yeah, I know. I been keeping up with things over the Internet. Amazing what you can find out by webbin’ on to a newspaper’s site. Read the
Chronicle
every day while I was gone. But I finally figured it was worth the risk to come back. I really missed the big city.”

“Where’d you go?”

Another chuckle. “Better not say. May have to go back one of these days.”

Max had been Scallion’s most valuable snitch during his days in homicide, culminating in the tip that led to the unmasking of the corrupt lieutenant governor the previous year. It had been his final case before moving on to Cold Case, and his most satisfying. The official had been responsible for two murders in his thirst for power, one dating back over two decades. After providing the information leading to the politician’s downfall, Max had disappeared, fearing retribution from Guido Ventura, the notorious mob boss he had fingered as a hit man hired by the lieutenant governor. Scallion had hoped that was the end of his association with the shadowy man. In spite of his worthwhile tips, he was a royal pain in the ass to deal with.

“Well, Max, I can’t say I missed you, but welcome back just the same. I’m guessing this is a courtesy call, since I’m sure you already know I’m in the Cold Case unit now. Don’t think we’ll be of any help to each other anymore.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Pete. I got something now you might want.”

“I don’t see how—unless you can turn back time somehow.”

“This has to do with that Brand case. You know, the furniture guy’s son who was done-in over the weekend, along with his girl friend.”

Scallion immediately put his annoyance aside, taking more interest. “I’m not working that case, Max. Wendell Ross and Sam Ladner, his new partner, are on it. You’ll have to deal with them.”

“I know all that, Pete. But I’ve never met Ross. I’d like you to meet with him and me to kinda grease the skids. Rather keep it just the three of us. He’ll take me more seriously if you’re there.”

The detective sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. He didn’t want to get involved with the creepy little jerk again. But if there was a chance his tip might lead to Kritz, he knew he couldn’t afford
not
to follow through. Corrine Baker, the assistant D. A., had said something in their meeting the day before he felt was true. Solving the Brand murder would go a long way in solving the girls’ disappearances, and vice-versa, assuming Kritz was involved in both. “I suppose you want me to call Ross?”

“That’d help. And listen, Pete, tell him this’ll be a freebie. Just tryin’ to build up a little goodwill with your replacement.”

That
was
a surprise. Max had never worked for free. He spoke before the man could change his mind. “You wanna meet at the oldies bar again?” HOUSTON65 was a club on the southwest edge of downtown that served as a Mecca for people who enjoyed the tunes of the sixties, back when music still made sense. Their last two rendezvous had been held there.

“Nah. I got a new place in mind. You ever been out to Sam Houston?”

“The race track? Sure, a couple of times.”

“That’s my new hobby, playing on the ponies.”

“Okay, if that’s what you...wait a minute. I don’t think the horses are running out there now.”

“Doesn’t matter. I use the simulcast facility, bet the tracks out on the west coast mainly. There’s a snack bar on the ground floor of the main building, near the south end. Let’s meet there at, say, six tonight.”

“I’ll have to check with Ross, see if he can make it.”

“Do your best to convince him. He won’t be sorry. It’ll be just like old times, Petey. See you at six.”

The line went dead. Scallion cursed the arrogant snitch, who had managed to get the last word in—as always. Without putting the phone down, he dialed Wendell Ross’s extension.

25

Scallion and Ross arrived at Sam Houston Race Park within minutes of each other. The track was located on the northwest quadrant of the massive tollway circling the city. They had decided to travel in separate vehicles, since they would both be heading home following the meeting with the snitch. It had taken some doing to talk Wendell into the meeting, getting the argument that he was overloaded with other cases needing his attention. In the end, the younger detective recalled the accuracy of the tips Max had provided his former partner over the years they were a team, including the major one from the year before, so he agreed.

Spotting Ross’ car in the parking lot as he pulled into a slot, Scallion looked toward the entrance of the grandstand, managing a glimpse of the homicide detective moving at a gingerly pace. He hurried to catch up.

“Say, Wendell,” he said, adjusting his steps to match the other man’s stiff movements, “how’s the healing coming?” He had decided to ease off on the sarcasm involving Ross’ embarrassing injury, since it was obvious they would have to work together to solve both their cases.

“Hi, Pete. The doc says it’s healing fine, but it still feels like someone’s got a huge twist-tie around my butt. So I’m gonna take it slow for awhile.” Ross grimaced as he stepped up on the curbing of the sidewalk leading to the clubhouse entrance.

“Don’t blame you. Listen, Wendell, I’m not trying to horn in on your case, but could you bring me up to date on Brand’s murder? Got anything concrete yet?”

“Only thing worthwhile so far is a faint bit of possible DNA trapped in the bathrobe of Brand. Whoever did it strangled him from behind, probably straddling him. Marla thinks it’s a few drops of sweat from the perp. She’s looking at it now.”

“If it’s there, she’ll find it. She’s done good by me lately.”

“I’ll bet she has,” Ross said, raising his eyebrows and showing a sly grin.

Scallion ignored the jab. “How about the woman?” he asked.

“Nothing. Putting her body in the pool accomplished just what the killer most likely wanted, cleaned off any possible evidence.”

“Any thoughts about it being a jealous boyfriend of hers?” Scallion was willing to play devil’s advocate for a moment, hoping to eliminate other possibilities.

“We’re looking at that, but doubt it. Our belief is the killer didn’t know she was there. She was outside skinny-dipping, then happened to walk in, catching the killer off guard. Since she saw what was going on, she had to be silenced.”

The irony of Ross’s statement struck Scallion hard. If his theory about what had happened to the missing women was correct, that meant the skinny-dipper had met the same fate — being in the wrong place at the wrong time —witnessing something that cost her her life.

Scallion eyed Ross for a second. He didn’t think he would hold out on him, but had to be sure. “Anything else? Witnesses? Any other possible suspects other than Kritz?”

Ross slowed, casting a sideways frown at his ex-partner. “You really got it bad for that guy, don’t you, Pete. Just like that asshole Corrigan last year.”

“And how did that turn out?” Ross was referring to the crooked politician they had put away together.

“Okay, so you got it right.” Ross came to a halt as they approached the ticket booths. “You mind getting this since I agreed to come meet with your guy?”

Reluctantly forking over six bucks for their entry fees, Scallion said, “Don’t forget this is your case we’re here about, Wendell.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll pay you back if this turns out to be anything.”

Entering the building a few seconds later, Ross motioned Scallion to step to the side, away from other gamblers straggling in. He leaned against a wall to relieve stress on his rear end. “Okay, here’s the deal. We did take a look at Kritz. Found out he drives a black Ford pickup, one of those extended cab deals. The only vehicle spotted that night that looked out of place was a small white car, parked near Brand’s house. The teenage daughter of one of his neighbors saw it when she came in from a date. She isn’t sure what make it was, or even if it was actually in front of his house. Could’ve been next door to him.”

Scallion thought about the car. “A rental car, maybe? A lot of ‘em fit that description.”

Ross sighed impatiently. “Already started checking on that. So far, none of the agencies have a record of a Luther Kritz renting anything through last Friday night. We’re still looking.”

“Have you talked to him yet? Checked out his alibi?”

“Based on what? The fact he didn’t want his lake messed with? I happen to think it makes sense. Water like that adds to a neighborhood. I thought you would lean in that direction too.”

“I do. But it doesn’t matter what you and I think about it. Didn’t you listen to Murtaugh the other day about Kritz’s nature. Plus, Brand told me himself the guy wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of a dollar.” Scallion stared hard at Ross for a second. “What’s the matter, Wendell? You don’t trust my instincts anymore?”

“It’s not that, Pete. I just want a little more in the way of evidence before I start puttin’ the squeeze on suspects.” Ross took a look at his watch. “We’d better go find your friend Max. It’s a little past six. You said the snack bar, right?”

“Yeah.” Scallion stared at Ross as he headed toward the rendezvous spot, frustrated by his stubbornness. He quickly followed.

The ever-present Astros baseball cap was the first sign of the man they had come to see. He sat at a small round table with a view of the large main concrete floor, which was broken into sections by banks of betting windows and beer kiosks. Cheap plastic chairs were arranged in clusters throughout, aimed at tv’s hanging from the ceiling, tuned to various tracks around the country, including several dog tracks.

The bushy head of brown hair that Scallion always assumed was a wig fell out from under the cap, while Max took furtive glances at nearby tables. Unnecessary dark sunglasses hid his eyes. A half-smile, half-smirk appeared on his thin lips when he spotted the Cold Case detective.

“Good to see you, Petey,” Max said. “And you must be Ross.” No one bothered with hand shakes; this wasn’t
that
kind of meeting.

“Lucky guess,” Ross said sarcastically, as he started to ease slowly into a chair at the table.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer you and Pete sit over there.” The shadowy little man pointed to an adjacent table.

Seeing Ross’ hesitation, Scallion spoke up. “It’s okay, Wendell. Max’s a little paranoid about being seen getting too cozy with cops.” It was how their past conversations had been carried out; sharing cryptic messages passed back and forth in dark rooms. It was overkill, but something Max insisted on. Making a show of rolling his eyes, Ross complied.

Noticing the younger detective’s labored movements, Max asked, “You okay there, Detective? I’ve seen statues more limber than that.”

Ross glared across at the comical looking snitch, while Scallion couldn’t hold in a chuckle. “Detective Ross had a line-of-duty injury recently, Max. Go easy on him.”

“Sorry about that, Ross. I didn’t know.”

Wendell didn’t respond directly to the comment, instead saying, “This better be good.”

“Don’t worry about that. I always come through, don’t I, Pete?”

Seeing the meeting getting off to a rocky start, Scallion tried to change the mood. “How’d you get started on the horses, Max?”

A grin exposing yellow teeth indicated it was a subject the man seemed to enjoy talking about. “The place I went to while I was lying low had a race track. Had nothing else to do, so I tried it out. Met a few locals who taught me how to bet, how to judge the jockeys and trainers as well as the horses. I liked it right off the bat. Then I got lucky on a couple of big payoffs. You know what a pick-six is, Pete?”

“Picking the winners in six races. Right?”

“Yep. Six in a row. The odds against it are pretty big, leading to huge tickets. There’ve been some out on the West Coast and up in New York in the millions. I ain’t saying I won any that big, but I don’t have to eat hamburger for awhile.”

“So
that’s
why you’re willing to give us this one gratis? Goodwill, my ass.”

Max gave a sinister laugh. “You could be right, Petey.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone you’ve ratted out in the past might spot you here?”

“It’s a risk all right. But I’m willing to chance it. Guido Ventura’s the only one I’m really worried about, and I hear he’s keepin’ a low profile.”

“Can’t we get down to business?” Ross asked impatiently.

“Sure,” Max said. He looked at Scallion. “But first, I didn’t mean to be rude, Pete. How’s the wife and kids?”

The older detective cringed, giving Ross a quick glance, hoping it would indicate he didn’t want to explore the subject. Max had always delighted in letting him know he kept up with his family, a fact he found unsettling. He wanted to keep Marti’s current condition off-limits. “They’re fine, Max. Let’s get on with it.”

Taking another glimpse at his surroundings, Max leaned in slightly. “Okay, here’s the deal. There was a meeting late last week in a bar south of downtown–Spike’s is the name of it–but that’s not important. It involved one of Ventura’s former contract guys, one who had a fallin’ out with Guido. He was at the bar to meet with someone about a hit. According to my source, they talked for a while, but couldn’t agree on a price. The guy doin’ the hiring tried to drive the price down, but didn’t have any luck. Got all pissed and left. The hit man was pretty sure the other guy would call back and accept the deal, but he didn’t. Next thing he knew, he was hearin’ about the mark being taken out on the news. Figured the guy found somebody else, or did the job himself.”

Scallion and Ross were listening intently. When Max paused, the younger detective spoke. “You gonna give us names, or what?”