Beneath Forbidden Ground (26 page)

Max gave a satisfied grin. “Not the name of the hit man. Wouldn’t do you any good anyway. He’d never testify to anything, even if you set his hair on fire. But I can give you the mark and the man who wanted him eliminated. As I told Pete when I called him, the victim was the Brand guy, the son of the big-shot furniture dealer. And the other guy was a developer named Luther Kritz.”

Ross’ mouth hung open. “Kritz identified himself to the hit man?” he asked.

“Nah. He didn’t have to. He used a phony name, but the other guy recognized him soon as he walked in. Seen his mug on billboards around town. Trust me, it was him.”

“Did Kritz give a reason why he wanted Brand dead?” Scallion asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Said something about the man was going to cause him trouble of some sort. That’s all he got.”

The three men fell into silence for a few seconds. Scallion looked at his old partner, hoping to see reality starting to kick in.

Ross began nodding slowly. “Okay, I’m convinced.” He looked at the snitch. “I guess it’d be a waste of time to ask if you or your source would testify?”

Max simply grinned without responding. “You did tell Detective Ross how I work didn’t ya, Pete?”

“Yeah. He knows. Just a little joke, Max. Got anything else for us?”

“Nope. That’s it for now.” He craned his neck to look at the closest bank of tv’s. “Gotta go guys. There’s a race about to go off out at Hollywood Park I’ve been waitin’ for all afternoon. Need to put a bet down.”

As the informer rose to leave, Ross raised a hand. “How do I get in touch with you if I need to?”

“You don’t. I’ll be in touch with you when I got something you might use. Next time, it’ll cost.” With that, he faded into the rest of the horse players.

Watching the man disappear, Ross turned to Scallion. “I know he’s been spot-on in the past. But where does he get his info?”

“Darned if I know, and I’m not sure I want to. I decided long ago not to try and dig too deep. Afraid I might scare him off.”

“Humpf.”

“So, you going to go after Kritz now?”

“Can’t see why not. I’ll fill Sam in tomorrow, then we’ll bring him in for questioning. Course we’ll have to bring Otto up to speed first.” Ross gave a hard look toward the Cold Case officer. “You still thinkin’ the reason Kritz didn’t want the lake bothered was to cover up him burying those bodies out there?”

“More so than ever. Taking Brand out was the surest way he saw to do it.”

Ross stuck his lower lip out and nodded, which told Scallion he was fully on board. “You and Murtaugh wanna join our little tea party again tomorrow?”

“No can do,” Scallion said. “Marti starts radiation treatments in the morning. I’ll be making myself scarce the next few days. And Denny... I think he’s about to pack it in.”

“Whatta you mean? Retire?”

“Looks that way. He’s got a few personal things he’s gotta take care of.” He left it at that, not wanting to discuss his partner’s private hell. “Anyway, will you keep me informed on your progress with Kritz?”

“Sure will, old timer. And I almost forgot about Marti. Give her my best, will you? Tell her I’ll be thinkin’ about her.”

“Will do. Come on, I’ll walk you back out to your car.”

“Nah. I’ll slow you down. You get on home and take care of your wife, who, by the way, you don’t deserve.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

As they left the clubhouse, Scallion walked quickly to his car, leaving Ross goose-stepping behind him.

26

By 8:00 p. m. the blanket of night falling joined by overcast skies was bringing an end to any possible illumination other than that provided by an occasional streetlight. After fighting the steady stream of traffic along I-45 leading south from downtown, then the few twists and turns required to locate his neighborhood, Scallion breathed a sigh of relief upon making the final turn. Dreading the thought of what he would have to observe Marti endure the next morning, and the days following, he none-the-less welcomed the time he would be allowed to spend with her.

Within a block of his house, he spotted something that didn’t seem to fit, although
why
didn’t fully register at first. Then it hit him. The vehicle he saw parked on the opposite side of the street, in a spot seldom occupied before, was directly across from his home. It reminded him of something he’d heard only hours earlier. A
black, extended-cab pickup
. Wendell had described Kritz’s vehicle in those terms.

His cop’s antennae were instantly on alert. It wasn’t unheard of for a suspect to either attempt to intimidate an investigating officer into pulling off a case—or even worse, making sure he did. He wasn’t ready to jump to that conclusion yet, but there was no need to take chances.

Slowing his speed and dousing his headlights, he nudged the Harris County vehicle into position against the curb roughly thirty yards behind the pickup. Peering at the license tag ahead, he saw it was obscured, possibly caked with mud. Assuming the worst, Scallion took it as a sign the owner ahead was masking any chance to prove his identity. He was left to concentrate on the dark outline of the person sitting behind the wheel. It was a large person, his head turned to the side, appearing to be staring at something across the street, possibly his house.

The detective’s alarm was magnified when he saw the driver-side door open, and the figure inside the truck place a foot on the pavement. Whoever was behind the wheel was about to exit the vehicle. Scallion leaned in, squinting to make out something held waist-high by the man, something metallic, reflecting a glint of light from the nearest streetlight. There was no question it was a gun.

His mind was suddenly filled with anger and desperation. No more time for guessing. Turning his lights back on, he accelerated toward the pickup. Screeching to a stop just behind the truck, he drew his own weapon as he jumped from his car. “Freeze! Police!” he yelled, only to see the man ahead instantly lunging to resume his position behind the wheel. Slamming the door, the driver put the truck into gear, his tires squealing loudly as he pulled rapidly away.

Scallion, halfway out of his car, using the front door as a shield, jumped back in, ready to pursue. Taking a quick glance across at his house, he hoped Marti hadn’t heard his command, or the sounds made by the vehicle ahead. Catching no glimpse of her through the front window, and seeing no lights suddenly illuminated, he focused his mind on the task at hand. Seeing the pickup turning at the crossing street ahead, he began the chase, walking the tightrope of maintaining a speed capable of not losing sight, moderated by the wish of not endangering other motorists—or himself.

Making the turn, he spotted the truck, swerving dangerously around a car pulling into the street from a driveway. He couldn’t tell from his distance, but thought the black pickup may have grazed the other car. Coming alongside the car the pickup had avoided, he saw the driver scrambling out, rushing to the front of his vehicle, checking for damage. Scallion was heartened to see a scrape across the bumper. If it was Kritz, his truck would be easy to identify now, with a corresponding mark along its passenger-side. The startled man watched in stunned silence as Scallion sped by.

The chase was taking the two vehicles through the tiny community of Nassau Bay, leading in a generally westerly direction. Scallion knew the man was searching for the nearest on-ramp onto I-45, hoping to merge with the heavy expressway traffic while heading back into the city. It was time to get help. Clicking-on to the correct frequency, he was ready to radio for help from the nearest locals, when he suddenly saw it wouldn’t be necessary; a patrol car coming out of a side street had spotted the fleeing truck, and was now in pursuit. The bright blue pulsating lights of the new-comer made Scallion’s job easier, keeping them in sight while the patrol car advanced on the suspect. He knew whoever was in the cop car ahead would be radioing for assistance, so the odds were in favor of a quick apprehension. He anticipated with satisfaction a late night grilling of Luther Kritz, questioning why he happened to be parked at his home, weapon in tow.

Suddenly, the patrol car ahead lurched sideways, as if pulled by a giant, invisible rubber band. He then saw it had been struck by an s u v exiting a strip shopping strip parking lot. The s u v and the vehicle it crashed into came to rest spread across the roadway, both rocking back and forth. Scallion’s progress was brought to a lurching halt by the wreckage. Coming to a stop just short of the accident scene, he hurried to check on the occupants of both cars, while trying to spot the black pickup as it started to disappear from view. Conflicted by the fact the man may be escaping, and the realization his chase had a hand in the wreck, he knew he had to do what he could to help out.

He was glad to see the lone patrolman staggering from his car, shaken up, but otherwise appearing to be okay. “Let’s check on the other car,” Scallion yelled, showing the officer his badge as he ran. The two lawmen ran to the s u v, its front end collapsed from the collision. A middle-aged woman was alone in the vehicle, still sandwiched behind the driver-side airbag, appearing to be in shock, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, too terrified to cry or scream. The bag quickly deflated, and after checking for broken bones or other injuries, Scallion and the patrolman gently helped her from her car. They led her to the curb, where a small crowd was forming. A man standing nearby was on the phone to 911; an e. m. s. was on the way.

“You okay?” Scallion asked the uniformed officer when things had settled somewhat. The man’s shaved head had a scratch or two.

“Just a little rattled.” he looked at Scallion. “Were you in pursuit too?”

“Right. He’s a suspect in a murder investigation. I’m with the Harris County Cold Case unit. Caught him casing my house. He had a gun.” Scallion gave officer a closer look at his I D, in case he needed the number for his report. He then gave the most concise explanation he could, knowing there was no time for the whole story.

“Well, he won’t get far,” the officer said. “I alerted dispatch. They’ll notify all the other jurisdictions between here and the city. They’ll get ‘em.”

Scallion hoped the man’s confidence would prove true. Whether it would or not, his chase was over for the night. Giving the patrolman his name and contact number at Harris County, he waited until the e. m. s. ambulance arrived to treat and transport the woman, then climbed back into his car. He could feel the aches and strains of advanced age, aggravated by a day that had proved longer than anticipated. The interruption by his old nemesis Max had stretched things out...and now this. Hopefully, his snitch’s information would balance the scales.

Ten minutes later, he walked from the garage into the kitchen, walking as nonchalantly as his nerves would allow, hoping for a poker face. He would give Marti a breakdown on the events that had just unfolded; but not now; not until the first wave of treatments was behind her. Finding her curled up on the sofa, more asleep than awake, he leaned to kiss her forehead. It occurred to him her fatigue may be due to worry over what lay ahead.

“Hi, honey,” she said drowsily. “You’re later than I expected. Is that a good or bad thing?” A cop’s wife always knew it was one or the other.

“You tell me. Got a call out of the blue today from my old friend Max.”

She threw her head back, coming to life. “Max? I thought he was hiding out somewhere.”

“Well, he’s baaack,” Pete said, aping a line from a horror movie. “Ross and I had to meet with him late today. He gave us something that might help put Kritz away.”

“You mean the missing women?”

“The Kevin Brand killing. That’s why Wendell was involved, since it’s his case. Max wanted me there ‘cause he’d never dealt with him. I’m hoping solving the Brand killing will lead us to the women.”

“Oh. Then it’s definitely a good thing.” She smiled, stretched and yawned. “I was about to make myself a sandwich. Last thing I can eat until after I’m done tomorrow. Can I make you one too?” She eased from the sofa and started for the kitchen.

“Sure. Anything’ll be okay.”

While she checked the refrigerator and began putting things together, Pete filled her in on the information Max had provided, plus the conversation with Darrel Wade and the diagram he’d provided. Everything up until spotting the black pickup was covered. She would find out about that part soon enough, but now was not the time. She had been married to cops her entire adult life, and understood what their job required, and how important it was to listen. He could tell her
almost
anything, including things most wives wouldn’t want to hear.

“You’ve had a busy day for a cold case detective.”

“And something else,” he added, “I think Denny’s about to turn in his badge.”

She looked up from the counter. “Really? How do you feel about that?”

“Relieved, in a way. He’s got a lot on his mind, with his daughter and all. He knows he can’t concentrate on the job.”

Marti displayed a frown, shaking her head. “That’s so sad about Cindy. Makes you feel fortunate we never had to face that. We were lucky.”

“Denny said the same thing,” Pete said, staring admiringly at the person primarily responsible for that good luck.

“So, you’ll get a new partner soon?”

“Not sure. Don’t know if there are any candidates on the horizon. In any event, Denny wants to stay on ‘til Kritz is dealt with.”

She licked mustard from her fingers. “Well, knowing you, I think you’d just as soon work alone anyway.” Placing two small plates on the counter between them, she said, “Let’s eat. We need to get to bed early. Busy day tomorrow.”

Pete eyed his wife closely. If she was nervous about the coming days, she was hiding it well. Better than him, no doubt. He had thought having the surgery completed a few weeks earlier would be the worst of it, and perhaps it was. But daily radiation treatments looming seemed a daunting task for the love of his life to tackle.

Luther Kritz had remained on I-45 for only a short time. Gaining valuable time when the wreck occurred behind him, he was able to outrun the patrol cars that had joined in the chase, reaching the on-ramp minutes later. Blending in with the speeding traffic making its way into the city, he knew sticking to the expressway would make it easier to be spotted. Police choppers would be called in, especially when the word got out he had staked out a cop’s house. He would be pursued and hemmed in like one of those bizarre chase scenes he had seen on tv.