Beneath Forbidden Ground (28 page)

Kritz’s beefy face immediately lost some of its color. “I don’t see how anything like that could involve me.” He widened his eyes, putting on an innocent look, shifting his gaze from one man to the other.

“We can either do it here, or have you come down to our office if you prefer.” Ross suddenly felt sweat dripping down his pants leg, his shirt dampening. He almost wished the man would agree to come in. April in Houston could be unbearable.

Evidently realizing the officers weren’t leaving empty-handed, Kritz weakened some. He paused for a second, then turned to wave at the rest of his group. “You guys go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute.” He preferred to have them out of earshot anyway, not wanting them to hear the questions that would surely be asked. He then pointed to two concrete benches siting adjacent to the tee box. “We can talk here.”

The three golfers quickly launched their tee shots, then climbed into the carts and hurried away. Kritz watched as his riding partner pulled away with his cart, still carrying his own clubs. He had a growing suspicion not having a ride might be the least of his problems. Taking a seat, he addressed the detectives. “Now, what is this? What murder are you talking about?”

Ladner took a seat on the opposite bench, while Ross chose to stand, favoring his still tender backside. “Kevin Brand,” he said. “I believe you were acquainted with him.”

The flinch, accompanied by a short pause, was almost imperceptible. “Yes, I knew Brand. We had discussed forming a business partnership over the past few months. But it never amounted to anything. I was surprised to hear about what happened to him.” Hesitating again, he looked at both men. “I don’t know why you’re asking me about him. Other than our talks, I really didn’t know him that well.”

“So, you two never had disagreements over anything?” Ross continued to do the questioning. He flicked a bead of sweat from his forehead. A sudden breeze only put the hot air in motion, providing no relief.

“Oh, we might’ve had different ideas about a few things, but nothing major. Our deal fell through ‘cause I wanted to remain in charge of my projects, and he couldn’t accept that, I guess.” Kritz shrugged, trying to show indifference.

Ross decided to play one of his trump cards. “We have information that you and Mr. Brand had words over the future of the lake out at Cypress Bridge Acres. According to our sources, you got a little heated at a homeowners’ meeting last week. Anything to that?”

Ross observed the big man’s face closely; he gave signs of trying to assimilate where their information might have come from. Pete had been right, he thought to himself; the jerk hadn’t spotted him at the meeting.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Let’s just say it was reported by someone at the meeting,” Ladner jumped in.

“Was our source wrong?”

“I don’t know what they told you, but it didn’t get
that
heated. It was just one of those differences I mentioned. No big deal.”

“We hear it had something to do with digging up the lake, making room for more houses. He was in favor of it. You weren’t. That about right?” Ladner had a friendly tone, but he wasn’t smiling.

Kritz shifted uncomfortably on his bench. He started to speak, then paused, as if searching for the right response. “It was discussed. But after I made my point, explained how important the lake was to the development, nobody seemed to agree with him. He had no say in the matter anyway.”

Ross was staring at the man while he spoke, noticing perspiration forming on his face that didn’t seem completely due to the temperature. Recalling Scallion’s version of the homeowners’ meeting, he gave his partner a knowing glance. “Where were you last Friday night? Say, around ten p. m.?” he suddenly asked pointedly.

Kritz sat up straight, narrowing his eyes as he stared back. “Where was I Friday night? Where the hell were you?”

Before anyone could speak, the group finishing on the tenth green approached the tee box, giving curious looks at the odd looking gathering. Evidently sensing it was something they’d rather not be involved in, they hurriedly began to tee off.

When they were clear, Kritz changed his tone slightly. The interruption had given him time to think. “I was with a friend all night, okay. A lady friend.”

“And she’ll vouch for that?” Ross asked.

“I’m sure she will.” He showed a look of indignation. “But wait just a damn minute. Are you actually accusing me of killing Brand?”

“Nobody’s accusing you of anything, Mr Kritz,” Ladner said quickly. “In our work, we spend as much time eliminating suspects as we do identifying them.” He pulled a notepad from his pocket. “But we will need her name, address, and where she works.”

Giving the impression providing information about the woman was a major imposition, Kritz grudgingly revealed the information on Brandy Walker. Regardless of the man’s attitude, Ross could swear he saw a hint of a satisfied smile as he spoke. If the woman did have an alibi ready for the man, he was sure it had been pre-arranged. For a second, he felt he was channeling his former partner’s ability to read the tells a suspect emitted; this guy was filthy with guilt.

“If that’s all you wanted, I need to get back to my game,” Kritz said, abruptly standing. He started to edge away.

“Just a minute,” Ross said. He wanted desperately to ask him about the meeting with the hit man Max had revealed, but without corroboration, decided it was a slippery slope. Instead, he threw another curve. “Where were you
last
night, Mr. Kritz?”

Another flinch. The man stared at the detective as if trying to read his thoughts. “Last night?”

“Yeah. Say, around eight?”

“With the same lady I’ve already mentioned. You can ask her.”

“We will,” Ross nodded assuredly. “You drive a black, extended cab Ford pickup? Right?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“Seems a truck fitting that description was reported parked outside a Harris County detective’s house near Clear Lake last night.”

“So? Wasn’t me.”

“We happened to notice a truck matching yours in the parking lot with a scratch down the edge. Where’d that come from?”

“Can’t really say,” Kritz snarled. “Been there for a while.”

“I see.” Ross paused, then asked, “You own a gun, Mr. Kritz?”

Kritz didn’t answer, simply glaring at the detective. The deep red color had re-emerged on his face. He had evidently had his fill of questions. Taking a step toward Ross, towering over the lawman, he glowered. “Listen,” he said forcefully, spittle launched at the smaller man’s face. “You tell your fucking sheriff I’m tired of being harassed. If he wants to send any more of his flunkies to see me, he can contact my attorney.” Placing a large hand on the detective’s chest, he gave a shove. Still smarting from his embarrassing injury, Ross winced in pain.

Ladner was quick to his feet, stepping between the other two. Still giving away a few inches to the suspect, he was stout enough to make his presence felt. “Let’s just back off and cool down.” he said evenly.

Kritz stood back, still staring menacingly at both men. He then turned to go in search of his playing partners.

“Can we give you a ride to your group?” Ladner yelled after him.

“Don’t bother,” Kritz said through clinched teeth without turning around.

Ross and Ladner watched him lumber down the eleventh fairway until he was safely out of earshot. “Whatta you think, partner?” Ross asked.

“I’d say he’s probably capable of anything.” Ladner peered at the name he had written down. “I guess we’d better have a visit with this Brandy Walker, see if his alibi holds up.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will. Unless I miss my guess, he’s coached her, got her story all lined up for her. And there’s one more thing we’d better check on.”

“What’s that?”

“If she’ll lie for him, I wonder what else she’d do for him. We better double back on those rental car outfits, see if our Miss Walker was dumb enough to rent a car in her name for this creep last weekend.”

29

The second round of radiation on Thursday morning went smoothly, shortened due to the fact the preliminaries covered the previous day weren’t necessary. True to her word, Marti walked out under her own steam, but on legs more rubbery than she tried to let on. Putting up a good front, she chatted about trivial things during the ride home, managing to stay awake until only a few blocks from the house.

Pete was relieved she had succumbed to sleep the last two days as they neared their home. Otherwise, she would’ve asked why he scanned the surroundings so thoroughly. A daylight attack would be unlikely, but he wasn’t taking chances. Nearing the house, he saw a patrol car exiting the far end of the block. The code of cops looking after each other still held.

Satisfied, he gave her a nudge as he activated the control to lower the garage door behind them. “We’re home, sleeping beauty.”

“That was quick,” she said, the majority of the trip wiped from her memory.

Once inside, Pete received no argument when he suggested she spend a few hours in bed. Tucking her in, he closed the bedroom door. In the kitchen, he saw there was enough left in the coffee maker for one more cup. Draining it into the styrafoam cup he had confiscated at the waiting room, he nuked it, then stepped out onto the patio. Taking a sip, he took a seat in a lawn chair, its metal arms blistering to the touch.

Concern over Marti’s condition caused him to think back two decades, recalling what his life had descended to before they had met. At times such as this, even the least of problems would’ve had him popping the tops on an entire six-pack, finishing them all in one sitting. Other than a few glasses of wine at dinner gatherings for special occasions, he had managed to control the urges since. He knew he was lucky; there were many who couldn’t resist what they saw as the only answer, even with the support of someone like Marti. Regardless of the heat bearing down, he felt his body convulse from a shudder, realizing his life could’ve easily remained in purgatory, or worse, back then, if not for her.

The humid conditions didn’t allow more than a few minutes on the outside; he retreated to the kitchen, wiping the sweat from his brow. He began to take stock of the things Marti had purchased to match the diet her doctors had recommended: puddings; cartons of yogurt; ice cream; whole milk, which she normally wouldn’t consider drinking; muffins; ham; three dozen eggs; and butter—not the low-cholesterol kind she usually bought. A high calorie menu was the goal, an effort to keep her weight level steady. Deciding on what she might want when she woke, he heard his cell phone buzzing on the den sofa where he’d left it. Hurrying inside, he answered.

“Hi, Pete,” Wendell Ross said. “How’re things goin’ with Marti?”

“So far, so good, Wendell. She’s sleeping now. Those treatments really wipe her out.”

“I’ve heard that’s the case. When she wakes, tell her hello for me.”

“Will do.” Scallion knew his old partner wasn’t sentimental enough for well-wishes to be the only thing on his mind. “What’s going on, Wendell?”

“Wanted to bring you up to date on Kritz. The meeting Sam and I had with Howorth went well yesterday. He’s convinced the guy’s good for Brand’s murder. The only thing standin’ in the way of him agreeing to a warrant is the results of the DNA analysis of the fluid taken from Brand’s robe. You know Otto. He wants physical evidence.”

“Have you talked to Marla? Gotten an idea how long it’ll take?”

After a short pause, Wendell said, “I was going to ask you to do it. I’m not trying to be a wise-ass, Pete—at least not this time. But you and I both know she’ll react differently if she knows you’re involved in the case.”

Again feeling uncomfortable on the subject of the forensics chief, Scallion had to accept what Ross said as a likely truth. Sighing, he agreed. “She’s working on something for me too. That case out at the ice house near Hockley I told you about a few weeks ago. I suppose I could call to check on that, and mention your case too.”

“That’ll work.”

“Is there any part of your case
you
plan to work on?” Scallion said sarcastically.

“That hurts, Pete. I’ll have you know Sam and I had a face-to-face with Kritz yesterday.”

“Oh yeah? How’d it go?”

“We surprised him on the golf course. He didn’t seem to appreciate it, which is what we were hoping for. Asked him about his whereabouts the night Brand was killed, and of course, he had an alibi.”

“You check it out?”

“Right. A girl friend—name of Brandy Walker. She’s a hair dresser; swears he was with her all night, including a sleep-over. She appeared a little shaky, but stuck to her story.”

“Back to Kritz. What did he have to say about the dispute between him and Brand, as far as the lake went?”

“He shrugged it off. Said it was no big deal. One thing though, when I told him we had a source saying the homeowners’ meeting got nasty, it really seemed to rattle him. You were right, he had no idea you were there.”

Scallion was silent for a moment, digesting Ross’s information, which actually offered nothing new at all.

“A couple more things. We also asked him about his location night before last, around the time you saw him in front of your house. Same alibi—same lady.”

“Pretty convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

“Too convenient. Made Ladner and I check something out. Remember I told you a neighbor’s daughter thought she saw a small white car parked near the front of Brand’s house? Possibly a rental?”

“Yeah.”

“Like I told you when we met with your buddy Max, no rental was recorded in Kritz’s name during that time. But guess who did rent a white Chevy compact?”

“His alibi.”

“Roger that. Brandy Walker. Apparently, she’ll do whatever he asks. Probably afraid to say no.”

“Have you quizzed her about that yet?”

“Nope. We’ve decided to hold that information until the lab work comes back. If we get verification there’s DNA to match with someone, then we’ll come down hard on her. Shouldn’t take much to break her then.”

That
did
make sense. As much as he hated the thought of a desperate killer out there, possibly gunning for him, he knew they had to have an air-tight case. “Okay, thanks for the update, Wendell. I take back what I said about your police work.”