Beneath Forbidden Ground (31 page)

“Worse. A lot more at stake,” Scallion said. A sickening thought suddenly hit him, one he’d entertained lately. As much as he trusted Valvez’s suspicions, as well as his own, what if there were no bodies found? Where would they turn next?
They had to be there.

An older woman with hair so silver it nearly reached pink approached to interrupt his thoughts. She looked at the two strange men. “Do either of you know what’s going on here?” she asked, her face lined with concern.

Scallion was glad when his partner answered; he didn’t want to be the one lying to the woman.

“Not exactly sure, ma’am,” Murtaugh said, shaking his head, which was coated with a film of sweat. “Something the county requested. They’ve assured us they’ll have it filled back in soon.” He finished with a shrug, trying to cement the fact he didn’t know the whole story.

“Oh, I see,” she said. Looking across the lake for a moment, she then turned back. “Are you two with the county?”

Murtaugh hesitated, searching for a good answer. “Yes, ma’am. But they just sent us out to observe.” That was at least partly true.

Seeing the men would be of no further help, she drifted away, just as Scallion spotted the real estate sales agent appearing in the doorway of the sales office. She watched for a minute, then hurried back inside.

“I think we can expect a visit from Kritz in about thirty minutes,” he said.

“Oh? How come?”

“The sales agent just poked her head out to see what was going on. I’m sure she’s on the phone to Kritz right now.”

“You think he’d tip his hand by coming out here?”

“I’d bet on it.” Scallion nodded toward the lake. “That water’s the only thing keeping him outta jail—and maybe off death row. And if he shows, he won’t be in a good mood.”

“You think we need backup? Just in case.”

Scallion had been busy mulling that same question. He had an idea. “If the detail Otto assigned to the guy is doing it’s job, they’ll follow him here. What do you say to having a couple of extra units blocking off the road out front in both directions—after he enters the complex? If he tries too hard to stop us, he’ll be bottled up if things get outta hand.”

“Sounds good. Here’s hoping he does try something. I’d just as soon end things right here,” Murtaugh said, his face quickly growing dark with hatred.

Scallion was bothered by the sudden shift in the man’s demeanor. The stress of his daughter’s situation might be influencing his police work. It was definitely time to retire. “Don’t think it’ll come to that. But I’ll make the call for the units.” He stepped away from the growing crowd, far enough that his call wouldn’t be heard.

Less than twenty minutes later, Scallion’s fears were justified, when a large black pickup he recognized from his encounter two weeks earlier barreled its way through the front entrance. Screeching to a halt in the middle of the road circling the lake, Luther Kritz hustled out of the cab, heading straight for the detectives.

“You two!” he bellowed. “I should’ve known you were behind this! What in the hell do you think you’re doing? Who gave you the authority to do this?!” He stood face-to-face with them, drawing himself up to his full height to tower over his enemies.

“Settle down, Mr. Kritz,” Scallion said, trying to ignore the fear he couldn’t deny. The man was a human powder keg. He produced a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “We have a court order allowing us to temporarily draw down the lake.”

Kritz stared at the document as if it were poison. He started to grab it, but for some reason, decided not to. Returning his glare to Scallion, he roared, “I don’t give a damn what that worthless piece of paper says, you don’t have the right to do this.”

“This judge says we do,” Scallion said, edging a step backwards. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed several homeowners moving toward them, evidently recognizing the large figure of the developer. Maybe he could answer their questions.

Murtaugh quickly moved in front of the residents, spreading his arms out. “Folks, there’s nothing to be alarmed about. Please, step back.” It was standard procedure to try and keep citizens out of potential harms way. They eyed him as if he were an alien.

Scallion watched the big man closely as he turned to take notice of the gathering crowd. A confused expression lined his face; should he look to them for support, or be concerned they might soon learn he has sold them homes on top of a grisly murder scene?

He lowered his voice, focusing once more on Scallion. “Just what do you think this will accomplish? You’re destroying the peace and serenity these people chose when they moved here.” He waved a hand in the direction of the residents, who now seemed to be casting their curious glances at him. “You’ve got no damn right.”

Also lowering his voice to prevent a reaction from the homeowners, Scallion answered, “We’ve got reason to believe the lake is covering up a potential crime scene. Once we’ve proven whether it’s true or not, the water level will be restored.” For the first time, he thought he saw a flash of fear in the man’s eyes. He moved a little closer. “If I were you, I’d back off. You’re giving these people reason to wonder what you’ve got to hide.”

Kritz’s face was red with rage. Locked in desperation, he seemed ready to speak, but was unsure of what to say. He could only utter what was no doubt a desperate threat. “I’ll stop you. My attorney’ll issue a cease and desist, an injunction, or whatever the hell it takes.” He narrowed his eyes, pointing one last threatening glare at Scallion. “This isn’t over, detective. You’ll see!” He turned and walked rapidly to his truck.

Scallion and Murtaugh watched as the man took his seat behind the wheel. He could be seen talking in animated style on his cell phone, screaming at whoever was on the other line.

The older detective couldn’t resist a chuckle. “Wonder who he’s releasing his venom on?”

“No tellin’. But I don’t see anyway he’ll get our court order overturned.”

“Right. He’s pissin’ in the wind, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

Scallion turned to watch the residents who remained, now bunched together, discussing what had just occurred in hushed tones. He shifted his gaze out onto the water, noticing again how slowly the level was dropping. He was only vaguely conscious of his partner suddenly moving toward him.

“Pete! Look out! He’s got a gun!” With a mighty shove, Murtaugh pushed Scallion to the side, stepping in front of him.

Scallion regained his balance in time to see and hear the fiery blaze of a gunshot coming from just outside the black pickup. The round struck Murtaugh in his upper torso with a sickening thud, knocking him to the ground.

Falling instinctively to the grassy surface, Scallion crawled in front of Murtaugh, while fishing hurriedly for the revolver stuck in his coat pocket. He had hidden it there from view of the residents. Before he could take aim, another round hit the ground only inches from him, grass and dust spraying over him and into his face. He blinked to clear his eyes. Lying prone, he managed to clutch his Browning with both hands, firing off a shot. Kritz ducked behind the open driver-side front door, just as the shot shattered the window in front of him. He screamed as glass particles pelted his face.

Crawling behind the steering wheel, he cranked the motor, then started to back down the entrance street at breakneck speed, weaving recklessly.

Scallion came to a kneeling position, firing a second shot, aiming for a front tire. The shot missed its target, putting a hole in the bumper instead. He watched as Kritz fish-tailed the pickup around, preparing to make his escape. A blood-stained face was visible through the windshield. The man was wounded—he would be more dangerous now.

Jumping to his feet, he ran after the truck until it disappeared through the front gate. He hoped the backup units were in place, but would have to wait to find out. Checking on his partner came first. The man was writhing in pain when he reached him, gasping as he held a hand over the wound, now pumping crimson onto his shirt. The bullet had hit just below the heart; maybe too close to it. Scallion leaned to talk to him.

“Hang on, Denny. You’re going to be fine.” He looked around for the crowd that had been there only seconds earlier; they were scattering to their homes. All except for one, a stout middle-age man who was approaching.

“Do you have a cell phone?! Scallion yelled. Before the man could answer, a loud screeching sound, accompanied by metal striking metal could be heard coming from the highway, followed instantly by gun shots. Scallion and the other man ducked in unison.

“No. Not with me. But I’m an anaesthetist.”

“That’ll do.” Scallion tossed his phone to the man. “Call 911. Then do what you can to help him.” He started to climb to his feet. Murtaugh grabbed his arm.

“Get that son-of-a-bitch, Pete. Get’m for me.” He was trying to speak forcefully, but his voice was weak; he was starting to choke on blood trickling from the corners of his mouth.

Scallion stared at the man for only a second. It didn’t look good. “You can bank on it, Denny. I promise.” It was the least he could do for the man who had probably saved his life. He freed his arm from the man’s weakening grip.

Hurrying to his car parked in front of the sales office, he drove rapidly through the gate, stopping at the intersection with the highway to determine Kritz’s path. He anticipated an unpleasant scene; he wasn’t disappointed.

Looking to the left, he saw a patrol car with its left front fender crushed-in, the vehicle having been pushed to the side of the road at impact, leaving black skid marks on the asphalt. The crazed man had evidently smashed his way past the roadblock.

He pulled adjacent to the damaged car. “Anyone hurt?” he yelled through the passenger-side window.

A uniformed officer manning a radio stepped out. “My partner was standing behind our car when it was struck. It got knocked in to him. Just bumps and bruises—I think. He’s stretched out on the shoulder.” He nodded toward the side of the road.

“What were the shots I heard?”

“The suspect fired once wildly as he rammed through, then I returned a couple of rounds. But he was already past us by then. There are two units in pursuit, and I’ve just radioed-in the situation.”

“Get back on the horn and tell ‘em we’ve got an officer down inside the complex. Looks critical. Nine-one-one’s already been alerted.” Not allowing time for a response, he gunned the accelerator, ready to join the chase.

Radioing the Communication Control Center, Scallion asked to be patched-in to the patrol cars in pursuit ahead. Fortunately, the area still had not developed to the extent that heavy traffic was a major problem. He soon heard frantic voices coming from the officers in front of him indicating Kritz still had been able to sideswipe a few more vehicles. The desperate killer was in full flight; nothing would stand in his way.

He spoke into his radio, getting the attention of the others. “I think he’s trying to get to 290, then probably head back toward town.”

“Appears so,” one answered back. “We’re only about a quarter-mile from the on-ramp near Hockley. Christ! He just grazed a delivery truck. We’re hitting ninety—can barely keep up!”

“Have you called for the eye-in-the-sky?”

“Right. Chopper should be overhead soon.”

Harris County kept a small fleet of Robinson R44 choppers on call, mainly for traffic control, but also for help in situations like this. If they could lock-on to the fleeing vehicle from above, the chances of escape were lowered. Scallion then recalled the man had escaped the overhead birds before.

“I may have an idea where he’s heading,” Scallion said. It was only a hunch; there was no reason behind it. “His office is roughly halfway between the ramp and the 610 loop. He may try to exit and hole-up there.” He searched rapidly through his console for his notepad. Locating the address he’d written down weeks earlier, he broadcast it to the other cars.

Ten minutes later, he was still well behind the three vehicles ahead racing along Highway 290. Voices could be heard over the radio of others joining the chase; Harris County as well as HPD. Kritz had taken to the wide shoulders of the expressway, bullying his way past shocked motorists. His pursuers didn’t have that luxury; they had to moderate their speed, conscious of the danger to unsuspecting drivers.

Scallion was relieved when he heard someone announce the suspect was exiting the expressway, taking a path that would, in fact, lead to his office. He took little satisfaction in being right—it didn’t help in apprehending the lunatic. He was close enough to see the county chopper drifting overhead, evidently having drawn a bead on the fleeing truck. With undeniable feelings of excitement and foreboding, he knew for certain there would be a bloody end to the chase. Kritz was in no mood to go peacefully.

33

Luther Kritz observed a troubling scene as his office building came in view. The cops had somehow discovered his destination; they had the entrance to the parking lot blocked off. More marked cars lined the street; cops were standing by their cars, weapons drawn, forming a gauntlet. Their goal was obviously to stop him from entering the building, using force, if necessary.

“Screw’em. They can’t stop me,” he muttered. “No one can.” He raised a hand to wipe blood from his forehead dripping into his eyes, only to press a shard of glass further into his flesh. He bellowed in pain, then tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Starting a block away, he increased his speed even more, until he felt as if he were flying. Warning shots were fired. He ignored them. The heavy pickup became a pointed missile, aiming for a small gap between two cars parked dead center in front of the tower. Smashing through them, he split the two vehicles apart, causing severe damage to his already dented pickup. The noise of the collision was ear-splitting, but it didn’t phase him. He continued on, covering the fifty or so feet to the concrete steps leading to the front entrance, leaving the manicured lawn shredded in his wake. The truck bounced violently up the steps. He turned the extended cab sideways, finally coming to a stop only feet from the door. Using the body of the vehicle as a shield, he quickly jumped from the truck, then disappeared inside the building.