Beneath Forbidden Ground (15 page)

“So, where do you plan to go next?”

“We plan to have a face-to-face with my old friend, Luther Kritz,” Murtaugh said. “Then maybe lean on Valvez. Pete’s convinced he helped cover things up. Shouldn’t take too much to put the fear of God into him.”

“Something else that will have to be done at some point,” Scallion added, “is to have the lake drained. That is, if we can show good reason.”

Howorth pushed himself away from the desk, circling to take his seat behind it. “That’ll take a court order. I’ll pursue it, if and when we get that far. In the meantime, I’ll touch base with Willie Amos, see if he doesn’t mind us taking the lead in his case too. He’ll have to be kept in the loop.”

A surprise was waiting for the Cold Case detectives when they returned to their small office. Luther Kritz had called, leaving a message, saying he wanted to speak to Scallion.

The two men stared at each other before trading wry smiles. “Looks like you stirred somebody up,” Murtaugh said.

“Yeah. Valvez probably called him as soon as I left Friday afternoon. I imagine he’s squirming right about now.”

Dialing the number left, Scallion gripped the phone tightly while his partner picked up on the same line once the dial tone kicked in. They decided against the speaker phone, since it could be detected at times on the other end. But Murtaugh wanted to hear the man’s voice for himself. He listened-in as the same raspy-voiced woman who had given then directions to Cypress Bridge put Kritz on.

“Luther Kritz.”

“Mr. Kritz. Detective Pete Scallion, Harris County Cold Case Unit, returning your call.”

There was a slight pause on the other end, then, “Yes, Detective Scallion. Appreciate the callback. Understand you’re looking into the disappearance of four young women back in ninety-one?”

“Yes we are. Matter of fact, we had you on our list to call.”

“I see. Well, I’ll be glad to tell you what I remember. But it’s been ten years. Things might be a little fuzzy. Plus, there’s not a heck-of-a lot to tell.”

Scallion glanced over at Murtaugh, who shook his head and frowned sarcastically.

“Never-the-less, we want to talk to anyone who had contact with the women before they vanished.”

“In that case, sure. I’m always willing to help law enforcement any way I can.”

Murtaugh looked like he wanted to gag, sticking a finger down his throat, then mouthing a silent obscenity. Scallion had to restrain an urge to laugh.

“Glad to hear that. Would you like to come in to our office, or should we come to you?”

“Can’t we just do it over the phone?” Kritz’s gravelly voice indicated irritation.

“In cases such as this, we’re required to do face-to-face interviews.” That wasn’t entirely true, but Scallion wanted desperately to see the man’s reactions to his questions in person.

“Cases such as this, huh? Whatever. In that case I’d prefer you come out to my office. Anytime’s fine with me.”

Getting the address and directions, Scallion asked for and got an appointment for early afternoon. Hanging up, he looked at Murtaugh, who was grinning broadly.

15

Humidity was on the rise by the time the Cold Case detectives exited their vehicle in the parking lot of the seven-story office building housing Kritz Properties, LLC. The early morning respite was now replaced by temperatures in the high-eighties, still relatively comfortable by Houston standards. Thanks to their vehicle’s a. c., Neither had broken a sweat when they entered the building on a side street emptying off 290.

The receptionist in the second floor office, the same unpleasant woman with the nicotine coated voice, asked them to take a seat while they waited for the man who was on the phone.

Murtaugh, for a change, seemed full of nervous energy, anxious to confront the man who had weaseled his way out of an assault rap years earlier. Scallion spent his time checking out the office. There were several doors leading off the reception area, but he had the distinct impression that with the exception of the big-dyed-blonde- haired, bespectacled woman, and her boss sequestered somewhere behind her, the place was empty. It fit-in with the hard times Muratugh’s contact said the business was facing. The furnishings were spare; a few artificial plants, a couple of landscapes and sports-oriented paintings, and two tables backed against a wall with magazines stacked. The woman occasionally eyed them suspiciously, apparently curious about the purpose of the call.

A large door behind her finally opened; a large frame filled the opening. Kritz waved at the visitors. “You guys come on back.”

As they stepped into his office, he shook hands with them both, his eyes staying on Murtaugh a little longer, showing a hint of recognition. “Have a seat,” he said, pointing at two chairs across from his desk.

Taking his seat, Scallion sized up the big man. His round face was leathery, possibly from a mix of days spent out in the elements, along with a fair share of alcohol. Years earlier, before meeting Marti, his own skin had begun turning from nights of trying to drink his deceased marriage away. It was easy to spot someone with the same malady, but this was more advanced. The reddish-brown hair was combed back on the sides, ending in a stub of a duck-tail. Baggy lumps of skin surrounded eyes that showed no fear, or any other feelings.

“Now, what can I do for you?” Kritz asked. He sat with one hand clutching the arm of his chair, and the other flat on his desk. His eyes darted between the detectives, gazing at one with more concentration, evidently trying to pull something from his memory.

Scallion took the lead. “As we discussed on the phone, we’re investigating the disappearance of four young women back in 1991: names are Laura French, Betty Lynn Thomas, Tamara Crews, and Freda Juarez. Our investigation shows they were scheduled to report to your development, Cypress Bridge Acres, on Friday, February twenty-second of that year for a job assignment. They were sent by Staff Finders, a job-placement company.” He pulled the pictures of the women from the file he carried, spreading them on the desk in front of Kritz. He was hoping for a tell of some sort. “Do these ring a bell?”

Kritz leaned in, making a show of carefully viewing each, then shook his large head. “Could be them. Like I said, it’s been ten years.” He slid the photos back across the desk, before continuing. “Really can’t recall their names, but yes, I did interview four young women about that time for sales positions. Guess that was them,” he nodded toward the images. “The meeting went well, best I can remember. They all seemed anxious to start work the next Monday. After I answered their questions, they took off. One of ‘em mentioned getting together for happy hour at some place back on 290. They left, and that was the last time I saw them. Wasn’t til, oh, about the middle of the following week that I learned they had gone missing.” Kritz paused, squinting across at the detectives. “But I think you already know all this, based on what my employee, Carlos Valvez told me. He told me you’d talked to him.”

Scallion nodded, but didn’t respond directly to the man’s dig. “When you discovered the missing girls had been at your site, did you report that fact?”

The beefy man snorted. “Of course I did,” he said indignantly. “Soon as I found out they were missing I called the Houston police. Told them what I just told you.”Before either detective could respond, he pointed a stubby finger at Murtaugh. “I remember you.” A sneer crept across his face. “You were one of the officers involved when one of my subcontractors tried to rip me off back in the eighties. Hell, you’ve gotten old, man. But I still recognize you.”

As he was schooled to do, Murtaugh held his temper, responding evenly. “That’s not exactly the way I recall things, but yes, I was called on the case. And I’d say we’ve all changed some.” His face reddened slightly, but he remained calm.

“It’s a good thing the case was dropped, or I would’ve run that crook outta business!” Kritz was now leaning both arms on his desk, clearly agitated by the memory of the incident.

Scallion knew he had to get things back on track. “Mr. Kritz, the files we’ve been going through show no record of HPD having received that call. Could you have called someone else instead?”

“Hell no. I’m sure it was them I called. If there’s no record, then somebody just forgot to make a note of it.”

“Would you happen to recall the name of the person you talked to?”

Kritz now leveled a sneer in Scallion’s direction. “Are you kidding? That was ten years ago.”

There was no point in pursuing the point any further. “Since the girls didn’t show up for work the next week, who did you use to sell your lots?” Scallion asked instead.

“Well, I was pissed at Staff Finders for sending out women who wouldn’t show up for work. Course, that was before I knew they had gone missing. Anyway, I called another temp office. Got some more help. After a few years, I started using a real estate office to place someone out at the site.” He glared at the bald detective. “But you already know that too. Miss. Lyons called me, all upset by your questions.”

“Please give her my apologies,” Scallion said, feeling it was a ridiculous thing to say.

“What about William Lamb?” The question came suddenly from Denny Murtaugh, surprising both his partner and the developer.

Kritz stared. “Who? Oh, you mean the dirt-digger? He’s
another
one who didn’t come back to work on a Monday.”

“That’s correct,” Murtaugh continued. “He vanished the same weekend the girls did. Right after they were all known to be at your job site.” He meant it as a pointed jab, but it bounced-off the big man.

“Is that right? I didn’t realize it was at the same time. Matter-of-fact, I didn’t know about it until you mentioned it to Valvez,” Kritz said, looking at Scallion. “I mean, the fact he was considered missing. All I can recall is he left one Friday with a shit-load of money I’d given him to pay his men, and neither he or his men ever came back.” Kritz raised his bushy eyebrows, as if it were all a mystery to him.

Scallion knew that wasn’t entirely true. According to Sheriff Amos, Lamb’s employees
did
show up that Monday, looking for their boss. He let it slide, shifting gears. “Mr. Valvez seems to be a valuable employee. He sure takes pride in his work.”

“Carlos has been a tremendous asset. He keeps the grounds of Cypress Bridge Acres in top shape. And the home owners out there all like him, get him to do small landscaping projects for them. I simply couldn’t do without him.”

“He thinks a lot of you too. Says you helped get him citizenship, plus other favors along the way.”

“I figured he was a good investment. What of it?” Kritz shifted his bulk, beginning to show a degree of discomfort.

“What was his status before he gained citizenship? Was he legal? Green card, or what?”

The man’s face flashed crimson before replying. “You know, I’m really not certain. Things were different back in the eighties, a little more lax. He just showed up one day, started working his ass off and never quit. I guess you could say I didn’t really give a damn what his
status
was.” He hit the word “status” heavy.

“Besides, what has it got to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing,” Scallion shrugged. “I’m just saying he sure seems beholding to you.”

Kritz was clearly on edge now. He ignored the detective’s comment. “Are we about done here? I’ve got work to do.”

“One last thing, Mr. Kritz. Since you’ve been in construction most of your life, a contractor, now a developer, is it safe to assume you know how to operate heavy equipment? Dozers, backhoes, things like that?”

Standing, indicating the interview was over, Kritz answered, “Of course. I was raised on that sort of machinery. But it’s been awhile since I’ve actually sat in a seat.” He walked toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

As the detectives passed un-escorted through the outer area, Scallion happened to notice a copy of the homeowners’ meeting notice on the receptionist’s desk. It marked the third time in less than a week he had seen it. Maybe it was a sign.

The two men compared notes during the drive back downtown. “What did you think about our boy?” Murtaugh asked.

“Well, in one regard, he’s a tough nut to figure. He’s the type that doesn’t particularly enjoy being questioned about anything. Puts him on the defensive. That makes it easier for him to cover up things that
really
dig into him.”

“Such as covering up a few murders?”

“Right. The only time I saw him flinch was when you brought up Lamb’s name. But I’m not sure if it spooked him or simply caught him off guard.”

“By the way, I’m sorry about blurtin’ that out the way I did. Guess I was just gettin’ tired of the smug look on his kisser.”

Scallion smiled, still glad to see the other man getting into it. “No problem, partner. Kinda got the guy’s juices flowing. Maybe that’s what it’s going to take.”

Following a few minutes of silence, Murtaugh spoke again. “I think it’s time we lean pretty heavy on the caretaker. Here’s hoping he has a better story to tell.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

16

Spending what was left of Monday, most of Tuesday, and half of Wednesday trying to locate Carlos Valvez, Scallion and Murtaugh were starting to worry. The man had no phone listing. Not wanting to alert Kritz they were searching for him, they were reluctant to call his office to get the caretaker’s home phone number, or cell phone number, if in fact he had one. Long drives out to his work site Tuesday afternoon and again the following morning came up empty; the man was nowhere to be found. Inquiring at the sales office about Valvez’s no-show seemed risky too. The sales agent had called Kritz before—she wouldn’t hesitate a second time.

The detectives began to share the troubling belief that the developer may have eliminated the one person who could do him harm. Their judgement, however, told them that would be a foolish move to make, drawing too much attention so soon after being questioned. By late Wednesday, they decided they had no choice. If Valvez hadn’t surfaced by Thursday, they would get his home address from Kritz Properties, and to heck with tipping the creep off. As it turned out, other events would stretch their timetable out.