by Doug McCall
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.
Hoping to make it harder for them to draw a bead on his truck, he exited at the second off-ramp, turned left under the expressway, then started a serpentine path through densely populated neighborhoods in south Houston, traveling generally northwest at a low rate of speed. He would wind his way among familiar streets, his destination being Brandy’s apartment near the southwest tip of loop 610. Her large complex was halfway to his home, making it the ideal place to stop for the night. He would make her understand, as he had Friday night; she would be his alibi once more. In the morning, before leaving her apartment, he would wipe the mud from his license plates before heading home. He might even make it for his 10:30 Wednesday morning tee time at Laurelwood.
The rental car Brandy had rented for him had been turned in Saturday; he was wishing he’d kept it now. Scallion had made his truck, and would most likely now intensify his search. But no visible tag meant no proof. There was most likely a noticeable scratch on the passenger side of the truck, which would have to be dealt with soon.
Up until Monday afternoon, he had been convinced the Cold Case detectives were spinning their wheels, ready to drop their investigation due to dead ends. Getting rid of Carlos had been the right move, slamming shut the one door they might crack open.
And he was certain they would make no connection between him and Brand’s death, so his confidence level had been high.
That notion was put to rest later that day, when his secretary informed him of the detectives’ latest visit, inquiring about Carlos, and worse, Darrel Wade. They were digging deeper. The older guy, Murtaugh, wasn’t a concern. He was a tired
old man who he’d handled before. But Scallion seemed different. The way the man had looked at him the day they had come to interview him in his office told him there was something in the detective’s manner that indicated he wouldn’t give up easily. So he had been the obvious target to eliminate. He had failed, but that only gave him motivation. There would be another time.
27
Wednesday morning, and the first round of radiation went about as well as could be expected. As they had been requested to do, Pete and Marti arrived at the radiology clinic at 8:15, forty-five minutes before the scheduled appointment. The extra time was for the obligatory, endless paperwork, plus allowing the radiologist to spend a few minutes with the two of them, outlining what lay ahead. They had heard it all from Marti’s oncologist, but didn’t mind going over the possible side effects again: tenderness in the treated area; fatigue, especially after the first few treatments; a chance of hair loss, but not likely given the area being focused on; nausea, either mild or more pronounced, which will pass with time.
“And try to wear light clothing around your upper body, leave the side treated as open to air as possible.” The radiologist, a middle-aged man with milky white skin and thinning brown hair was finishing up his canned speech.
“I wouldn’t object to topless for a while,” Pete said, using what he knew was questionable humor to hide his own nervousness.
The physician didn’t laugh at the joke he’d most likely heard a hundred times. “Any questions?” he asked with a thin smile.
Hearing none, he advised them it would only be a few minutes before they sent for Marti, and then excused himself.
The few minutes turned into twenty, then a pleasant nurse assistant came for her. “You can walk in, honey. But we’ll be wheelin’ you out in about thirty minutes.”
Giving his wife a kiss for luck, Pete retreated to the large waiting room, sequestering himself in a vacant corner. He had calls to make—calls he didn’t want her to hear, so they had to be completed quickly.
The first was to the Nassau Bay Police Department, checking on the results of their pursuit of Kritz the night before.
“Yes, Detective Scallion,” the duty officer replied, “we’ve been trying to reach you. Your office said you were out for the day, and we couldn’t get an answer at your home.”
“Sorry about that. I’m with my wife on a medical appointment.”
“Wish I had better news for you. The guy lost us somewhere on forty-five. We had three jurisdictions involved, including HPD, but no luck. He must’ve gone cross country, hidden out somewhere.”
Putting aside his disappointment, Pete asked, “How are the officer and the lady involved in the accident doing?”
“Both’ll be okay. Our guy’s recouping at home for a day or so, and the woman was treated and released at a local E R. Course, she’s screamin’ bloody murder about reckless police chases, but there’s no way she could’ve missed seeing our lights and sirens.”
“Maybe she’ll settle down after a few days.” Pete then needed a favor. He explained briefly the case of the missing women, and the fact he was sure it was Kritz trying to put an end to his investigation. “I’ll be around the house for the next couple of days, but what are the chances you can assign a patrol car to check out my home after that? My wife, and maybe my daughter, will be there alone.”
“I’ll put it on the schedule. We should be able to come by at night even while you’re there.”
“I’d appreciate that. We’ll all sleep better.”
“No problem. Good luck with your case.”
The second call was to Wendell, hoping to catch him before he met with Otto.
“Morning, Pete. How’re things going with Marti?”
“We’re at the clinic. She’s being zapped right now. While I’m waiting for her, I wanted to fill you in on last night.”
“You mean the meeting with Max?”
“No. After that.”
“Something happened after that?”
“When I got home, Kritz was camped in front of my house. He was prepared to remove me from his trail. I was able to scare him off just in time.”
“Christ, Pete! You gotta be fuckin’kiddin’!”
“Afraid not. I wanted to let you know before you see Otto. Hope you haven’t seen him yet. He needs to know about this latest development.”
“Haven’t been able to tie him down yet. But you can be sure I’ll tell him. What happened? Are you sure it was him?”
“Yeah, I’m certain. Didn’t see him dead on, but I got enough of his profile to recognize him. I was within twenty feet. And he was in an extended cab, black pickup, like the one you described. His tag was covered up with something, but I got a good look at him when he climbed out with a gun. That’s when I spooked him.”
“Then what? He just took off?”
“I chased him, along with some locals down in Nassau Bay. There was a wreck involving a patrol car following him and a civilian. He was able to get lost in the confusion.”
“Crap! That’s too bad.” Ross was silent for a moment. “What do you think made him take that kinda chance? Going after a cop?”
Scallion had been thinking along those lines too. “Murtaugh and I made another trip out to his office Monday, trying to dig up contact info on the guy Carlos Valvez, you know, the caretaker out at Cypress Bridge. We also asked for the name of the excavator who took over after the first guy, Lamb, went missing. Kritz wasn’t in, but I’m sure his secretary filled him in about our questions. My guess is he thought we were getting too close.”
“I’d say he was right.”
“Wendell, I know I don’t need to tell you this, but we’ve gotta put Kritz away. Do all you can to convince Otto.”
“You can bet I will. I’ll let you know where things stand.”
“Oh, and Wendell, when you run down Kritz, check his truck out for a scratch on the passenger side. He sideswiped a car during the chase. Should be noticeable.”
“Will do.”
“One other thing. Would you mind giving Denny a call, let him know what I just told you? Assuming he’s in, of course. Not sure how long I’ve got before Marti comes out. I don’t want her hearing me talking about what happened last night.”
“She doesn’t know about it? About Kritz?”
“No. Didn’t want to worry her.”
“I understand. I’ll try and get in touch with Denny.”
Hitting the “end” key, Scallion barely had time to put the phone in his pocket when it started chirping. It was Julie.
“Hi, Pete. How’s Mom doing?”
“She’s still in there. Ought to be coming out any minute.”
“How’re you holding up?”
“Kinda antsy, but okay. Shouldn’t you be in class now?”
“The kids are in assembly. One of the other teachers is watching my group so I could take a minute. Listen, tell Mom I’ve decided to come on over Friday after school. If it’s okay, Mindy and Matti will stay there too, at least for the first few days. Then I’ll have to take them to Gran and Gramp’s for some of the time.”
“That’ll be fine. I think those two’ll keep everybody’s spirits up.”
“Okay. Gotta go. Tell Mom I love her. You too, Pete.”
Marti was soon rolled out in a wheelchair, a sheepish smile showing her embarrassment at being treated like an invalid. “Tomorrow, I walk out,” she assured the nurse in charge of her dismissal. “I feel fine.”
“We’ll see,” the patient woman answered with a confident, knowing smile.
Minutes later, strapped into the Harris County sedan for a more comfortable ride than her small S U V would provide, Pete had barely had time to mention Julie’s call before she promptly dosed off.
28
Armed with the story of Scallion’s encounter with the man he was sure was Luther Kritz, Ross and Ladner were able to convince Sheriff Howorth that it was time to confront the suspect. Max’s tip was useful too, since Howorth had seen the re
sults of the snitch’s information before; one rather recently.
“A couple of things to keep in mind,” Howorth had said before the meeting broke up, “since he chose to go after Scallion, he must think the cold case investigation is his only concern. That may give you the element of surprise when he finds out you’re pressing him on the Brand case. The other is that we don’t have any hard evidence yet on his involvement in Brand’s murder, at least until the results of the M. E.’s office come back. Don’t have to tell you two we can’t bank on the snitch’s story, since there’s no way to get verification. So tread lightly.”
It was early afternoon by the time The Harris County homicide detectives entered the offices of Kritz Properties, facing for the first time the charms of Trudy McDaniel.
“I’m afraid Mr. Kritz isn’t in this afternoon,” she informed them with a defiant tone, casting an un-impressed frown at their badges.
“Any idea where we might find him?” Ross asked.
“Well, he usually plays golf on Wednesdays. He hasn’t checked in with me today, but I imagine he’s out on the course.”
“Which course would that be, ma’am?” Ladner asked, taking out a notepad and pen.
She hesitated, a troubled expression visible. “Why, he’s a member at Laurelwood Country Club. But he doesn’t like being disturbed while he’s playing,” she said with an air indicating that should end the matter.
“I know the place,” Ladner said. “Maybe we can catch him...”
Ross stopped him with an elbow to his side. “That’s okay, ma’am. Will he be in later this afternoon?”
“Doubt it. He rarely comes in on his golf afternoons.”