by Doug McCall
My job was to drive them, and follow him to four different locations. He showed me where to park the cars. After I parked each car, he took the keys, then wiped the steering wheel and door handles clean. We returned to Cypress Bridge Acres in his truck to do the same thing until all four were driven away.”
“Did he say why this was being done?” Howorth asked.
Valvez shook his head. “No, Sènor. He did not say. And I did not want to ask. But I knew it was bad. He told me I must never speak of what I did that night to anyone. Later, he told me what to say if anyone ever asked about the women.” Valvez looked again at Scallion. “When you came to see me, I told you what he said I should say.”
“Why did you feel you had to do as he demanded?” the sheriff asked.
Valvez hesitated, avoiding direct eye contact. “I am sorry to say I was not in this country legally at the time. Sènor Kritz threatened to tell the immigration authorities if I did not do as he said.”
“But you are legal now?”
“Sì. Sènor Kritz helped me later to take the necessary steps. And my family too.”
The room was quiet for a moment. Valvez shifted nervously once more.
“And what about Mr. Lamb?” Howorth asked.
“When the cars were all taken away, Sènor Kritz handed me the keys to a truck parked behind the trailer, near the excavation equipment. It was Sènor Lamb’s truck. He said to drive it to the front, and we would do the same thing we had done to the others. As I turned the engine on and switched on the headlights, the beam was pointed at a front end loader. I saw Sènor Kritz’s cap on the seat of the machine. Then the lights reflected on the keys hanging from the ignition of the loader. I am sure Sènor Lamb would never leave his keys in that way. Someone must have operated the equipment, and it could only be Sènor Kritz. He was the only one there.” Valvez’s voice trailed off. He hung his head, as if sharing the guilt of his boss’s actions.
“Did you see any signs of the four women? Or William Lamb? Purses, wallets, items of clothing, anything? Either that night or the following day?” It was still Howorth speaking.
“No, sènor.”
“Carlos, why have you waited so long to come forward?”
The little man seemed to shrink into his chair; he looked miserable. “I am sorry, Sènor Howorth, but I was very afraid of what he might do to me or my family. But I know how those families must feel, not knowing what happened to their daughters. In San Antonio, I read the Houston newspaper, and saw that Sènor Brand had been killed. That is when I knew I had to tell the truth.”
Ross couldn’t keep quiet. “What did his death tell you?”
“Sènor Brand had been to Cypress Bridge Acres two times before, while I was working near the lake. He stopped to talk with me, saying he was going to be in business with Sènor Kritz soon, and that he wanted to remove the lake and build more houses, to make more money. He said Sènor Kritz was resisting, but he knew he would change his mind. I knew better than him that it would never be allowed. Sure of what had happened years earlier, I knew Sènor Kritz could not allow it. When I called him to tell him of Sènor Brand’s visits, he was very angry.”
“Angry enough to kill?” Ross asked.
“Since I was sure he had already killed, sì, sènor.”
Silence invaded the room again. The lawmen aimed questioning looks at each other, searching for other points to cover. Sheriff Howorth finally spoke. “Pete, Wendell, let’s step outside. Carlos, you stay put for a moment.”
“Sì, sènor.” Valvez grew nervous again, knowing they were going to discuss his fate.
Outside the room, Howorth leaned against a wall, pulling on his moustache. “I want to sort out what we have here. As I see it, Valvez has admitted to being an accessory after the fact, but he didn’t give us enough hard evidence to actually prove the crime he assisted in. Or for that matter, the killing of Kevin Brand to cover it up.”
“But you do believe his story?” Scallion asked, concerned about the sheriff’s tone. “Why else would he admit to what he did?”
“Oh, I think he’s telling us exactly what happened. It’s just that we need hard evidence, and the only way we’ll get that is to drain the lake as you first suggested, Pete. I’m going to start the ball rolling when I get back to my office, get a court order authorizing it. As far as the Brand case goes, didn’t you say there was possible DNA taken from the scene?” He was looking at Ross.
“Right.” Ross turned toward Scallion “Have you heard from Marla yet?”
“Not sure. She may have called while I’ve been down here. I’ll check.”
He stepped away from the other two as he dialed Marla’s number. She answered herself this time. “I’ve been away from my office, Marla. Just checking to see if you’ve got anything for me.”
“Yes. I tried to call you but got your voice mail. We’ve got a positive match from the cup your partner brought in to what we extracted from the harmonica. And we were able to obtain a viable sample from the bathrobe on the other case. Should be able to match it if you can bring me something from the right suspect. Why don’t you come down and I’ll show you.”
“Can’t right now. I’m tied up with the boss on a couple of cases.” Scallion turned to see Ross giving a teasing smirk, having no doubt guessed at the woman’s request. He hoped Howorth wouldn’t pick up on it. “But thanks anyway. You’ve come through for us again, Marla. I’ll make sure Otto’s aware of your good work.”
“Okay, Pete. Thanks. Goodby.” There was again obvious disappointment in her voice.
Scallion quickly relayed the news to the other men.
“Finally, some good news,” Howorth said. “I’ll issue a warrant for Nuchol’s arrest immediately. Hope they haven’t turned him loose in Oklahoma City.”
“I’ll check on that,” Scallion said. “Meanwhile, what do we do about Kritz? And how about Carlos?”
The sheriff mulled things for a second. “When, and if, Valvez’s story pans out, as I said, he’ll be charged as an accessory. Until then, I don’t think he’ll object to being placed under protective custody, for his own good. As far as Mr. Kritz goes, he’s most likely going to raise a stink once we start emptying that lake. He’ll know it’s just a matter of time then. Might even be a flight risk. I’ll have a detail assigned to keep tabs on him. That’ll also make it hard for him to pay you any more surprise visits, Pete.”
“I don’t think he’ll try that again,” Ross said. “Not after Ladner and I quizzed him about the other night.”
Scallion was deep in thought. The other two noticed. “What’s on your mind, Pete,” Howorth asked.
“I was just wondering if there’s a chance you could put in a good word for Valvez. I understand his part in the cover-up, but he was in a vulnerable position. And he is going to give us the man responsible for seven homicides.”
“Yeah, but he was vulnerable because he was illegal,” Ross pointed out.
“I know that, Wendell. But people with far more culpability than him have been given leniency. It happens every day.”
Howorth broke in. “I’m not making any promises, but Pete does have a point. I’ll discuss it with Whitlow. He needs to be let in on what’s going on anyway. And Wendell, see if Kritz’ll agree to give us a DNA sample.”
Ross shook his head. “Don’t think it’ll happen. Not voluntarily, anyway.”
“Well, give it a try. In the meantime, we’ve got a lake to empty.”
32
By Wednesday morning, the court order had been executed, and an engineering firm that specialized in hydrology-related projects was retained to attack the problem of emptying the lake at Cypress Bridge Acres. The pace of work was maddeningly slow from Scallion’s viewpoint. The engineers needed to ensure the revised flow path of the stream feeding the lake wouldn’t cause harm to the properties around the lake, including the landscaped lawns of the surrounding homes. Once this had been accomplished, a makeshift device designed to serve as a dam would be put
in place at the point where the meandering creek fed into the lake.
On the morning after the gates installed to divert the flow had been lowered, the change in the water level began to show. Curious residents of the development started to gather. The decision had been made by Sheriff Howorth not to notify homeowners of the purpose of the project, for fear it would create a panic. The knowledge that bodies might be buried practically in their front yards wouldn’t be welcome news. There was also the concern that word might filter out to Kritz. He was well aware it was only a matter of time before the suspect would be informed, but that time would come sooner than expected.
Scallion and Murtaugh stood under threatening skies, impatiently observing the barely noticeable dip in the elevation of the lake. Murtaugh was back nearly full time, his daughter’s more-or-less forced incarceration under way. It would be a long haul, he’d told Scallion. He was still determined to see the dismantling of Luther Kritz come to a head before calling it quits. Scallion, for his part, was playing hooky from Marti’s final week of radiation, at her insistence; her mother was filling-in as chauffeur. She was feeling stronger, and was confident about the checkup she had scheduled with her oncologist the following week. He wanted to share her positive outlook, but couldn’t wipe the worry from his thoughts.
Scallion removed his coat, draping it over his shoulder, then loosened his tie. His shirt was clinging to his body, leaving only a few dry spots.
“Sorta like watching paint dry, huh?” Murtaugh said, a groan showing his own impatience.
“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, M
urtaugh 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.