by Susan Slater
Ben kept coming back to Joe Mondragon’s son. The name alone would get Robby into circles that would be the envy of most artists. And what a story! Complete with the kind of mystique that would garner a following. “You know, you have relatives from your father’s side on the res. A few years back, I met your grandmother. I would like to involve her. I believe she would be thrilled to know about you.”
“Will she believe you?”
Ben chuckled. “She’ll only have to look at you. From pictures I’ve seen, you look very much like your father.” A shy smile from Robby, and Ben knew he was doing the right thing. What must it be like to think he was all alone, then discover his birth mother—only to have her die—a grandmother and a tribe who would honor him and would give him roots. Then, with a pang he thought of his own life. How very parallel to Robby’s.
“I was adopted. My mother died when I was young and my grandmother thought giving me up would give me a better chance to achieve—I didn’t really get to know my grandmother or my people until I was grown.”
“Really?” He had Robby’s attention.
“Yeah, really. It’s difficult for people to understand what it’s like being from two worlds.” Robby nodded. “It’s not easy. I honor my grandmother’s decision, but I know now what I’ve lost.” Another nod. “So, tomorrow at this time you’ll be a part of the Mescalero Apache. How does that sound?”
A smile and a nod was all Ben needed. He realized how much he wanted Robby’s story to have a happy ending. “Good. I suggest we get some sleep—tomorrow’s going to come early.”
+ + +
At quarter ’til eight Ben left Robby, with a tray loaded with scrambled eggs, pancakes, juice, coffee and slices of sugar-cured ham, to tell Julie of his plan and pick up his truck with new window in place. He wondered why parents of teens and young adults didn’t go bankrupt. There was no way he could put away that much food let alone afford to do it on a regular basis.
Ben was anxious to get Julie’s reaction to turning Robby over to his grandmother, but first things first. He left the Taurus sitting in Monty’s lot on Lomas and called the rental company to retrieve it. Slipping behind the wheel of his truck felt too good. He was glad to get out of the sedan. Five minutes later he was at the hospital.
He knew he could count on Julie’s enthusiasm, but he was surprised at how excited Bev was. Robby was going to be among friends. Somehow this piece of Connie in the guise of a son seemed to make accepting her loss a little easier. And he couldn’t rule out mothering instincts. Julie had undoubtedly told her mother Robby’s story—the loss of both mothers. He sensed that Robby would be taken care of. He called ahead to the IHS clinic in Ruidoso from Julie’s room. An explanation to the administrator, a tribal official, and he was assured that Robby would be protected and introduced to his family.
Ben waited until Bev and Julie had been picked up by the limo driver who would follow the hearse. They would swing by the Doubletree, pick up Robby, and be on their way. A call to Robby, who promised to be ready, and Ben could relax. He’d suggested an overnight at the Inn of the Mountain Gods might make the trip less stressful for the two women. He was still a little worried that Julie was trying to do too much, too soon. Typical, but dangerous.
A night at the hotel would mean more rest and Julie could rent a car and drive back at her leisure in the morning. He thought Bev had liked the idea—because the Inn had a casino? Probably. He remembered she liked the slots. He checked his watch. Nine-ten and he already felt like he’d put in a day’s work. But as long as he was downtown, he might as well check in with Lieutenant Samuels.
Parking downtown was never easy so he left his truck at the Doubletree and walked the short two blocks to the station. The November day had turned decidedly chilly with a biting northeast wind. Winter could come early. Ben jogged the last half block before taking the steps up to the double doors two at a time. He made a mental note to dig out his sheepskin jacket.
“Hey, doc, glad you showed up. I was about ready to put out an all-points.” Ben smiled but had the distinct feeling Lieutenant Samuels wasn’t exactly kidding. “I’ve got a couple questions and I think you might be the one to answer them.”
“I’ll give it a try.” Ben took the proffered metal chair to the right of the officer’s desk. Not comfortable but it wasn’t meant to be, he guessed. Lieutenant Samuels was staring—not necessarily unkindly, but not necessarily friendly, either. Ben waited, watching the man steeple, then separate his hands and crack his knuckles. The waiting game—first one to speak would be the loser. But of what? Ben had no clue.
“You’re acquainted with the family’s counsel, Wayne Stanford?”
“Yes, I’ve met him.”
“Might that be an understatement? I have a copy of a restraining order here in front of me, taken out day before yesterday following what was described as an unprovoked attack on his person.”
What a weasel. Ben was furious but kept his cool. “I defended myself when physically assaulted.” Ben leaned back in the chair and met the Lieutenant’s stare. “I don’t really expect us to be buds—he’s my fiancée’s former.”
“So, according to you, nothing serious. The lawyer started it?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing that would have any bearing on Ms. CdeBaca’s death?”
“None whatsoever. Wayne made a derogatory remark to Julie, I suggested we step outside, he took a swing, and I defended myself.”
Lieutenant Samuels nodded but didn’t appear to believe him. “Speaking of Ms. Conlin, Mr. Stanford has postulated that she was the last person to see Ms. CdeBaca alive.”
“I suppose we both were.”
“According to Mr. Stanford he went to apologize to Ms. CdeBaca for the dinner disruption and heard Ms. Conlin having a heated discussion with the deceased.”
“What time was this?”
“Precisely one-forty-five in the a.m.” Lieutenant Samuels opened a folder on his desk and appeared to double check the time.
“Impossible. We were asleep. I’d set the alarm for four-thirty so I could get an early start. I was due in Gallup by nine.”
“And Ms. Conlin never mentioned her yelling at her hostess—a confrontation which, heard through the door, appeared not only heated, but threatening?”
“No, of course not. It never happened.”
“Your word against his. And, might I add, if you were asleep you can’t really speak for Ms. Conlin.”
“She would have told me.”
“You don’t think a bump on the head might have altered her memory?”
“We talked before I got on the road and then later—before the explosion. Julie simply did not meet with Connie—let alone confront her.” What was Wayne talking about? Why was he trying to implicate Julie? No one had really stopped to wonder about his leaving the house unannounced. Could a retainer by the family include getting the land back at any cost? No one knew Connie had filed to make the gift legal.
No, he couldn’t think that way. He might not like Wayne, but he refused to think the man was a killer.
“Mr. Stanford is pretty convincing. But I’ll stop by the hospital later this morning and see what Ms. Conlin has to say.”
Damn. The one thing Ben didn’t want was to alert anyone to Julie’s whereabouts—not with Robby in tow. But he couldn’t lie. He realized he’d paused too long already. The stare was palatable and suspicious.
“Julie’s being released this morning. Maybe not something I totally agree with, but she’s persistent.” Ben managed a rueful grin, but there was no understanding smile returned.
“I’m assuming she’ll be at the hotel?”
“I don’t know. Her parents are here and I imagine she’ll spend the day with them.”
“Will you be in touch?”
“Yes.”
“Then I expect you to tell her to call me.”
Ben nodded and briefly felt he’d dodged a bullet. He was not prepared for what Lieutenant Samuels handed him n
ext—a police report from Haskell, Kansas. More exactly, the police report and a copy of the local DA’s notes. The one who went after Robby. Ben bought time before he’d have to comment by leafing through the notes. Vendetta came to mind, the sort of Indian bashing, witch-hunt he’d seen before by prejudiced authorities who used their power to ruin lives.
“Don’t expect me to believe that you haven’t seen this before.”
“I haven’t. I know the contents; I’ve been treating Robby. This is part of a juvenile record that should have remained sealed. How did you get it?”
“It was sent to me … print-free, of course … but I can assume by someone who feels as I do. Robert Emmett Merritt is the prime suspect in his mother’s death.”
“Based on something that happened four years ago?”
“Ever hear that there are no coincidences in my line of work? We know he’d moved to the area—you just admitted you’ve seen him. I know what he stands to inherit. I’d say all the motives are there, let alone any mumbo-jumbo his shrinks can provide as to his state of mind. In my book, you do something once, it’s likely you’ll do it twice—especially if you get away with it the first time.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Oh? And what are you basing your opinion on?”
“Mumbo-jumbo from his shrinks.” The term rankled and Ben was getting more than a little pissed at the Lieutenant’s short-sighted conclusion.
“No need to get bent, doc. Just calling it how I see it. But I’ve put out a warrant. I’m assuming you know where he is?”
“Patient-doctor confidentiality prevents me from any further comment.”
“Give me a break here, doc. Don’t push me. I’m not above slapping your ass in jail on a charge of aiding and abetting.”
“That won’t be necessary. You have the wrong person.”
“I disagree. I’d suggest you reconsider your refusal to help. I’ll be contacting your supervisor.”
The trump card—the old ‘I’ll tattle on you and get you in trouble’ ploy. Thank God, Ben could count on Sandy. He knew Sandy would support him. But he felt he’d been dismissed and rose to go.
“One more thing.” Ben turned back when the lieutenant spoke. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas on the skull.”
“What skull?” Ben was truly baffled but waited as his face was scrutinized. Apparently deciding that he was telling the truth, the Lieutenant filled him in on the gift Connie had received. Ben sat back down. Who would send a skull with a heart around the bullet hole? The killer, who else?
Suddenly he was beginning to put things together. The skull would have told Connie that the assassin, Skip’s henchman, was back. And she had to have known the skull she held was that of her lover—the father of her child. Didn’t Julie see her talking to a man at the lodge? So, the payoff was to keep this man quiet? Probably. Ben took a deep breath.
“There are some things you need to know—maybe you know them already.” It took ten minutes to fill in the gaps—the discovery that Art McNamara was back, the killer, set up by the senator—the cuckolded husband. Art, who would have had the skull, the hiring of Stan Devon to find her son, then deliver a payoff to the caretaker, the double cross by Mr. Devon, and lastly, the name of Robby’s father. A couple questions by Lieutenant Samuels and then silence.
“I know the cops were onto Stan Devon delivering the money and the fingerprint tie to Ms. CdeBaca. I wasn’t sure you knew the connections.”
“Not everything. You’re saying the skull is Jose Rodriguez Mondragon?”
“I’d bet on it.”
“And somewhere there’s a decapitated corpse.” Lieutenant Samuels leaned back in his chair. “Ever been to UNM’s History Museum? The entire second floor is filled with boxes and bags of remains—bones found on the desert, in car trunks, suitcases, lunchboxes. Some mummified. There are bags of teeth, femurs, skulls—stories, all stories that seldom get told. And all part of the OMI’s four hundred or so bodies that have never been identified.”
“Grim. And a lot of closure that would help some families heal.”
“I doubt we have a body that goes with the skull, but a name is a start and matching it with remains surfacing twenty or so years ago—who knows? We may get lucky. New DNA programs can be valuable.”
Ben got up and walked to the door. “I’ll stay in touch.”
“You know, doc, I like you but I was serious about you hiding the kid. We need to talk to him. For the time being, let’s just call him a ‘person of interest.’ I’m sure he can clear himself if he’s innocent.”
Ben wasn’t so sure but he nodded and continued out the door. He’d seen too many overly zealous law enforcement officers, wanting to wrap up a high profile case, name a plausible suspect and stop there—leading to the wrong person rotting in prison. He wouldn’t let that happen to Robby.
The wind, if anything, had become more biting. He jogged back to the Doubletree. He’d grab a heavier jacket and then put in a day at IHS. He’d just stepped into the lobby when he saw the headlines. Socialite Murdered—Son Implicated. He put fifty cents in the slot of the nearest newspaper dispenser and pulled open the front. This time there was a large picture of Connie and the story was three columns—above the crease. That hadn’t taken long. He wondered how the paper had gotten the information. Probably the same way Lieutenant Samuels had. He tucked the paper under his arm and continued to the elevators.
In the room, he spread the paper out on his bed. A lot of the article was just reiterating what had already been reported—but now the ominous word ‘murder’ was the attention-getter. Ben was curious as to how much of Robby’s former situation would be revealed. The revelation of Connie’s having had a son was referred to as “… a best kept family secret.” Robby was named as R.E. Merritt and the history of his adoption was included, noting that both adoptive parents were deceased—the mother being a murder victim.
Then the clincher: “Because of the mysterious circumstances surrounding both women’s deaths, comparisons have been drawn between the two murders.” Ben kept reading, expecting to find the bizarre laying out of the corpses. But nothing. Only the one line about drawing comparisons. This could have been worse. Did this mean the article’s author knew the truth but had chosen not to print it?
On impulse, he dialed the Journal. He was not familiar with the person named in the byline, Sally Johnston, but was curious as to her source. He hadn’t expected to find her in but was pleasantly surprised when he was immediately put through.
“Sally Johnston.”
Ben introduced himself as executor of Ms. CdeBaca’s estate and trustee of Mr. R.E. Merritt’s interests. He complimented her on the feature and then asked her source.
“Actually, an anonymous phone call. Someone left a message suggesting that I check the Haskell, Kansas Republic’s coverage of a similar story just four years ago involving a son who possibly murdered his mother. Once the OMI released cause of death, Ms. CdeBaca became news again. A Lieutenant Samuels confirmed that R.E. Merritt was, in fact, the same young man in both situations.”
“I admire your constraint. You could have implied a killer.”
“My boss thinks I’m missing a chance to sell some papers … KOAT-TV is describing Mr. Merritt as a ‘person-of-interest’ but I promised your fiancée I’d give it forty-eight hours.”
“Julie?”
“We go way back. Worked together five years ago. I trust her judgment; she has me convinced this kid didn’t do it. And after what happened to her, I think there’s a bigger story.”
“I agree, but I’m not sure forty-eight hours is enough time.”
“Best I can do. I keep reminding my boss that he doesn’t want to make apologies. People never forget when you’re wrong.”
“I forgot to ask … was the caller male or female?”
“Difficult to tell. The voice was distorted but I’m guessing male.”
Ben thanked her again and hung up. Forty-eight hours. No time at all but at
least Robby was safe. More proof that someone seemed to be setting him up. He wished now that he’d questioned Robby about where and when he was followed—what did the person or persons in the black Hummer do? Had someone tried to hit him with the vehicle? Robby had been frightened; that was obvious. Ben should have asked. He kicked himself at how hindsight, once again, was flawless.
He tucked the cell into the pocket of his jacket only to bring it out again a second later on the first ring.
“Ben, Arnold Baxter here, glad I caught up with you. I’m hoping Miss Conlin is doing well?”
Ben had forgotten to return the attorney’s call, but didn’t get the sense the man was upset with him. “She was released this morning.”
“Good to hear. When she’s feeling up to it, I have a little job that needs tackling. Perhaps, it’s one for the two of you. I took the liberty of sifting through what was left of Ms. CdeBaca’s house and putting anything salvageable into storage. A lot was lost but there were some things the family might want. Boxes of old photos, for example, some of which had been in the garage. Turned out to be the safest place on the property.”
“How soon does this have to be done?” Ben added that Julie and her mother were accompanying Connie’s body to the reservation. He omitted Robby’s name. The fewer people who knew where he was, the better.
“Oh, some time this week if you can. I don’t think there’s anything of real value. I would suggest you officiate when you invite the family to divvy things up. Could be a free-for-all, but then again, they may not be interested. I thought I’d drop off the combination to the storage unit at your office. I need to go back to Denver for a few days, but I’m only a phone call away if you need me.”
Ben thanked him. Sounded like a job for both Julie and Bev. Already he was thinking that the three of them should take a look first.
