by Rich Curtin
“Is that why you were so involved with the Monticello High School football team?” asked Rivera.
“Yeah. Truth is, I was more interested in being involved with the local team than raising cattle. I was planning to build them a new stadium.”
Bennett fell silent for a few miles. Then he chuckled. “Funny,” he said. “Funny the way all this started, I mean. Near the end of our freshman year at the University of Maryland, I was part of an anti-war demonstration which took place on campus. We marched, sang protest songs, and carried signs that said Peace not War, Get out of Vietnam, Burn Your Draft Card. Slogans like that. During the march I happened to hear about the Summer of Love scheduled to take place in San Francisco. I told some of my friends about it. We got all excited and five of us decided to go as soon as the semester was over. Summer of Love—it had a nice ring to it. Seemed like a good way to spend the summer until the fall semester began. I painted a daisy and a peace symbol on my minivan and off we went, excited and not knowing what to expect. We were high and laughing as we drove westward toward our destination. Then we picked up Woody along the way and in that instant, my whole life changed forever.”
Rivera glanced at Bennett through the rear-view mirror. He waited for more, but Bennett seemed to be lost in his thoughts. “What happened when you arrived at the Dryden place?”
“Ellen and I went there to tell the family about Woody and to give them his wallet. Turned out the family place was the Dryden Ranch and the only family Woody had left was his grandfather, Jared Dryden. Jared’s eyesight was bad, and he walked with a limp. He needed help running the ranch.”
Bennett thought for a long moment as if trying to picture something from the past. “When Woody’s grandfather came out of the house and saw me, he hugged me like a long-lost relative. Deputy Rivera, I come from a broken home. I was an only child. When my parents split up, neither one of them wanted me. I moved back and forth between their homes, always feeling like I was underfoot. I often stayed at the homes of friends. Their parents felt sorry for me. One family would put me up for a while, then I’d move to another friend’s home. I was always on the move, never feeling wanted, never feeling like I belonged. When Jared Dryden hugged me that day, welcomed me back, and called me Sam, I felt a warmth I’d never experienced before. I know that sounds foolish, but it was a totally new sensation for me. I thought this was what it felt like to be loved, to be part of a family. I knew the old man needed help with the ranch, so I decided to stay with him for a while. I took Ellen to the bus station, dropped her off, and returned. I’d finally found a home.”
“So you pretended to be Sam Dryden.”
“I didn’t correct the old man when he called me ‘Sam.’ I felt sorry for him being all alone in life. I knew how that felt. So I stayed and became Sam Dryden. We had a wonderful life together. There was no ill intent in pretending to be his grandson. I thought it was good for both of us. As the years went by, the old man’s health deteriorated. He finally passed away and I inherited the ranch. By then, oil had been discovered on the land and over the years since then I’d become wealthy. Along the way, I married Susan and Bobby became my stepson. Everyone knew me as Sam Dryden and, after a few years, I’d forgotten all about Michael Bennett. In my mind I really was Sam Dryden.”
“And that worked fine until the Masons showed up.”
“Talk about bad timing.” He was quiet for a long moment. “I’d only known Woody for a few days before he died. Funny thing was, I felt close to him. Hell, I buried him with my own hands. In a way, I was finishing his life for him. So I’d go visit the grave a couple of times a month. I worried that if people saw me out there too often, they might begin to wonder why. So I told people I was going to the spring for some of that cold, delicious water. I’d park near the grave, walk down to the spring, get a drink, then come back and spend a few minutes at the grave thinking about Woody before heading back to the ranch. Funny, I still think of him as Woody instead of the real Sam Dryden.”
“The Masons decided to visit Woody’s grave. Is that where you ran into them?”
“Yes, of all the damn luck. I had gotten a drink and was returning from the spring to visit the grave. When I came over the top of the hill, I saw two people standing there. They were dressed like we used to dress in the sixties. A CD player on the ground was playing, Up, Up, and Away. Even after all those years, I recognized them instantly. Matty and Wilma. Maybe it was the song that helped me make the connection. I started to turn and go back down the hill, but it was too late. They recognized me. He altered the pitch of his voice to imitate them. ‘Michael, is that you?’ Matthew said. ‘Of course it is,’ Wilma said. ‘Why, you haven’t changed a bit,’ she said. She laughed and took a picture of me. We hugged and talked, and all the while I was trying to figure out what to do. I couldn’t risk losing the ranch. The mineral rights made it worth tens of millions. God help me, I finally decided the only thing to do was to kill them. I went to my vehicle, slipped a revolver into my pocket, walked back to where they were standing, and shot them dead.
“Then I heard the bleating of sheep. I glanced down the hill toward the spring and saw that Navajo looking up at me. He must have just arrived with his flock. More bad timing. I knew I’d have to kill him too. He’d seen me at the spring before and could identify me. I fired a couple of shots at him but he was too far away. Then I calmed down. I figured he wouldn’t report me to the authorities because those traditional Navajos don’t mix much in the white man’s world. But he might answer questions if the authorities visited him and asked. So I went back to the Masons and tried to arrange their bodies to make it look like a murder-suicide. I took their CD player and their camera with me when I left and got rid of them in the county dump. I smashed the memory chip in the camera and the disc in the CD player. Then I waited a few days and got the sheepherder with a rifle shot. Or thought I did. I killed the wrong sheepherder. God help me. I don’t know what got into me. I must have gone crazy.”
Rivera thought he heard muffled sniffling coming from the back seat.
“I really did love Grandfather Dryden, though,” said Bennett, almost to himself. Then he fell silent.
As he drove, Rivera thought about Bennett’s history. The decision to go to the Summer of Love had been a major fork in the road of his life’s journey. Take away that decision and he probably would have spent his life as a high school football coach somewhere in Maryland.
But in the end, it was greed that had ruined Bennett’s life. The lust for wealth. It brought out the coyote within him, as the Navajos believed, and made him kill. Now, as he looked at what he’d done with his life, he felt nothing but regret.
30
RIVERA WAS AWAKENED by the escalating guitar riffs of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Freebird. He reached over to the clock radio and hit the off button, then sat up on the edge of his bed, rubbed his eyes, and waited for full consciousness to set in. When it did, he got up, started the coffee maker, and took a shower.
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped outside of his motel room. It was a cold morning, but the sky was clear, promising another mild day. He was in no hurry. He would have a leisurely breakfast at the Twin Rocks cafe, then drive to Monticello to finalize his report and say goodbye to everyone at the Sheriff’s Office.
As he hoisted himself into his pickup, his cell phone buzzed. It was Dr. Pudge Devlin.
“I heard you broke the case. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Pudge. And thanks for coming down to San Juan County to help me out.”
Devlin cleared his throat. “Someday, when you’re visiting me in Castle Valley and we’re drinking some of my prize-winning Merlot, and it’s just the two of us, I’d like to know what gave you the brilliant idea to unlock that window in the mortuary building. That was a mighty fine thing to do.”
“I was wondering if you’d seen me do that. It’s probably something we should keep to ourselves.”
“I suppose so. But you’ll have to owe me one. A big one.”
Rivera laughed. “Pudge, if you rat me out, I could claim you were an accomplice.”
Devlin cackled. “Touché. Anyway, get your ass out to my place as soon as you can so we can celebrate our little conspiracy.”
“I’ll do it Pudge. And thanks for the call.”
Rivera’s cell phone buzzed again. This time it was Gloria.
“Hey, Manny, guess what?”
“God, it’s great to hear your voice. Good news. The case is closed. I’ll be leaving for Abiquiu this afternoon.”
“Oh, no. You stay right there. I’m coming to Bluff.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Sheriff Gallegos said I could take some vacation time. Why don’t we stay a couple of days in Bluff and do some snuggling?”
“Great idea.”
“I’ll be leaving in a little while. I want to hear all about your case and see the area where it took place.”
Rivera was thrilled Gloria was coming. He informed the motel manager that he’d be staying a couple of more days, ate breakfast, and started driving toward Monticello. Then he stopped. There was one other thing he needed to do first.
He drove eastward toward Aneth and navigated the back roads to the Nez sheep camp. Dibé greeted him with a smile. He informed her that the man who killed her uncle and the two people from California had been arrested, so it was once again safe for her father to take the flock to the spring and graze the sheep up there. She told him that would make the Nez family very happy.
Rivera drove to Monticello, finished his report, printed it out, and gave a copy to Hilda, Sheriff Zilic’s secretary. Then he made several phone calls. The first was to Linda Mason Hart, the Masons’ daughter. He explained to her the reason why her parents had been murdered. She was angry and said it wasn’t fair. Then she thanked him, said goodbye, and hung up.
Next, he called Virginia Stolte and Ellen Yardley on a conference call and told them the story of what had happened. He covered their trip of fifty years ago and then jumped to the events of the past week. Neither one could believe what Michael Bennett had done. Both said he hadn’t seemed like a killer. They wanted to know what would become of him. Rivera said that was up to a jury and left it at that. The two ladies promised to stay in touch with each other.
He sat back, wondering if there was anyone else he should call. Bill Converse came to mind. He deserved to know the story since he and the accused had been close friends for most of their lives. He punched in the number. Converse was dumbfounded after learning what had happened.
“You mean he really isn’t Sam Dryden?”
“That’s right. His name is Michael Bennett.”
“He was pretending the whole time?”
“I believe that, at first, it was a pretense. But as the years went by, he came to think of himself as Sam Dryden. In his mind, Michael Bennett had faded from existence.”
“You know, I feel kind of stupid. But how could I have known? He was introduced to me as Jared Dryden’s grandson. By Jared himself.”
“It’s understandable how people were fooled.”
“My best friend for almost fifty years was a fraud,” he said, almost to himself. “I may never get over this.” He hung up.
Rivera sat back in his chair, reflecting on what Converse must be feeling at this moment. Sam Dryden was a large part of his life. Now, all the memories of his time with Sam would be forever tainted by the deceit.
“Don’t get too comfortable in that chair,” came a familiar voice from behind Rivera.
He turned and saw Emmett Mitchell standing in the doorway with a big grin. He was supporting himself with a pair of crutches.
Rivera laughed and got up. He grabbed his old friend by the shoulders. “Good to see you up and around, Emmett. How are you feeling?’
“I’m fine. I heard you broke the case. Nice job.”
“Thanks. I was just getting ready to give the sheriff a final briefing. Want to come along?’
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Wait just a minute. I’ll see if Nick can join us.”
Rivera found Nick Lathrop in his office. “Nick, let’s give the sheriff a final briefing on the case.”
Lathrop looked up. “You really want me to come along?”
“Sure. We worked on it together.”
“I don’t think I contributed much. Matter of fact, I’m kind of ashamed of my performance.”
“Remember what I told you. It doesn’t matter who solves the case. What matters is that it gets solved.”
Lathrop smiled, got up. “You mean we’re still a team?”
“Of course. C’mon, let’s go.”
Rivera, Lathrop, and Mitchell occupied the three chairs in front of Sheriff Zilic’s desk, Rivera in the middle chair. He described the cross-country trip of fifty years ago, the sequence of events that led to the murders of the Masons and Nez, and summed up by describing the chronology of his investigation and the arrest of Michael Bennett. He left out any reference to Nick Lathrop’s hasty arrest of Bobby Dryden, but suspected that Zilic already knew about that.
Zilic leaned back in his chair, smiled, and patted his midsection with the palms of his hands. “The Summer of Love. Well, isn’t that something. Okay then, that’s it. Good job. By the way, I learned something interesting this morning that you might not know. I got a call from Hanson and Hanson, a small law firm in Blanding. It’s a father and son operation, both of them lawyers. It was the son who called me. He said his father had drawn up a will for Jared Dryden decades ago in which Jared left everything to his grandson. The will stipulated that in the event the grandson predeceased the grandfather, the entire estate would go to the American Heart Association. Jared had chosen that charity because his wife died of cardiac arrest. Since the boy died before his grandfather, Michael Bennett doesn’t really own the place. The ranch now belongs to the American Heart Association.”
“So Bobby Dryden ends up with nothing,” said Nick Lathrop, a smile on his face.
“That’s right,” said Zilic. “Now he’ll have to start working for a living. Unfortunately, our high school football team also comes up a loser. No new stadium. Well, gentlemen, I guess that’s a wrap.” He pushed himself out of his chair, came around his desk, and shook Rivera’s hand. “Manny, thanks again for your help. I sure do appreciate it.” He turned to Lathrop with a wry grin. “Nick, I hope you’ve learned a few things from all this.”
Nick thought for a long moment. “I guess I learned that I’ve got a lot to learn.”
As they were leaving Zilic’s office, Hilda motioned for Rivera to come over to her desk. She was holding his report. It was obvious from her manner that she had something important and private to tell him. He sat down in the chair next to her desk.
She spoke in a hushed voice. “Deputy Rivera, I just finished reading your report. I saw something in there that I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve worked here since I was in my early twenties. That means I’ve been here a lot longer than either Sheriff Zilic or Emmett Mitchell. It’s about Herman. I’ve known him since he was just a young man. When he was about thirty-five or so, he met Abby. They fell in love and got married. They were inseparable and devoted to each other. Everyone adored them as a couple. One morning they were driving from Bluff to Blanding in freezing weather. Herman was behind the wheel. The driver of an eighteen-wheeler coming from the opposite direction lost control of his vehicle on a section of icy pavement and skidded sideways across the road. There was a horrible collision and Abby was killed. Herman was injured, that’s why he has those scars on his face. He tortured himself with grief for what happened and blamed himself even though it wasn’t his fault. He nearly lost his mind. Eventually he moved out of Bluff and built that place out there where he lives now. Somehow that helped him deal with his loss. I just thought you should know—Abby has been dead for years. Do you want to change anything in your report?”
Rivera felt like he’d just been kicked in the stomach. He thought for a mome
nt about Herman and his life. “No. Let’s leave it the way it is.”
He returned to the office, collected his things, and said his goodbyes to the staff of the San Juan County Sheriff’s Office. He left the building and headed south to Bluff in his personal vehicle.
31
THE SUN HAD SET and Sleeping Ute Mountain was glowing a crimson color from the light reflecting off the clouds in the west. Rivera had been explaining the details of the case to Gloria ever since they’d left Bluff. Now they were turning onto Route 347, rising out of Montezuma Canyon to the top of the mesa. Rivera slowed his pickup so Gloria could take in the view.
“These hills are so beautiful,” she said.
“The high desert is a magnificent place,” said Rivera. “This part of Utah looks very different from the Moab area and very different from what you see in Abiquiu. All three are different but each is striking in its own way.”
Rivera glanced at Gloria as he drove toward the crime scene. She seemed more beautiful than ever. He had the engagement ring in his pocket—he’d made sure of that. He was a little nervous, wondering if this was the right place and the right time to pop the question. Gloria had wanted to hear all about the case and see where everything had taken place—the grave, the airstrip, Herman’s place, and the spring. Kind of a law enforcement moment shared by two officers. One cop recounting the details of a case to another cop—not very romantic. Probably the mood wouldn’t be right.
The sunset, however, was doing its part to help set the right ambiance. Now the western sky was showing off with a bright display of purple and pink and orange colors radiating through an opening between the horizon and a gray cloud layer hovering above it. A full moon was rising in the east and Venus had made its appearance. The temperature was dropping, and the air was crystal clear.
“Right over this hill is the airstrip and Woody’s grave, but let’s not stop there now. We’ll continue on to Herman’s place and the spring. Then we’ll come back here.”