Shattered Image

by J. F. Margos

  Leo stopped near the water’s edge and looked down at the naked grave site. Then she looked up and around at that end of the isle. She turned and looked back in the direction from which we had come. She stood thinking for a moment and then turned and faced the mighty dam, and with her hands on her hips she stood like that for several minutes. I said nothing.

  Finally she spoke. “This wasn’t the reason the killer went back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This victim—she wasn’t the reason he went back. He went back to where they were buried because of the one we found today. That was his purpose—whatever it was, that was his purpose.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because there was purpose in it. This one I think he took and reburied just because he was there. He went there for the victim we found this morning, but for some reason he just decided to take her, too, and be rid of her. He just couldn’t bring himself to dump her.”

  “So, he buried her here and thought she’d wash away.”

  Leo nodded. “Look at this place. The edge of it is soaked in water right now.”

  Leo was wearing jeans and a lightweight sweatshirt, and sturdy hiking boots. The water lapped up against the edge of her right foot. The area where Addie had been buried was damp.

  “The water has been up over this spot already,” Leo said. “They must have had more than one gate open last night.”

  I nodded.

  “How would the killer know to come exactly to this place?”

  We both looked at each other. We stood in silence for a moment.

  “So, what do you think the purpose was in exposing the victim we found this morning?”

  “Don’t know, but it’s too obvious. That had to be his main purpose. When we find out who that victim is, we may be able to figure all this out. But this…I believe this was secondary.”

  The water lapped up around Leo’s feet.

  Leo broke the silence first. “So what’s up with your Vietnam case?”

  I sighed and ran my hand through my hair.

  “Tommy told me you went to Hawaii to start the work on the restoration of the MIA.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I’m still pretty jet-lagged, too.”

  “So, how did it all go?”

  “It was difficult. I handled the skull of someone I might have known over thirty years ago. I’ve never done a reconstruct on someone I knew, and I wouldn’t do one under any other circumstance. I’ve thought a lot about Ted lately, his last days, and about Jack.”

  “I know you miss Jack. He was a cool guy.”

  “Yeah, he was. Sometimes it’s hard for me to even realize that he’s not here anymore. If I think about it too much—remember him too well—it overwhelms me.”

  “I understand that totally. It isn’t romantic for me, like it is for you, but I feel that same kind of awful reality when I think too much about Bobby.”

  It was the first time since Bobby Driskill’s death I had heard Leo mention her brother by his name.

  “When Bobby was alive, everything was different. In a way it was easier for me because he took care of everything, and I could just be the little sister. Pete tries, but he’s so laid-back, so different from Bobby—and that’s not a bad thing. Pete has to be Pete. I love him just like he is. It’s just that I have to be a grown-up now.” She smiled. “Pete barely qualifies as one.”

  “Tommy is strong, though.”

  “Tommy and I are still trying to rebuild what we had, and then move on from there. Trying to repair ourselves—individually and together. He just blamed himself so much when Bobby got shot. He still struggles with it. I can tell him it’s okay—and it is, as far as I’m concerned—but I can’t really help him because I still have my own grief. I think he misunderstands that sometimes. It has nothing to do with him, but I think he feels like it does.”

  I nodded. This is why she doesn’t sleep, I thought.

  “How often do you talk openly with him about it?” I asked.

  “I guess not very often. We both work a lot. Our cases take so much of our time and energy. When I work with him on a case—like the warehouse fire—it’s difficult to do my job the way I know I need to and tend to his needs at the same time.”

  “All the more reason to set aside time to be up front with him, Leo.”

  “I know, Toni, but it’s easier for you than it is for me. That kind of directness is just part of your nature. I have to really work at it.”

  I smiled and put my hand on her shoulder. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

  “Just talking to you helps.”

  “Good,” I said. “That’s what friends are for. Now, what’s the latest on your warehouse fire?”

  She smiled. “I brought that big fat liar in for questioning and spent hours just grilling him. The forensic shrink gave me some good tips on how to handle him. I Mirandized him first, he declined counsel, and another investigator and I went after him. We videotaped the whole thing from start to finish so nobody could say we didn’t do it right. Finally, the squatty-bodied little runt caved. He admitted the whole thing. He knew the type of accelerant used and everything.”

  “Excellent!”

  “Yeah.” She grinned, then her grin began to fade a bit. “Tommy was furious, though. He and Mike were sure the other guy was the one. I knew that my suspect was trying to make him look guilty. Anyway, I didn’t do it to make Tommy look bad. I discussed it with both of them before I went forward. I offered to let them participate, but they blew me off.”

  “Well, then, let the chips fall where they may, Leo. My son and his partner are big boys. They made that decision and it turned out not to be a very good one. That’s not your fault. Nice work on your part. You stopped a pyromaniac and killer, and kept an innocent man from being falsely accused.”

  “Yeah.” She grinned again now. “Not bad for a day’s work.”

  I had started work on the CILHI bust. I had to document everything I was doing. That meant stopping frequently to photograph the progress, as well as keeping copious notes, all of which would be turned over to CILHI upon completion of the project.

  Dr. Carroway had given me the gender, race and approximate age of the deceased. I could assume nothing about the victim before I began my reconstruct. I pulled the tissue-depth data from one of my charts and carefully measured and cut markers for each part of the face. This was the most painstaking part of the process for me. I worked on it for the bulk of the afternoon, but the fatigue from the trip to Hawaii caught up with me and I turned off the lights and closed the door to my studio at 4:00 p.m. I never close the door to my studio—or any other room in the house—but somehow it seemed like the thing to do this time.

  I went in to the kitchen and made myself a cup of hot hibiscus tea. I took my tea back into the living room and sat looking out the French doors at the sights of oncoming spring. I went back in my mind to the first time I met Ted Nikolaides.

  I hadn’t been in Da Nang for long, when my gregarious friend decided to come and meet the “new girl.” He came right into the ward where I worked and introduced himself. He saw I wasn’t wearing a wedding band and decided he would find me a man. I laughed at the time at this man so enthusiastic and determined in his old-country matchmaking. It soon became apparent that Ted Nikolaides had a special knack for the task. In the end, Ted had found the perfect man for me—a man who had become the love of my life and with whom I’d had my son. The problem I was having was that my blessings were so numerous and so very much the result of Teddy’s friendship and caring. It seemed incredible to me that this reconstruct would be the only way I would finally have to repay such a friend.

  I left the living room and went to my bedroom closet. I got a stool and climbed up into the top and pulled down two big boxes. I took them into the living room and set them on the floor. Then I went into the kitchen and brewed more tea.

  I brought my tea into the living room and sat down on the floor next to t
he boxes. I opened the lid on the first one and found in it Jack’s badge, his gun and his various citations. I had intended a thousand times to make a special case to display all these things, but somehow I had never gotten around to it.

  When Jack had died so suddenly, I had been in shock. I boxed up everything that belonged to him and put it away. It seemed at the time that it was easier to deal with that way. In retrospect, I don’t know if it really was or not. I’m not sure anything really makes that kind of separation easier.

  I set those things aside and continued to dig in the box. There was a scrapbook I had made of our Vietnam experience. In it were photos of all our friends, the dog we had adopted, the barracks we’d lived in, the dive where we’d eaten and hung out, and Ted. Ted clowning, Ted beaming, Ted laughing. Picture after picture of Ted and Jack yucking it up—the two young bucks in their military uniforms—one a pilot and the other a military policeman.

  I felt sick and sad. I could remember meeting Jack—how tall and handsome he was. He was smart and funny, and he had this very sentimental center that he hid from everyone else, but I saw it. Now I could remember the touch of his hand, the feel of his arms and the way he held me. I could remember the smell of his skin—not his cologne, but that wonderful masculine smell that I could only experience when my cheek was right next to his and my nose was pressed against his face.

  Time seemed compressed to me now. I didn’t feel like a woman of sixty, but the same young girl who had been in Vietnam over thirty years ago. Everything that happened between me and Jack and Ted was yesterday—but it wasn’t. Ted had been shot down and now Jack was gone. I sat on the floor with mementos scattered all around me—my past on paper in my hands.

  I dropped the scrapbook on the floor in front of me and put my head in my hands, and I wept out loud. “Jack, why couldn’t you be here with me now? How could you leave me with this?”

  Chapter Eleven

  I slept late. I guess the jet lag really got to me. It was 10:00 a.m. and I was still sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and eating waffles.

  I was halfway through the first waffle when Chris Nakis appeared at my front door. I stood before her in an old work shirt with clay stains and holes in it, my shaggiest blue-jean cutoffs and no shoes, with my unwashed hair plastered down to my head. She, on the other hand, was wearing a crisp navy cotton twill skirt and a burgundy cotton short-sleeve shirt and her best sensible shoes. As small and youthful-looking as she appeared for a forty-four-year-old woman, she could have passed that morning for a teenager from one of the local parochial high schools.

  I offered her a waffle, but she declined, accepting a cup of my French roast with satisfaction.

  “You have news or you wouldn’t be here, so what’s up?”

  “The victim we dug up yesterday morning was a male.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Definitely.”

  “What’s the approximate age of the victim?”

  “I’d say somewhere between the ages of thirty and thirty-five.”

  “It could be Doug Hughes then. The age is right.”

  “That would explain the similarity between the burial and reburial of the bodies.”

  “Did you find the same kind of soil samples as before?”

  “Well, it looks like it, but I’ve sent them to A&M again for comparison with the others.”

  “Did they ever get back to us on the first ones?”

  “Not yet, but they’ve promised me some kind of answer soon.”

  “I want to start the reconstruct as soon as possible.”

  “I thought you were working on this CILHI thing.”

  “I am, but we need some answers in this case. I already know the perpetrator of the crimes against our MIA. I want to get an ID on this Waller Creek victim now.”

  “Okay, then come on down to the morgue anytime and we’ll get started.”

  “Did you determine yet how this one was killed?”

  “It wasn’t a bullet to the head. I had to make a thorough inspection of the bones, but I found some marks on the ribs that indicate to me that this person was shot, a couple of times—just not in the head.”

  “Have you told Leo yet?”

  “Actually, she came down to the morgue late yesterday and I went over everything with her.”

  “Good. I’ll be down later today to get started.”

  I got dressed and went down to my son’s office. When I walked into the Homicide Division I was greeted warmly by many old friends. I either knew them because of Jack, or I knew them because of Mike. Either way, they all knew me.

  Mike and Tommy were engrossed in some discussion over an open file on Tommy’s desk. They both looked up as I approached.

  “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

  “There’s something I want to do, but I don’t want to just haul off and do it without clearing it with you two first.”

  Tommy and Mike looked at each other. They had that “Oh, no” look on their faces.

  “I would like to go and talk to Dody Waldrep myself, and I may want to visit with Jimmy Hughes again.”

  “Mom.”

  “I’ll take Leo with me—unofficially, of course—but I feel the need to talk to Dody in person and to see Jimmy again.”

  “Mom, you are not investigating this case. You’re doing the forensic sculptures, but we are the detectives, and—”

  Tommy interrupted. “Why?”

  “What?” Mike asked.

  “Not you, her—why? Why do you feel you have to talk to him?”

  “I want to meet Dody and get a feel for him myself. Then I may want to meet the girl, Lori, too. I want to revisit Jimmy because I feel I could make more progress than I did last time.”

  “You already made more progress with him than we have,” Tommy said. “But here’s a news flash for you.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve had surveillance on him since the second set of bones popped up.”

  “And?”

  “Lori Webster came to his house yesterday, Mom, and she stayed over,” Mike added.

  Tommy sighed. “We were going to go talk to him, but the truth is, I’m willing to let you try first. He’s not going to tell us anything anyway.”

  “Tommy…” Mike started.

  Tommy held up his hand. “Like it or not, Junior, Toni gets more out of this guy.”

  “What about Dody and Lori?” I asked.

  Tommy waved his hand. “Why not? That old drunk seems pretty harmless to me, and the girl is just whacked.”

  Mike sighed and put his hands on his hips.

  “Tommy, you cannot be real. This guy may be drunk, but who knows what he could do, and you’re actually going to let my mom go and talk to him?”

  “Technically, I can’t stop a private citizen from having a conversation with another private citizen. More to the point is the fact that they all might talk more to her than any of them did to you and me, simply because she’s a woman and she’s not a cop.”

  “And the risk?” Mike asked.

  “Mike, you need to get real. Toni’s a black belt in aikido, and if I remember right, she outranks you, pal.”

  Mike shook his head in frustration.

  “Besides, my girlfriend is going with her, and she is a cop. She also knows a lot about behavior. I’d like to hear what she thinks about all of them.”

  “It’s our case, Tommy.”

  “That’s ego, man. I’m interested in information. Leo will go with her—off duty.” He glared at me.

  “Absolutely, off duty,” I agreed.

  “Leo’s a trained law enforcement officer.” He picked up his cell phone and dialed. “You’ll be fine with her along.” He spoke into the cell phone now, “Hi, talking to Toni here about the two of you going to see Jimmy Hughes again, this Waldrep character, and maybe even the Webster woman…” He paused, so I knew Leo must be talking. “Well, if you’ll keep your shirt on five seconds and let me finish, okay? All I was going to say is, they m
ight do more talking to the two of you than they did to us, but you go off duty only, Leo, and wear that ankle holster I gave you like before. No arguments…” He paused again, and then he said goodbye and hung up.

  “I’m sure she agreed to those terms,” I said.

  “She did.” He smiled. “Finesse them, Toni. Get me some new information, would you? Right now all I’ve got is bupkes and two skeletons dug out of the mud.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Leo drove into town from her houseboat on the lake and parked her Jeep in front of my house. I came outside just as she drove up. She got out of the Jeep wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a windbreaker. She pulled up her trouser leg and smiled.

  “As ordered,” she said.

  “I see,” I said. “Let’s go in my Mustang.”

  “Cool! I haven’t ridden in this hot rod in a while, it’ll be fun.”

  “I think we should visit Jimmy Hughes again first. I want to ask him about Lori Webster and his brother. Let’s see if we can get him to tell us anything.”

  “Works for me. Tommy says he’s not talking to them. Just stalls them.”

  I cranked up the Fastback and we backed out of the driveway and took off in a blue streak.

  When we got to Jimmy’s, he was outside working on his truck in his carport. He pulled his head out from under the hood as we pulled up. He wiped his hands on an old red rag as we walked up the gravel driveway.

  “Y’all back again?”

  “Hi, Jimmy, how are you?” I asked.

  “All right, I guess. Got too many people asking a lot of questions, but other than that, I’m all right.”

  “I want to ask questions, too, Jimmy. I want to ask questions because I have to know what happened to Addie. Don’t you want to know what happened to her?”

  He shrugged. “I guess so, although she’s gone now and there ain’t nothin’ I can do about it. Already figured she was gone a long time ago.”

  “I know you care, Jimmy, because you came forward and identified her.”

  “Way I look at it, I just did what I was supposed to. So, what is it you want to know now?”