J. Margos - Shattered Image

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?”

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 might 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.”