J. Margos - Shattered Image

“That’s okay. I understand that, but I would prefer to learn from you, Toni.”

I smiled. “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll be happy to teach you.”

The food was delivered to the table and there wasn’t a lot of chatter while the boys wolfed down their dinner as if they hadn’t eaten in three days. I thought with their mouths full, it would be a good time for me to update them on what I had learned recently, and the latest thoughts I had about the case. I filled them in and they listened without much comment.

“So, what I’d like to do now-with your blessing, of course-is go visit Mrs. Ferguson. I’d like to talk to her about Brian’s habits, but I’d also like to just visit with her a little. This whole case, and the way Brian was killed in particular, really gets to me, and as one mother to another, I’d like to visit with her.”

“Mom, I just don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, you’ve been to see Jimmy, Dody and Lori, and you didn’t really find out anything new, so I don’t see the point.”

“We did find out something new. We found out Jimmy is withholding something.”

“Leo thinks,” Mike said.

“We also know that Jimmy wants us to believe that Addie and Doug were not involved with one another, but that Dody believes they definitely were. That could become important later.”

“Mom, we don’t need civilians poking around in all this. We can close the case on our own.”

“Excuse me, but I’d like to point out a few things here,” Tommy interjected. “First of all, don’t talk to your mom like that. It’s rude, and it bothers me-a lot.”

Mike sighed.

“Hey, this ain’t the dojo, man. I’m the senior guy here. You may not like it, Mike, but your mom is not a civilian. She’s in law enforcement-she’s a forensic artist and scientist. You don’t have to carry a badge and a gun to be in law enforcement. My sister is a toxicologist at the State Crime Lab. She’s in law enforcement, too.”

“Yeah, but your sister doesn’t go all over the place questioning people.”

“That’s only because she’s a science geek and that isn’t her thing. Your mother is good at this and people talk to her. She might have gotten something out of Dody, but as it is, she didn’t hurt anything by talking to him either-and it did help us to have Leo observe him, and Jimmy and Lori, and give us her assessment.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” I said.

“Toni put the faces back on both of these victims, Mike. Frankly, I don’t know how she does that without getting involved with them. I think it would mess me up. It doesn’t surprise me that she has to know.” Tommy turned to me now. “There’s no harm, Toni, in you talking to Mrs. Ferguson. I’ll give you her number. She’s not dangerous and she’s not a suspect. You’re both widows and mothers of a son. She may very well remember things in talking to you that she didn’t when she talked to me and Mike. Plus, she was really touched by what you did for her. Might be good for her to get to meet you. I feel sorry for her, too. She doesn’t have long to live, and she didn’t deserve for any of this horror to happen to her.”

His eyes misted up a little now. He was fiery sometimes, but Tommy Lucero had that sentimental heart. Sometimes it served him well, as in this case. Sometimes it burdened him with guilt, as with the death of Bobby Driskill.

“I never thought about it that way,” Mike said. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was wrong to jump all over you. I just didn’t think about all that stuff.”

“That’s because you got your ego wrapped so tight around your head, it’s like a tourniquet on your brain,” Tommy said.

I busted out laughing. Then Tommy started to laugh and Mike couldn’t help but join in.

When our laughter tapered off, Tommy said, “Okay, just one thing, Toni.”

“What’s that?”

“You share whatever you find down there.”

“That’s a given, Tomas. That’s always a given.”

I had called Mrs. Ferguson and told her I was the artist who had done the bust of her son. She was glad to speak with me and thanked me for what I had done for her. I told her I appreciated her comments, but that finding Brian’s remains was luck, and someone else’s “luck” at that-all I had done was my job. When I told her that I would like to come down and visit with her, she readily agreed.

The weather the next morning was grim. It was gray and cloudy and it drizzled all morning. It didn’t improve any as I got closer to Houston. I followed Mrs. Ferguson’s directions and arrived at her home about 10:30 a.m. I had dressed in my nicest black slacks, a dark green cotton shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves and my “citified” short, black zip-up boots. I pulled up to the curb in my black Pony and shut the power plant off to hear the soft pattering of rainfall on the roof and windshield. I grabbed a slicker from the back seat, threw it on over my clothes and exited the car.

Down the street about three houses away, I could have sworn that I saw Lori Webster. It was gray and rainy and difficult to see. I went toward the person, but she turned and hurried away from me. I wasn’t going to chase her in the rain. It certainly looked like her, but I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. If it was her, I wondered why on earth she would come here to Mrs. Ferguson’s.

As I got to the front door, Mrs. Ferguson opened it. She must have heard the rumble of the Mustang pulling up out front. She was thin and her hand quivered slightly as she extended it to me. I could see the blue veins through her delicate skin, but the brightness was there in her eyes. I could see her spirit had not dimmed in spite of all the tragedy she had endured.

“Toni?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come in. I have coffee for us.”

She had a nice little house in a middle-class suburb in Houston. The house was a light-colored brick, single-story home with off-white trim and shutters. It was about two thousand square feet and as neat and tidy inside as any home I’d ever seen. We sat in her sunroom and had our coffee and just chatted for a few minutes.

“Well, Toni, it’s so nice to meet you after what you’ve done for me, but I know you didn’t come here just to socialize. You have something to discuss with me about Brian, I’m sure.”

“Yes, Mrs. Ferguson, I do. My son is one of the homicide detectives on the case…”

“I wondered if the name Sullivan for both of you was a coincidence or not.”

“No, ma’am, it isn’t.”

“He was such a nice boy. Actually, both of the detectives were kind to me. Your son seems like such a nice man, though.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ferguson.”

“Oh, you must call me Nadine. I’m sorry, Toni, you were trying to tell me something about the case?”

“Yes, Nadine. I was saying that I’m working with the police to try to put some things together about this case. We have one investigator working with us who has helped us develop some behavioral theories. In connection with that, and trying to gather more evidence to help bring it all together, I was hoping you could give me some idea of where Brian liked to go to do his hiking and bird watching, and maybe tell me something about his friends in Hempstead.”

“Oh. Oh, dear. Well, he mentioned several places. I’m not sure if I can remember the names, though. Let me see… Oh, it’s been so long.”

“Well, if you can’t remember the places, maybe you remember some of the people who knew him in Hempstead. People that might know where he did his bird watching.”

“You know, I know I can do that. He had two very good friends at that time, both of whom even occasionally went with him. They would know where he went.”

“Good.”