J. Margos - Shattered Image

“So, it was this place Drew told us about,” Mike said. “Some cranky old guy owns it and won’t let us on.”

“Well, that’s what Chief Grant says. Bud Wolfram said the old guy shot at some kid who trespassed. Apparently the whole place is marked No Trespassing and he shoots on sight, no questions asked.”

“Drew said he called Chief Grant yesterday after the two of you talked,” Mike said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, the chief went out there yesterday and the old guy told him no one was coming on to his property for any reason. It would be a cold day in July before he let the police search there for anything. Then he started raving about knowing his rights.”

“Great.”

“So, we are definitely going to need a warrant, and it’ll need to be airtight or we’re hosed,” Tommy said.

“What else did you talk about with Mrs. Ferguson? Was that it?” Mike asked.

“No, son. We had a mothers’ and widows’ conversation that I thought was more appropriate. She showed me Brian’s sketches and a book he wrote. He had a doctorate in ornithology.”

“Whoa! I didn’t know that,” Tommy said.

“Yes, so that’s what all the bird watching was about. All his friends talk about what a nice guy he was.”

Tommy continued. “Yeah, we got the same impression of him. Mrs. Ferguson had talked to him on the phone the day before he disappeared. He was good about calling her regularly. They were apparently a pretty close family and kept in touch. He would go to Houston about once a month, even though he really didn’t like it there.”

“Does anyone like Houston?” Mike asked.

“Mike…”

“Well, Mom…”

“Tommy, go on.”

Tommy was smiling as he swallowed a bite of his omelette. “She said he had called her the night before. Said he was going out the next day-his day off-to do some bird watching in the surrounding countryside. He was really excited about it because he’d been working a lot and was looking forward to being outside and relaxing.”

“So, he went alone? I wonder why the girls didn’t go?”

“Actually, Mrs. Ferguson said he was looking forward to going alone and having some time to himself.”

“Did anyone check with the two girls when he didn’t come back-I mean, at the time?”

“Yeah. There was a search for him and he was never found. The two girls had totally solid alibis and were not suspects. In fact, from the way she tells it, they were devastated by his disappearance.”

“Yes, Nadine Ferguson told me that part. She said Julie was interested in him.”

“Apparently he was interested in her, too, Mom. She never really got over him.”

We finished our breakfasts and then the boys and I fought over the check, but Tommy won. It would be the Sullivans’ turn next time.

It was still raining steadily, but not heavily. I was frustrated by these two cases in Austin and troubled by the CILHI case, and the weather was not improving my mood. I drove off through the damp and gloom thinking about Addie Waldrep, Brian Ferguson and Doug Hughes, and wondering if we would ever know the truth.

On my way home I had turned off the beaten path and headed toward the cemetery without even giving it much thought. I arrived at the stoplight outside the front gates, wondering if I were going to go on in or not. The light turned green and I proceeded through the gates. I drove slowly along the narrow road inside, winding my way through various sections until I came to the section where Jack was buried. There was a grove of trees nearby, and their foliage spread shade over the grave site-at least they did on a sunny day. I parked the car along the roadside and got out.

It was misting now, and I was wearing a rain slicker I had grabbed from the back seat of the car. I walked carefully through the graves and approached Jack’s plot. I looked down at the tombstone-“John ‘Jack’ Kevin Sullivan.” Every time I looked at it, I had the same incredulous feeling-the feeling that it couldn’t be, that someone had gotten it wrong somehow. Emotion gave way to intellect, though, and I knew it was true.

I sat on a stone bench that Mike and I had placed next to the grave.

“I came to tell you that they finally found Ted’s remains in ’Nam. Guess you already knew, but I just found out.”

The mist tapered off a bit, and there was a slight rustling in the tree above me. I saw a sparrow huddled up under some leaves. I looked back down at Jack’s headstone.

“Irini asked me to help identify Ted. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have a choice. They were having trouble with it because of his DNA, and because his teeth were so good. It was hard, Jack. I got Chris to help me some, and now I have to go home and finish up the work.”

A car drove by slowly and then came to a stop up ahead at the next section of graves. I looked down at my hands and cleared my throat.

“Anyway, I guess you know I was real upset with you the other day for leaving me to deal with it all by myself, but ever since then, it’s been a little better. So, I guess you were praying for me over there, the way I do for you over here. I’m sorry. Sometimes I get to missing you so much that I forget what we both believe. I’m doing the best I can, Jack. I hope you’ll cut me some slack when I lose it over you.”

Another car pulled up behind mine and two women got out and started walking in my direction-obviously coming to visit a grave somewhere near Jack’s.

“Well, I have to go now. I have to finish Ted’s reconstruct. Go with me, Jack, and keep praying for me. I can’t have you with me physically right now, but I need to know you’re there spiritually.”

I said, “May your memory be eternal.”

I went back to the Jeep, cranked it over and drove carefully out and headed home.

When I got back to the house, I went into my studio straightaway to do what I knew I had to do. I sat looking at the partially finished face. It looked like a skeleton with muscle laid over it. It didn’t look like anyone in particular at this point, but Chris had made her sketch of the finished face with eyes and nose. Now I had to get my hands back into the clay, adding the final layer of “flesh,” including eyes instead of clay sockets, and a nose that extended beyond the bone below the flesh. Finally, I began to smooth the final layer of clay, adding those last sculptural touches that made it human. I added clay hair to the bust, parting it and creating texture in it to mimic Ted’s hair in its short military cut. Now it was done.

I sat on the stool for a while and just stared. I stared at a face I had not seen like this in over thirty years. But I had known as soon as I had put my hands on that skull in Hawaii that it was Ted. I could feel it-and I could even see it in the bone structure itself. I had to know if what I had seen in that skull was real or just what I wanted to see. That’s why I had Chris come and verify everything I had done and finish the bust for me, before I actually finished it in clay. Even then, with Chris’s blind input and the finished bust before me, I hardly believed that those meager remains belonged to my friend Ted. At that moment, looking at that face, I felt strangely numb. The feelings just didn’t come. I guess it had just taken so long to get there, it was difficult to absorb.

Chris was going to sign an affidavit and attach her sketch to it to send with my materials to CILHI. She was a well-known and respected forensic anthropologist and medical examiner. Her certification gave my work the objectivity it needed, not just for the scientists and officials at CILHI, but for me.

I looked at the clock. It was 4:30 p.m. It was 11:30 a.m. in Hawaii. I might catch Sergeant Major Tomlinson before he went to lunch. I picked up the phone and dialed the number. They transferred me to the sergeant major’s line, and he answered.