Shattered Image

by J. F. Margos

  I nodded.

  “Doug’s mother has always sworn that her son wouldn’t have had an affair with Addie. She always said that they were friends and she knew he wouldn’t do that, but you know, she’s his mother, so what would you think she’d say?”

  “She would know him real well.”

  “Well, I know, hon, but still she wouldn’t be wanting to think her boy would do something like that even if he was guilty of it, now, would she?”

  “Did she have anything to back up what she said?”

  “She claimed that Doug was just being friendly to Addie and all because he felt sorry for her—on account of Dody being so hard to live with. She said that Doug was sweet on some girl in Rock Hill—I forget her name now—but, anyway, none of us ever saw him with anybody, so I always just dismissed that as his mama’s wishful thinkin’.”

  “Think he could have killed Addie?”

  “Doug? Oh, my! I just don’t see that. I mean, I think Doug would have run off with her, but I just can’t imagine that he killed her.”

  “So, what do you think happened?”

  “Well, hon, I think maybe they broke up after they left here, and she just fell into the hands of the wrong person.”

  “You don’t think Dody could have done it?”

  “Well, I don’t know. If he did, he’d have had to kill both of them. I just can’t imagine Dody being a killer. He’s contrary and he’s kind of an oddball sometimes, but I think he’s basically harmless. I mean, he was always hard on Addie, but he never did lay hands on her—you know, hit her or anything. If he had, the whole town would have known about that. I mean, you can’t get a hangnail ’round here without everybody knowing.”

  “I’ve heard that Doug’s mother hasn’t heard from him since the time he disappeared with Addie. Is that true?”

  “Oh yes, that is true. I’ve often wondered about that myself. Perhaps he and Addie were both killed out on the road somewhere and we just haven’t found his bones yet.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps.” We both paused for a few seconds. “So, what happened with Dody and the girls after she left?” I took another huge bite of pie.

  “Oh well, he was never the same person again. That’s another reason I don’t think he could have killed them. When she ran off, he just kind of came apart. I mean, he was still negative and all, but he hardly ever talked to folks. He withdrew, kind of. Had a lot of stomach problems—ulcers, you know.” She looked at me knowingly and nodded.

  “I see.”

  “Yes,” she continued. “Ulcers and then with all his drinkin’—he started that after she run off—with all his drinkin’ on top of those ulcers…” She made a soft clicking noise with her tongue behind her teeth.

  “Then he left about fourteen years ago?”

  “Yes, to move to Manor, but those little girls spent most of their time with their grandmother anyway—Addie’s mama—Dody’s mama passed away some years ago.”

  “Well, it just all seems so sad.”

  “Yes, it does,” Doris sighed.

  I paid her for the lunch and that awesome pie and headed back to Austin. On the way, I pondered everything I had seen and everything Doris had told me, and I wondered what had befallen Addie and Doug after they had left Viola, or if they had ever left Viola. I wanted to know if she had really been involved with Doug. I wanted to know what had really happened.

  I was packing my clothes for the trip to Hawaii. All of my sculpture supplies were already packed in a case that I would carry with me on the trip. I was standing in the doorway to my closet trying to decide what final pieces of my wardrobe I would take with me, when I heard the front door open.

  “Mom?”

  “I’m back here—in my closet.”

  I heard Mike’s heavy footsteps coming across the living room floor and then down the hallway. I looked up to see my son standing in the door to my room. He was wearing jeans and a golf shirt with the tail out.

  “What are you doing here, son?”

  “I came over to take you to the airport. You’re not through packing yet?”

  “You don’t have to take me to the airport.”

  “Of course I don’t, but that’s beside the point. I am taking you to the airport. Mom, your flight leaves in three hours. I thought you’d be done packing.”

  “Thought wrong, but I am almost done. I just need to make a decision on one more thing…”

  He sighed. It was one of those deep, male, “I totally don’t get this” kind of sighs. I finally selected one of my favorite sundresses. I removed it from the hanger, folded it neatly and placed it in my bag. Then I closed the top and zipped the bag up. I was done.

  “There.”

  “You’re done?”

  “Yes. I told you I only needed one more thing.”

  “So, your supplies are already packed? Please tell me that your supplies are already packed.”

  “Yes, Michael. I packed those four days ago.”

  “Good.”

  “So, why did you decide you needed to take me to the airport?”

  “For one thing, you don’t need to be leaving one of the cars out there for several days. Grandpa doesn’t need to be driving you out there either—the traffic is awful, and he gets hacked off with the way people drive. I’m off today, and what kind of a son would I be if I didn’t take my mom to the airport?”

  I gave him one of my looks and raised my left eyebrow.

  “You’re a lousy storyteller, Michael Sullivan.”

  He looked down at his feet.

  “I didn’t want to send you off to do something like this without moral support. I don’t want you coming back from this trip and having to drive yourself home alone either.”

  I nodded.

  “You’re a pretty decent son, Michael Sullivan.” I smiled and then patted him on the arm.

  “Don’t go gettin’ mushy on me or anything, Mom.”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of that.”

  We both grinned at each other. I looked up at my only child and marveled. He was six feet one inch tall, and with his strawberry-blond hair and blue eyes he was the spitting image of my husband. Now he was in the same line of work as Jack, too. Now my little boy was a big man who carried a badge and a gun. Then I couldn’t help myself, and I reached up and put my arms around the neck of my “little” boy. My son whom I used to hold in my arms when he cried. My son whose boo-boos I used to kiss and assure him everything was okay. Then something incredible happened.

  “It’s all going to be okay, Mom.” He squeezed me tight. “I’m here for you, and we’ll get through this thing with Uncle Teddy together.”

  Tears were streaming down my face. I had not intended to lean on my son for support through this, but without my asking or saying so much as a single word, here he was. I wept because it was the first time my small boy had changed roles and become the man to buck up his ol’ ma.

  He pulled away from me and pulled his hankie out of his pocket. “No more of that cryin’ now. Wipe your face, and let’s get your stuff loaded in the car and get on the road. You’re the best in your field, and you’ve faced worse things in life than this. You can do this. Let’s get going.”

  Chapter Nine

  The flight from Austin had been uneventful. The plane landed on the tarmac in Honolulu and I looked out the window to see Hawaii. I hadn’t been here in a couple of years, since the last reconstruct I did for CILHI. Every time I came here it reminded me of Vietnam—not because of CILHI, but because I had stopped here on my way home from Vietnam. Jack and I had pulled one of our R&Rs here, too. Hawaii would be forever associated with Vietnam in my mind, but no post-Vietnam visit here had resurrected feelings and memories associated with ’Nam like this visit had.

  I had taken a hotel on the beach at Waikiki. I thought, Why not? I have to go to Hawaii for unpleasant business, I can stay in a nice hotel. I hadn’t been on a trip anywhere for pleasure since before Jack died, and this trip definitely didn’t count toward that defic
iency, but at least the view was extraordinary and the weather was amazing.

  I had checked in to the hotel and was in my room unpacking some things and looking out the sliding glass door that led out onto the lanai. The beauty of the place was in such incredible contrast to what I was there to do. I didn’t have to report to CILHI until the next day, so I had the rest of the afternoon and evening to get settled in and to collect myself.

  I had noticed that there was a luau planned downstairs that night and I decided that I would go. As a vegetarian, I didn’t relish the idea of watching people eat a roasted animal, but I could steer myself toward the vegetables and just sit outdoors in the pleasant evening air and eat. In any event, it beat sitting alone in the room eating room-service food.

  After I unpacked some of my things, I took a hot shower and refreshed myself. I got my makeup on just right, and fluffed my short hair up with the help of a blow-dryer and a little styling gel. I pulled out a brightly colored tropical-print sundress that I brought over for just something like this. Once I had the dress on and my hair just so, I slid my feet into some nice little dress sandals I had brought with me, and headed downstairs for a dinner to take my mind off of everything except paradise.

  The luau food had been good, but I sat as far away from the hapless pig as possible. A very nice couple from Saint Louis sat next to me and we had a great conversation, which diverted my attention from the duties of the next morning.

  That morning couldn’t have been a more beautiful morning—a morning in paradise. I decided to wear my dark green slacks and a light green raw-silk shirt with my dress sandals from the night before. I needed to be comfortable and wear something in which I could do my work, but I also wanted to make a good impression on the military personnel and the scientists with whom I would be spending my time that day.

  I was dressed and ready to go by 8:00 a.m. It was a thirty-minute cab ride from the hotel to Hickham Air Force Base, the home of CILHI. I rode with the windows down, relishing the tropical breeze along the way. One of the benefits of having short hair is that it’s virtually impossible to really mess it up. I definitely had hair suitable for windows-down or top-down, depending on the vehicle.

  We got through the gate at the base and arrived at the steps of the CILHI labs, where I paid the cabbie and sent him on his way.

  Once inside the front doors, I checked in and waited for Sergeant Major Tomlinson. In a couple of minutes the sergeant major appeared from around a corner and walked down the hall toward me. If there was even a slight wrinkle in his uniform I couldn’t see it. His uniform always astounded me.

  His hair was cut so short that it was hard to tell if it was sandy-colored blond or brown. One thing was certain, however; his eyes were deep blue, with a twinkle in them that belied his military bearing.

  We shook hands, I picked up my case and we proceeded down the hall to one of the work areas. Once there, I greeted anthropologists whom I had met before and was introduced to several new ones.

  I put my case on an empty table they had set aside for me. One of the new anthropologists to whom I was introduced was Dr. Sean Carroway, who would be working with me on “Ted’s case.” The sergeant major excused himself saying that he would return when I was ready to leave later that day.

  Dr. Carroway was an interesting guy. He wore a nice pair of trousers and a plaid shirt under a white lab coat, but when I looked down at his feet, I noticed he was wearing hiking boots. He was about five foot eight with a slight frame. I imagined he was about thirty-five years old. He had a shock of wavy, ash-blond hair and dark brown eyes. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners and his left eyebrow would lift slightly. He was a serious scientist, but I imagined there was a bit of a mischievous streak in him. He had a deep, resonant voice that had a soothing, almost mesmerizing quality to it. That was a good thing, since I was sure I was going to be appreciative of anything soothing in a few moments.

  Dr. Carroway and I chatted for a while, becoming familiar with each other. We discussed our education and experience, and he asked me about the two other cases I had worked on at CILHI, which predated his tenure there.

  When we had finished the preliminaries, Carroway retrieved the box containing the remains in question. He laid the box on the table in front of us and lifted the lid. I held my breath. I remembered when Jack had died how I had dreaded that first moment when I saw his body after death. These were just fragments of bones, but I dreaded seeing them nonetheless. I felt my stomach tighten slightly. As the lid slipped away from the top of the box, I looked down.

  Inside was the skull that had been put back together and numerous pieces of bones, none of which were larger than two inches in length. Most were about half an inch to an inch long. There were only about twenty pieces in the entire box. The skull had a piece missing out of the back and part of the lower jaw was gone, but I could still do the facial reconstruction with what was there. Overall, it was as bad as I had feared. If these were indeed the remains of my friend…well, I already began to feel sick that there should be no more left of Ted Nikolaides than this. I hadn’t been able to eat breakfast that morning and I was glad; otherwise, I think I would have thrown up.

  I exhaled, gutted up and lifted the skull out of the box. When my fingers actually touched the bone, I shivered inside. It was all I could do to maintain my control.

  Dr. Carroway spoke. “Dr. Sullivan, I understand you knew the man to whom we suspect these remains belong. Is that true?”

  “Yes. He was a pilot in Da Nang when I was a nurse there. My late husband and I knew him.”

  I set the skull down on the table. I was glad to take my hands off of it for a moment.

  “So, is there anything else you need me to get for you?” Dr. Carroway asked.

  “No. I brought all my supplies.”

  “What is the first step? Do you mind if I stay and observe?”

  I was relieved he wanted to stay and observe. As strange as it may sound, I didn’t want to be alone in the room with those remains.

  “I don’t mind at all if you stay. In answer to your question, the first step is to prepare the material that I’ll use for the mold. It’s kind of like what the dentist does when making an impression of your teeth.”

  I opened the case I had brought with me. Inside was the form into which I would place the plastic material for the mold. I had designed it myself for use in my work. A machinist friend of mine had fashioned it from my design using lightweight aluminum. I was a good welder, but I didn’t have the skills for heli-arc welding, and that’s what it took to weld aluminum.

  The form looked like a head and shoulders, but it opened in half and the inside was hollow. The hollow area inside the form was larger than a human head would be. The plastic molding material would be placed in this hollow and the skull would then be pressed into the front half of the material, and the back half of the form would be closed over the back of the skull. I would leave it there long enough for the plastic material to firm up and harden.

  The skull could then be lifted out of the material and I would have a mold into which I could pour plaster, so that I would have a cast of the skull onto which I could add clay “flesh.” I explained all of the process to Dr. Carroway as I began to prepare the mold for the skull.

  “So, how do you know how the nose looks?” he asked.

  “The human face has amazing proportions,” I explained. “The length of the nose is proportionate to the length of the eyes. The length of the eyes can be calculated by the size of the orbits—” the sockets in the bone where the eyes are located. “You use the orbits to calculate where the ligaments for the eyelids go and to determine the size and shape of the eyes.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “So, once you have that done, it gives you an idea of the nose length?”

  “Yes, and the nose bone shows the height of the nose and the shape of its ridge. If any of the cartilage is left there, it just makes it that much easier. Also, the inner edge of the iris in th
e eye gives me the width of the nose at the nostrils, and the exterior edge of the iris in the eye shows the ends of the mouth. The brow ridge in the bone defines the eyebrows over the eyes.”

  “It all fits together proportionately.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s science.”

  “Yes, and it’s the hand of the Creator—an intelligent design.”

  “Well, I’m a man of science myself.”

  “I’m a woman of science. I believe that science is a tool the Creator gives us to better understand His creation. I see no conflict between the two.”

  “That’s an interesting perspective. You said the design was intelligent. Why couldn’t it be chance—the laws of nature.”

  “When Frank Lloyd Wright designed a magnificent building or home where the design itself evoked an emotional response in those who viewed it, and where all of the angles and proportions seemed to fit together, melding art and function in an amazing way, people oohed and aahed and said, ‘Wow, what an amazing design. What genius!’ Do you doubt for a moment that the house or building was designed in an intelligent way, and that the design itself reflects that fact?”

  “No,” he said tentatively.

  “Yet these designs pale in comparison to the designs in nature, and in particular to the design of the human body, and we want to deny the genius there? We want to deny the intelligence behind the design?”

  “You make an interesting point, Dr. Sullivan.”

  “I think the design not only bears absolute testimony to the intelligence and the supreme genius of the Designer, I think that there is a real correlation, or harmony, between our ability to design and create, and the fact that He who created us also designs and creates. This is all the internal part of the image of Himself in us.”

  “Wow. I like that very much—what you’re saying about the harmony of creative talents between us and the Creator. So, you’re saying that He has this ability, and in a lesser sense He gave us the same ability.”