Shattered Image

by J. F. Margos

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s what I’ve been looking for. It’s like I said about the type of wounds that killed Brian, and where he was reburied. Killing Brian wasn’t part of his plan.”

  “Okay.”

  “The killer saw Mrs. Ferguson on TV and it probably made him feel bad. I think digging up Brian and reburying him where someone would find him—that was the purpose I was talking about.”

  “So, it was guilt?”

  “Yeah. That was all about giving Mrs. Ferguson the answer to her plea, and assuaging the killer’s guilt over killing Brian. Brian was a mistake that had to be corrected. The killer had probably buried them in the same place originally. So he digs up Brian to rebury him where he can be found—for Mrs. Ferguson—but he digs up Addie in the process and decides to get rid of her while he’s at it. It could have been Jimmy, or Lori, or Dody, or maybe even Doug himself.”

  “Dody seemed to be so sure Addie and Doug were involved,” I said. “Maybe they were, maybe this Brian guy came along and messed things up and Doug is the killer.”

  “We definitely need to find Doug Hughes.”

  “Yes, and I need to find out more about Brian Ferguson. I need to try to find out how he’s connected to Addie and Doug.”

  Brian’s funeral had been well attended by Mrs. Ferguson, her friends and all of the people in Hempstead who had known and worked with Brian. He had been a very popular guy. Ironically, the one enemy he had, had been no one he knew at all as far as any of us could tell. My only consolation in his sad death was in knowing that my work had answered the questions of a grief-stricken and dying mother.

  I was back at work on the CILHI case again, trying to answer the questions of a grief-stricken widow—my friend Irini. The answer to this question might bring closure to her and her children. The clay was going on, but slowly. I was totally preoccupied with the other case—or maybe it just provided me with a convenient excuse to avoid the CILHI work.

  I had been sure that the bones found at Waller Creek would be those of Doug Hughes. Doug was still missing, and now I was wondering what had happened to him.

  I stopped my work on the CILHI bust and decided to make tea and think about what I wanted for lunch. About that time, the phone rang and it was Chris. She asked me to meet her and Leo for lunch. She had some news for us. I changed out of my old jeans and clay-stained work shirt and put on some nice black slacks, a plum-colored, short-sleeve knit top and some comfortable black sandals. It was an awesome day outside, so I rode with the windows down and the breeze in my hair.

  I was to meet Chris and Leo at Gordon’s Lakeside out on Lake Travis, so I headed from my part of town in Hyde Park and took the winding Bull Creek Road out to the lake highway. I loved to drive the curves on Bull Creek in the Fastback. It gave me a chance to really go through the gears and feel the wheel. Once I went under the loop, I opened up that little Pony. On the segment of Bull Creek from the loop to the lake road there were few curves, but there was more opportunity to blow some soot out of the cylinders, as my dad liked to say. There was also one very large hill at one point, and if you got up a good head of steam, you could plow that hill from bottom to top in fourth gear, and that’s exactly what I did.

  The wind was really blowing through the cockpit of my little land jet, and it felt good. I made a left turn onto the lake highway and headed toward Mansfield Dam, the big dam that created Lake Travis. I took the highway across the river, just below the dam, and once on the other side, I made a right turn down a narrow county road, then off the beaten path down a dirt road and into the parking lot of Gordon’s. The place was surrounded by trees and then it opened up onto the lakeshore.

  Susan Gordon was an old friend of Leo’s and ran the place. At night, there was live music out on the deck with a breathtaking view of the water. The deck was almost at lake level, and you could come to Gordon’s by boat and dock at the far end. People packed Susan’s place for lunch, dinner and late-night snacks. It was a local favorite, and definitely one of my favorites because of the lake view.

  We sat outdoors. The daytime chill was giving way to more moderate spring temperatures, and the Texas sun was unencumbered that day. We had all ordered our food and the iced tea had been delivered to the table, when Chris broke the news.

  “I got the soil sample results back from A&M. They say that both sets of bones contain soil samples that are exact matches.”

  “And the location?” I asked.

  “One set of soil samples is from this area, and the other soil shows composition similar to soils that would be found in and around Hempstead.”

  “Where Brian Ferguson was living at the time of his death,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Chris responded.

  “Then Addie Waldrep and Brian Ferguson were buried in that area, which means it’s probably where they were both killed,” Leo said.

  “The burning question now is, what was Addie doing down near Hempstead with Brian Ferguson?” I asked.

  “Yeah, and where is Doug Hughes?” Chris asked.

  “Well, if he’s still alive, who knows where he is or how to find him, but…” Leo trailed off.

  “If he’s dead, he’s probably buried in Hempstead?” Chris asked.

  “Or, he could be reburied somewhere here,” I said.

  “I’d say it’s fifty-fifty,” Leo agreed. “If the killer dug them all up trying to get to Brian, and then reburied Addie, he might have done the same with Doug, if Doug is dead.”

  “But we haven’t found any more bones,” Chris said.

  “Not yet,” I offered. “And if the killer intended them to wash away like Addie’s, then we may never find them.”

  “He might have even reburied them on Red Bud and they already washed away,” Leo said.

  Chris shook her head. “There was no evidence of that at that site, but he could have reburied them nearby.”

  “If the chance is fifty-fifty, then I’d say our chances are better in Hempstead,” I said.

  “How do you figure that?” Leo asked.

  “No matter where any of them were reburied, there is an original burial site probably in Hempstead.”

  “True,” Leo agreed.

  “How accurate are the soil samples from A&M?” I asked.

  “Accurate? Depends on what you mean by that. If you mean will they swear by their results, then they will,” Chris said.

  “I guess what I really mean is how close can you narrow it down to the exact site.”

  “You can’t do that, Toni,” Chris said. “They’re accurate as to the part of Texas, even to a reasonably small region, like the area around Hempstead, but that’s all.”

  “Then we couldn’t possibly use the sample to narrow our search for the burial site.”

  “No. You still have hundreds of acres or more to consider based on this soil sample, and that’s as ‘accurate’ as it will ever get. Well, unless we knew the site, and we could take a sample from it and do a comparison.”

  “If we can find the site, we could probably literally dig up more evidence—more clues. Is that what you’re thinking?” Leo asked.

  I nodded, sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. Then something occurred to me.

  “Maybe we don’t need soil samples to narrow the search.”

  “What do you mean?” Leo said expectantly.

  “The site might be one where Brian liked to go. You know, a place he would take someone like Addie.”

  “He lived there, Toni. His mother told Tommy and Mike he hiked all over that area bird-watching. It could be anywhere.”

  “Not necessarily. Bird-watchers usually go to specific places looking for specific species. Besides, I remember Mike and Tommy telling me that Brian did his bird-watching with some of his local friends. If he had particular places he liked to go to see certain birds, they would know. His mother might even know, if we asked that question.”

  “You’re going to go talk to his mother, aren’t you?” Leo asked.
r />   “Well, I think I need to talk to Brian’s mother, and maybe even some of the good people of Hempstead. I think I can start with Mrs. Ferguson and find out what she knows, and if she can tell me who Brian’s good friends were. Then I can look them up and have a chat with them.”

  “Mike and Tommy will love that,” Chris said, rolling her eyes.

  Leo snickered. “They gave us permission before.”

  “I want to do this on my own this time, Leo. I’ve been wanting to talk to Mrs. Ferguson anyway. I’ll ask Mike and Tommy before I do anything, but I really did wish I could sit down and have a woman-to-woman talk with Mrs. Ferguson. You know, one widow to another, one mother to another. This would be a good opportunity for that.”

  I smiled and raised my eyebrows. Chris and Leo just shook their heads and smiled back. About that time, lunch was brought to the table and we dug in.

  After lunch was over, I decided I needed another drive to Viola. I had a couple of questions for my new friend Doris. I wanted more information on any possible connection between Addie and Brian before I went to Houston to talk to Mrs. Ferguson.

  The drive took about an hour. I hadn’t had dessert after my lunch with Chris and Leo, and all I could think of was Doris’s awesome apple pie. I hoped there was some left after her lunch crowd.

  I pulled off the interstate and headed up the county road that led to Viola. I turned off on the main road that was downtown Viola. I pulled up in front of the café, easily finding a parking spot. The lunch crowd had dissipated, so I knew that Doris would have some time to spend with me. I hopped out of the Mustang and strode to the front door, and was greeted heartily by Doris. I assumed my usual spot at the lunch counter. Doris was already dishing up my pie.

  Doris slid my slab of apple pie across the counter and winked. “There you go, hon.”

  “Ah, the famous pie.” I smacked my lips as I picked up my fork.

  “Well, I haven’t ever had someone drive over sixty miles for my pie.”

  “Well, you have now.”

  “Darlin’, I know my pie is good, but it ain’t that good. You’ve got more questions for old Doris, don’t you?”

  I chuckled. She was a sweet, country-café proprietor who smelled like everyone’s grandma—and she had a mind sharp as a razor blade.

  “Well, Doris, I do have a question or two, but I salivated over this pie all the way here. I could have just called you with my questions, you know.” I smiled as I shoveled in another mouthwatering piece.

  “True.” Doris smiled back as she made a loud pop on her chewing gum. “Well, then, I guess questions or no, my pie does have some drawing power after all.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, hon, what is it you wanted to know?”

  “I guess you heard on the news about the second body found.”

  “Oh yes. I heard. Some young man from Houston?”

  “That’s right. We think he was killed by accident, but I just want to make sure that he wasn’t someone Addie knew, or someone who had ever been seen around here.”

  “What was the boy’s name again?”

  “Brian Ferguson.”

  Doris pursed her lips and then shook her head, “No, hon, that just don’t sound familiar at all. Do you have a picture of him? I saw it on TV the other night, but I wasn’t looking that close and I’ve slept a few times since then.” She smacked and then popped her gum.

  I did have Brian’s picture with me. It was a copy of the Texas driver’s-license photo that Chris had given me. I pulled the picture out of my wallet and handed it over to Doris.

  Doris scrutinized it carefully and then pronounced, “Nope. I’ve absolutely never seen this young man.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “I see everyone who ever comes to this town—distant relatives from out of town, old school chums, new love interests, you name it, hon, old Doris hears and sees it all.”

  At least Doris had never seen him, and didn’t know of a connection between him and Addie, but I wasn’t about to give up. I would talk to his mother, and his friends in Hempstead. Maybe someone would have a clue.

  “Well, Doris, as usual you’ve been a great help. The pie was as awesome as ever.”

  “I’m just glad that you love my pie that much.” She smiled and popped her gum one more time.

  I paid for my pie and got back into my car. I had found out part of what I wanted to know and had gotten a really good dessert out of the trip.

  On the way back to Austin, my cell phone rang. It was Drew.

  “Toni, I want your update on this bone case of yours, and the young man from Hempstead, plus I have something special for you. Can you come by?”

  “Absolutely. I’m on my way back into town, and I can probably be at your office in about forty-five minutes.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll brew us some Earl Grey.”

  I chuckled at the thought of all those hard-core Texas Rangers sucking down rot-gut coffee out at Ranger headquarters, and Drew in his office with his cup of Earl Grey. He was one in a million. I was glad he had called. I wanted to tell Drew more about the Red Bud case. I didn’t just want his opinion. I thought we might need his help outside of the Austin jurisdiction. If I was right about finding the original burial site, then Drew could be of help with local law enforcement.

  I wheeled into the parking lot at Ranger headquarters and went up to Drew’s office. When I got there, he was on the phone and motioned for me to come in and sit down, so I seated myself in a chair in front of his desk.

  Drew finished his call, and said, “Toni, I’m glad you could make it by.”

  “So am I.”

  He served me my tea and then smiled and gave me a sly look out of the corner of his eye as he went back around the desk, and pulled out a small package of Walker shortbread.

  I shook my head. “Drew Smith, you sly dog…” I couldn’t bear to tell him I just ate pie an hour ago. Drew knew that I loved Walker shortbread.

  He laughed. “Now, Toni, I’m a gentleman. You don’t think I’d invite a lady to my office and not offer her proper refreshments.”

  “You’re the limit, Drew.”

  “Well, not exactly. That tea was prepared in the microwave down the hall.” He smiled again.

  I was already sipping my tea. “It’s wonderful—microwave or not.”

  “Well, good,” he said, satisfied with his efforts. “So, tell me, Dr. Antoinette, how are you today?”

  I winced at the use of my full name.

  “You know, I’d appreciate it if you stuck with my nick-names—particularly in public.”

  He chuckled mischievously. “I just love to push your buttons, Toni.”

  I shook my head again.

  “So, what’s happening with your Red Bud bones case?”

  “I’m sure you saw in the papers where another set of bones had been discovered.”

  “Yes, and linked to some guy from Houston? I’ve also heard rumblings about Hempstead and a burial site out of town—which means the murder probably did not occur in Austin.”

  “Probably didn’t. Chris says the A&M has matched the soil samples to the same kind of soil in and around Hempstead, which is where the latest victim was living.”

  “Brian Ferguson?”

  “Right. That same soil was found in the bones of Addie Waldrep. So they were previously buried in that area.”

  “Which means they were probably murdered in that area.”

  “Which means you’re thinking about jurisdiction.”

  “Mmm, hmm. Tell me what you know so far.”

  I told him all about what we knew about Addie Waldrep, Jimmy Hughes, Dody Waldrep and Lori Webster. I told him that Doug Hughes was still missing. I told him I was going to go and visit Mrs. Ferguson and see what I could find out.

  “I just came back from the Viola area, where the first victim lived. I questioned someone up there about any connection between Addie Waldrep and Brian Ferguson, but I struck out.”

  “Why is
it I think you’re not giving up on that angle?” He smiled.

  “Because you know me too well.”

  “I think you’re on the right path talking to the young man’s mother. I’d like you to pursue that. If you can isolate some places he normally went bird-watching, maybe we can get some warrants and do some searching. But we can’t search the whole county down there.”

  “I know. Maybe I can eliminate some places you won’t have to search. So, are you going to get officially involved?”

  “I want to see what you come up with first. Then I’ll need to talk to Tommy and Mike. If this thing really looks like something that involves multiple jurisdictions, I’ll call them and we can talk about it.”

  “You won’t be calling them until I come back from Houston, then.”

  “No, Toni. I have my hands full right now.”

  “Good.”

  “And I want you to let me know exactly what you find out on your trip to Houston.”

  “You got it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  After meeting with Drew, I had called Michael and arranged to meet him at our dojo for an aikido workout. My son and I were both black belts in the art, although at different levels—I had begun teaching him when he was nine—and we both served as instructors there as much as our schedules would allow. Lately, my schedule hadn’t even allowed for much in the way of workouts.

  Mike met me there and the two of us sparred with a group of black belts who regularly met there on Tuesday evenings. I was rusty and needed the workout badly. My son almost beat me, but the old lady was still ahead and I proved I could teach him a few things.

  When we were done with the workout, we cleaned up and buzzed over to one of our favorite Tex-Mex joints to meet Tommy. He was crunching on tostadas and gulping down gallons of tea when we arrived.

  Mike and I ordered water and tea, too.

  The waiter brought our beverages, and we ordered our food. “So, who won the big sparring match tonight?” Tommy asked.

  Mike cleared his throat, and gave Tommy the corner eye shot that silently told him, “Don’t go there, man.”