Shattered Image

by J. F. Margos

  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.

  “Sergeant Major, I have finished the bust.”

  I first explained about the input from Dr. Nakis, and then I told the sergeant major that Dr. Nakis’s affidavit would be part of the documentation I would sent to CILHI.

  “And what is the result, Dr. Sullivan?”

  “It is the image of Captain Theodore P. Nikolaides.”

  “Well, thank goodness.”

  It was as emotional as I ever heard the sergeant major get. Each time I had worked with him previously, we had identified the man CILHI was searching for, and each time the sergeant major had a similar response. He was a soldier through and through, but his heart was in this work for sure.

  “It all sounds excellent, Dr. Sullivan. I’m sure we’ll find the results satisfactory. I’m glad that we could identify Captain Nikolaides and close his case.”

  “Yes, so am I.”

  I felt odd talking about Ted as if he were a case, but the sergeant major tried to stay detached in his work. He saw hundreds of “cases.” He had one disappointment after another in those cases when ID’s could not be made. He allowed himself one heartfelt expression of relief, and then he was back to business. I wondered what, if any, emotion he allowed himself in private.

  “If you would, Dr. Sullivan, send all your materials—notes, photos, Dr. Nakis’s affidavit—send all that to me. Dr. Carroway and his team will review everything and make an official determination as soon as they can.”

  “Any idea how long it will take, Sergeant Major?”

  “I would say at least two weeks, Doctor.”

  “Very well, then I would like to request permission to tell Mrs. Nikolaides the results—unofficially, of course. It would really be impossible for me to keep the information from her.”

  “Of course, that’s fine, as long as she and you understand that the results are not official until they are declared so by CILHI.”

  “Yes. We both understand that.”

  “Another nice job, Dr. Sullivan. Thank you for your time and dedication to these projects.”

  “It is always my privilege, Sergeant Major.”

  We said our goodbyes and hung up. My next call was to Reverend Iordani. I wanted to go and tell Irini, but I didn’t want to do it by myself. Besides, I thought she should have a minister there for her when she got this news. Reverend Iordani answered the phone on the second ring.

  “Reverend, it’s Toni.”

  “Oh, Toni, how is everything going?”

  “I finished the bust on the CILHI case, and it is Ted Nikolaides.”

  “Ohhh…” He made a soft clicking noise with his tongue. “Well, I guess even though it’s sad, it’s a good thing now that we know. Bittersweet, though. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Reverend, I’m fine.”

  I actually wasn’t sure how I was, but I didn’t want to get into a protracted discussion of all that now.

  “Reverend, I need to go and tell Irini and I want to tell her in person. Can you go with me, say, later this afternoon?”

  “If you can wait until about four, I can go.”

  “I think that will be fine, Reverend.”

  “Then meet me at four at the Chuck Wagon out on Highway 71. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes, I know exactly where it is. I’ll see you there.”

  I said goodbye and we hung up.

  I was glad to have it all done. Glad it was over now. Glad that I had Chris’s work to back me up.

  There was still this frustration over Addie Waldrep’s and Brian Ferguson’s deaths, though. It was eating at me more than ever. Now that Ted’s status was confirmed, all I had unresolved was finding the murderer of Addie and Brian, and determining the whereabouts of Doug Hughes.

  I closed the studio door once again. I needed to pray. There was so much death around me lately, and the evil that had caused those untimely deaths had unbalanced what little inner stillness I had. I would pray for a while—for Ted’s soul, and to try to reclaim my peace and har
mony with the Creator—to put the evil out of my mind and keep it from infecting my peace. By then, it would be time to clean up, so I could rendezvous with Reverend Iordani.

  I met Reverend Iordani at the Chuck Wagon right on time. It was on the highway between Austin and Dripping Springs. Dripping Springs was a little bedroom community outside of Austin, and it was where Irini Nikolaides made her home. Irini lived on a three-acre spread where she grew vegetables in her own garden and made baked goods for a local bakery. She also raised goats and had a thriving goat dairy.

  I parked in the lot at the Chuck Wagon and went inside. It was a dive, but they had great coffee and that was why Reverend Iordani loved this place. We sat down and had a cup together, and I told him about the bust of Ted.

  “So, then, we’re sure it’s him?”

  “Yes,” I said. Then I told him about Chris’s part in the reconstruction.

  He nodded. “Well, that’s it, then. She didn’t even know him.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Let’s go. I’ll call Irini and tell her I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  We got into Reverend Iordani’s car and he called Irini. After he hung up, we said a prayer and headed for Irini’s place.

  When we pulled up to the gate, Irini was there to open it. Irini was so short, she barely cleared the top of the gate. She may have been small, but she was strong enough to swing that heavy gate open all by herself. Dad said she had the map of Greece on her face because of her large nose and full lips, but she was Greek from head to toe with her stocky build. It had not been that long since I had seen her, but she seemed much older now. Her dark hair had been peppered with gray for years, but now there were more lines in her olive skin and the light in her dark eyes seemed to have dimmed. She saw me in the front seat and her expression darkened immediately. We pulled up to the house, and as we got out of Reverend Iordani’s car, Irini walked up to greet us. She kissed Reverend Iordani’s hand in greeting and asked for a blessing, which he gave readily. We all hugged and then went inside.

  “I know I should wait until I serve you some coffee and something to eat, but I can’t,” she said. “You must tell me now. I know that’s why you are here. It is either bad news or worse news, so tell me.”

  Reverend Iordani looked at me. He was there with me, but he clearly indicated to me with his look that he thought it was my responsibility to tell her what my findings were. He was right. I had made the ID, with Chris’s support, and it was my job to tell her.

  “Irini, I have finished the work. Before I finished it, I had Chris Nakis come and check what I had done and give me her opinion. Her opinion matched what I thought. Irini, CILHI has found Teddy.”

  She stood before us for what seemed like minutes, but I know it was only two or three seconds. Then she clutched Reverend Iordani’s shoulder and cried out with the pain she had held for all those years. It was the sound that reflected what we all had known was true, but it was also the sound of hope at last abandoned. She sobbed and Reverend Iordani held her and comforted her. I moved in behind her and put my arm around her shoulder. The three of us stood there in a huddle and there was no sound between us all, except for Irini’s crying and her mumbled Greek that I didn’t understand. I don’t know how I did it, but somehow strength and composure was mine—or at least God let me believe that it was mine.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was another day of rain and gloom. The rain was actually pleasant, soft and steady and much needed if the bluebonnets were going to flourish this year. Without the thunder, lightning and high winds of a typical Texas storm, this was actually soothing, and I needed soothing. I stood at the back French doors with hot chamomile tea and watched the rain nourish every green and budding thing in the backyard.

  The question of Ted’s death was solved. It still saddened me, and all that sadness was compounded by the unresolved murders of Addie Waldrep and Brian Ferguson. I reflected on my conversations with Drew and hoped that his connections and his efforts could yield a warrant to search the Gunther place.

  It was time to focus on something other than death. I put on some jeans and an old navy blue T-shirt with my black pointy-toe boots. I got into the Mustang, fired it up and headed over to Daddy’s.

  Daddy was eighty-three. He was a mechanic and welder, and just a guy who could fix or build anything. His name was Michael Kennedy—yes, I named my son after him—but the world called him Red because of the color his hair used to be. Like mine, the gray had come into his hair and rendered it more the shade of pink champagne. Mine wasn’t quite that extreme yet, but I was on my way there. Mom was gone to the other side and had been for years. Daddy lived alone, but kept himself busy with friends, automotive work and the Mustang club and classic car restorations.

  When I pulled up into the driveway, the garage door was open and Daddy was where I expected him to be—under a car. He heard the rumble of my Fastback and rolled out from under the car to see me step out. He got up off the creeper and headed for the Go-Jo canister to clean his hands. The Go-Jo having successfully removed all the grease, Daddy came to greet me, wiping his hands on a red shop rag.

  “Little Red!”

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  He gave me a big hug and said, “Where’s my grandson?”

  “He’s working, Daddy.”

  “Boy’s always on duty. He comes by a lot, but he’s always on duty. Can’t get that boy out of a suit long enough to change a spark plug.”

  “It’s his job, Daddy, and it’s not an eight-to-five gig.”

  “I know, I would just like to spend some time with him, that’s all. Never mind all that, my Little Red is here. What’s happening with you, kiddo?”

  “Well, Daddy, Irini called me a few weeks ago, and asked me to do a reconstruct on some remains CILHI found in ’Nam.”

  “Know that already. Mike told me.”

  “Oh, didn’t know you had talked to Mike lately.”

  “Like I said, he comes by. He don’t ever stay, and he don’t ever help me out here, but he comes by. Chews the fat with his old grandpa—you know.” Daddy beamed as he got back down on the creeper and rolled under the car again.

  “Hand me that light, Little Red.”

  I handed Daddy the light.

  “So, then, what’s up with all that CILHI stuff?”

  “I had Chris come over and check my work when I was almost through. Still needed a nose, eyes and hair on it, but she checked everything over and drew me a rough sketch.”

  “Hand me that grease gun, Toni.”

  I handed him the grease gun.

  “So, how’d Chris’s drawing turn out?”

  “It was him, Daddy.”

  “I’ll be. Did you finish it all up, then?”

  “Yes, sir, I finished it yesterday, and called CILHI to tell them.”

  “That’s good, Toni. You tell Irini yet?”

  “Yes, sir, I went with Reverend Iordani and told her yesterday.”

  Dad rolled out from under the car far enough to look me in the eye. “She take it all okay?”

  “As well as anyone could take that kind of news, I suppose.”

  He rolled completely out from under the car with the grease gun in his hand. He got up off the creeper and hung the gun back on the hook on the wall. He turned around and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “You tell her my prayers are with her.”

  “I will, Dad,” I said with my eyes turning misty.

  “Now, listen here. I know what you did was real hard, but it was necessary. You got Chris’s help, which was smart. I know you did a good job, and you relieved that poor family’s mind. Sometimes doing the right thing is real difficult. Pfui, what am I talkin’ about, most of the time doing the right thing is difficult. That’s why so many people these days take the lazy way out.”

  “I know, Daddy.”

  “Craziest war I ever heard of. Now, World War II—that was a war worth fightin’. Hitler, Mussolini, Japanese military—all a bunch �
��a nuts trying to take over the world. We had to stop ’em. By golly, we did stop ’em, too. But, Vietnam, what a terrible waste. Send all our best young men over there, and some of our best young women, too. How many of ’em killed and still missing?”

  “Over 58,000 killed, over 1,900 still missing.”

  “Terrible—over 58,000 killed. Craziest war I ever heard of. Wasted all those lives, ruined all those families, totally messed up our country’s values—even to this day.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “Okay, I’m talkin’ too much. Just gets me upset thinking about little Irini and her family—and then I start thinking about all the other families just like hers,” Dad sighed. “Tell me about your other case instead. What’s going on there?”

  He walked around to the front of the car and stuck his head under the hood.

  “Hand me that light again, Toni.”

  I picked up the light off the floor and handed it to him.

  “And that spark-plug wrench over there on the bench.”

  I handed him the spark-plug wrench.

  “Well, we found bones down on Red Bud Isle…”

  “I know that part. Mike told me some and I saw some of it on the news. Details, I want details.”

  I smiled and then I told him about Doug Hughes and Addie Waldrep. I told him about Jimmy Hughes and Lori Webster. I told him about Dody. I told him about Brian Ferguson and his mother, and what his friends in Hempstead had said. I told him everything Leo had said. I told him about Drew getting involved. I told him about Doris and the famous pie.

  “Well, that all sounds real interesting—especially the part about that pie. You gotta take me up there, Little Red, introduce me to Doris and her pie,” he chuckled.