Shattered Image (12 page)

“Huh,” he grunted. “Who in blazes cares?”

“Mr. Waldrep, don’t you wonder what happened to them after they left Viola.”

“I don’t have no reason to wonder. I know what they done, and I don’t care what kind of trouble they run into. Whatever it was, it’d serve ’em right I say.”

“Then you do believe that Addie and Doug were having an affair?”

“I don’t believe it—I know it.”

“How do you know, Mr. Waldrep?”

“I know, that’s all. I was her husband, you know. You people are incredible. You think I lived with her and I don’t know,” he snorted, and then wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill Addie and Doug?”

“Well, it wasn’t me, that’s all I say. They run off before I had any kind of opportunity for that, and I was too busy trying to make ends meet and all after they left.”

“So, then, you don’t have any idea who it could have been?”

“What did I just say, lady? Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Well, I guess I just thought you might want some of these questions answered yourself.”

“I don’t have no questions, lady. My wife run off with him, she’s dead now and buried. There ain’t no more questions as far as I’m concerned. Got it?”

Leo looked at me and nodded. We had indeed “gotten it” and we said our goodbyes to Dody and left.

Once we were safely back in my car, we talked about our brief encounter with Dody.

“Tommy won’t be happy with me, since I learned nothing new from either Jimmy or Dody,” I said.

“We did learn something new, though.”

“What?”

“We learned that Jimmy is definitely hiding something, and we learned that Addie’s husband believed that she was having an affair with Doug. So, one of them is right and
the other is wrong, but they’ve both given us some interesting things to think about.”

“You think he could have killed them?”

“Dody?”

I nodded.

“He could have. He’s pretty disorganized, though. I don’t see him planning everything the way it would have been planned originally. He’s the right personality for the dumping of these bodies, though.”

“What if he wasn’t this messed up back then?” I asked.

“Didn’t that lady at the diner say he always had problems?”

“She said he was cantankerous,” I said, “but she didn’t say when specifically he began having a drinking problem. His daughters didn’t go live with their grandmother until two years after their mother disappeared.”

“Well, I suppose if he were less impaired by the alcohol sixteen years ago, he might have been capable of the crime, but it’s really impossible now to know.”

“Let’s pay a visit to Lori Webster,” I suggested, “and see what we can find there.”

“Okay. I’m game if you are.”

We sped up the highway to Georgetown and I wheeled the car into the town square, scoping for a spot in front of the store where she worked. We found a space just around the corner, and I parked the car.

Once inside the store, we asked for Lori and we were directed up to the office. There we introduced ourselves to her, and she led us into a small room off the main office. The room contained a copier, a fax machine and several file cabinets. Lori wore a dark green skirt and white blouse with a beige cardigan over it. She was a frail-looking woman, with
stringy shoulder-length brown hair. I think her eyes were gray, but from the moment we met her, she never looked us in the eye. It was just as Mike and Tommy had said.

“You said you’re the artist who reconstructed Addie’s face?”

She fidgeted with her hands, fluttering her eyelids when she spoke and punctuating her phrases with frustrated sighs.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

“Well, we found similar remains in another location in Austin the other day, and it’s been determined that they are the remains of a man.”

She looked up from her hands and looked upward. “Doug? Is it Doug?”

She still didn’t look at either one of us. Her eyes shot to the right wall. She was as strange as the boys had said.

“We don’t know yet. I’ll be doing the reconstruct, just as I did with Mrs. Waldrep. I mostly just wanted to let you know what was happening, and to see if there was anything else you think of that you hadn’t told the officers the other day.”

She sat for a while. She was looking at her hands again. She was becoming more emotional now. She began to cry. I reached into my purse and pulled out a tissue and handed it to her. She mopped up her tears with the tissue.

“I don’t know anything more than what I said the other day. He just disappeared and that’s all I know.”

She was sobbing now and I tried to comfort her, but she pulled away. She regained control of herself somewhat, and I decided to try for another question.

“Ms. Webster, do you know Doug’s brother Jimmy?”

“Of course,” she said. “He’s been a good friend to me.”

“You’ve seen him recently, then?”

She hesitated and became more nervous. She seemed confused. She looked down at the wadded-up tissue she held in her hands.

She hesitated a second and then said distantly, “He takes care of me. He helps me with things.”

“Like what things?”

She wadded the tissue into twists and knots.

“Just things,” she said. “I don’t think I feel very good now. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

Leo and I looked at each other, and Leo nodded.

“All right, Ms. Webster, I guess we’ll go.”

“When will you know if it’s Doug?”

She still looked down at the tissue.

“It will be several days, but I’ll ask the detectives to contact you and let you know.”

She nodded but didn’t look up.

We excused ourselves and left her sitting there fidgeting.

“Very strange girl,” I said when we got back in the car.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Leo said.

“So, what’s your appraisal?”

“She has a serious mental problem. I don’t think she’s completely in touch with reality, and she has a kind of childlike or withdrawn nature. She even seemed to be drifting in and out of her grip when we were talking to her. If she’s had declining mental health all this time, she could have committed the crimes back then, and now she definitely fits as the kind of person who would carry out this disorganized and illogical reburial situation.”

“She acted genuinely surprised about us finding the second set of bones.”

“Maybe she is,” Leo said, “or maybe she’s so delusional it did surprise her.”

“Think Jimmy helped her?”

“I think he could have helped her, and that could be what she was talking about, or he knows what she did and he’s covering for her, or the other way around even.”

“Think there’s any possibility that Addie and Doug did run off, and someone else killed them?”

“Anything’s possible, Toni. I want to see the face on those bones we just found.”

“I’ll start on it as soon as we get back.”

“The guy we found yesterday had been shot multiple times, and it wasn’t in the head. In fact, the bullets scraped and bounced off his ribs.”

“So what does that mean to you?”

“It means whoever he was, he wasn’t executed like Addie. It means this guy was killed in haste and that wasn’t part of the killer’s plan.”

“That might fit if Lori were the killer. You know, she killed Doug in a rage, then executed Addie.”

“It’d be the other way around, the way I see it. She executed Addie, Doug caught her, so she killed him in haste—may have even regretted it instantly.”

“That could be the source of her reality gap.”

“It would also explain dumping Addie’s bones on Red Bud, while burying Doug to be discovered up on the trail.”

“I’ll do my work, and then we’ll see for sure if this is Doug Hughes that we’ve found.”

I had worked two days on this bust already. The first day, I had done all the grueling work of measuring, cutting and applying all the tissue-depth indicators, until the skull had the full “eraser measles.” Then I had tediously applied the clay across all the markers. Now I sat on my high stool
in front of the workbench with a cup of hot hibiscus tea in my hands and looked at the almost completed work. I only had to finish and smooth a few areas and it would be done.

The head of this man was broad and round, the cheekbones big and high. The brow was low, but not particularly pronounced and the nose was like an upside-down anvil, with a strong long line down the middle, but with the sides flaring out at the nostrils. The lips were thick and the mouth large. It was a handsome face, but not in a pretty-boy way. It was a rugged face. Now the question would be, was it Doug Hughes’s face?

O
ne month earlier, on all local channels, the plea of a mother had been broadcast. Her name was Nadine Ferguson and her son had been missing for over sixteen years. The day of the broadcast had been his birthday. Mrs. Ferguson, now a widow, was seriously ill and dying of cancer. She only wanted to see her son one last time, or at least to know what had happened to him. Mrs. Ferguson lived in Houston, but her son had lived in Hempstead at the time of his disappearance. He was a good boy, she had said. He loved his simple life in Hempstead, working in a local clothing store as a salesman, walking and hiking in the local area observing and sketching birds. He hadn’t an enemy in the world and, in fact, everyone in Hempstead who knew him loved to be around him.

Brian Ferguson was thirty years old at the time of his disappearance from Hempstead. Now we knew that he was thirty years old at the time of his death. I had worked for three solid days to get the image out and get it right. Mike and Tommy knew as soon as I was done with it that
it wasn’t Doug Hughes. I didn’t want to see his photo, in case I ever had to do another reconstruct that might be him. Tommy and Mike had pulled his Texas driver’s-license photo and compared it to my bust.

“It’s not him, Mom.”

I couldn’t believe it when Mike told me.

“That can’t be right.”

“It can and it is. It’s just not him, Mom.”

“Then who in blazes is it?”

“Don’t know, but we’re broadcasting the image and releasing it to all the papers.”

The image was only broadcast once when Mrs. Ferguson called in to the number on the screen to tell Tommy Lucero that the image on the bust was the face of her son. His Texas driver’s-license photo was pulled and compared. It was a match. His mother provided dental records for comparison and the forensic dentist in Chris’s office reviewed them. They were a match also. The bones belonged to Brian Ferguson.

As soon as I got the news, I called Leo.

“Guess Tommy told you, it’s not Doug Hughes. So, now what do you think?” I asked.

“I think we have a whole new mystery on our hands. I think we need to find out if there is any connection between Addie and this guy, Brian Ferguson.”

“What about Doug Hughes? Do you think any of this could have anything to do with why Doug is still missing?”

“Who knows? Until we find him, we won’t know. Tommy said Brian’s mother had put out some kind of plea for information on television about a month ago, right?”

“Yes.”

“No matter who the killer is, that was the trigger, Toni.”

“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.

“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.”