Shattered Image (9 page)

T
he 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 deficiency, 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 the 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.”

“Yes—within our human limitations.”

“Then you re-create that image in your work, Dr. Sullivan.” He smiled broadly now.

“No, Dr. Carroway, I only restore an idea of the physical part of that image. The most essential part of the image in us can only be re-created by the Master Himself.”

“Requires a higher power, then, eh?”

“Requires a sacred touch,” I said.

Dr. Carroway nodded his head.

“I like that. I’ll have to think about it more when you’re gone.”

“Good.”

“But I may have lots more questions for you later,” he said, winking.

I winked back, and said, “Bring them on and I’ll do my best to give you proper answers.”

While we waited for the material to firm up around the skull, Dr. Carroway offered to show me the personal effects they had found with or near the remains.

He retrieved another box and opened the lid. Inside was part of a dog-tag chain with no dog tags, an American quarter, a button off of a flight suit and part of the pilot’s helmet. None of it was absolutely personal to Teddy. I picked up the button, turned it over in the palm of my
hand and wondered. I put the button back into the box and picked up the piece of dog-tag chain.

All I could think of was what had probably happened to all the things that weren’t found with the remains. Of course, the flight suit and all the fabrics he was wearing would have burned, or deteriorated and biodegraded. Villagers carried off parts of the plane, jewelry and American dog tags. Wild animals would have carried off other things, and that’s what I just couldn’t think about now. I wanted to sit down and cry, but that wasn’t exactly a professional response. The segment of dog-tag chain slipped through my fingers back into the box.

When I looked up at Dr. Carroway again, he had a sympathetic expression on his face. My expression must have been more transparent than I thought.

I looked back down at the box of personal effects and said, “Well, none of it is absolutely identifiable as something that would have belonged to Nikolaides.”

“No,” he said softly.

If the situation continued that way, I knew that I would not be able to retain my composure, so I changed the subject—rapidly.

“Well, let’s check the mold and see how we’re doing.”

I walked back to the table where the form lay, and I put my finger in the bottom of it to check the consistency of the plastic material. It wasn’t ready yet.

“Not quite yet,” I said, praying he wouldn’t want to discuss anything relating to Ted personally.

“So, Dr. Sullivan, tell me how you got into this line of work. I know you were an artist, but how and why did you come to this work after being a nurse in the war?”

I could have hugged him.

“When I came home from ’Nam, the last thing I wanted to do was nursing. Other nurses felt differently and continued, but I couldn’t. So, I went back to school and got my art degrees. Art was my true love, so that part of it was a natural choice.”

“After getting out of nursing, why did you choose to go into something…well, that takes you into dealing with death again.”

“Good question. What I saw in ’Nam was a lot of horror, but it was bloody horror, and it was human suffering. Forensic art and sculpture isn’t bloody and the suffering is already past, at least for the departed. I don’t take care of the families or friends of the victims, so it’s totally different to me.”