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 harmony 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.