Front Page Teaser

Liz looked at the clock. Six a.m. DeZona must have been called in early. While her head swam with questions and avenues she might pursue to answer them, Liz took a shower. Afterward, she sat in front of her fire wrapped in a terrycloth robe, waiting for her shoulder-length auburn curls to dry in the flickering heat.

Half an hour later, the phone rang.

“Liz? This is Laura. I couldn’t sleep last night so I went to work early. Plus, I thought it would be a good idea if I looked up Veronica’s emergency information card before my boss comes in. I’ve got Mrs. Swenson’s information for you.”

Liz took down the Wellesley address and telephone number and asked who else was listed on the card as authorized to take care of the eight-year-old in an emergency.

“It says, ‘Elizabeth Seaport, friend’,” Laura said, giving Liz the phone number. “Actually, I recognize that name. She’s the parent of another aftercare kid, Rhoda Seaport. Rhoda is a year younger than Veronica. There’s one more thing,” Laura added. “In the ‘Additional Information’ section of the card it says, ‘Under no circumstances to be picked up by taxi or hired vehicle.’ That’s dated December 18, this year.”

“That’s the day Ellen disappeared. I wonder what that’s all about?”

“Me, too. I hope this was helpful. By the way, that forensics guy did pick up the poinsettia. Before he left, he looked the whole thing over with a magnifying glass, just like Sherlock Holmes. I kid you not! It was all Becca, Sue, and I could do to keep ourselves from bursting out laughing. He asked us for a dry cleaning bag to put it in, but we didn’t have one so we gave him a garbage bag instead. He said you’d hear from him soon.”

“Thanks, Laura. You’ve been extremely helpful.”

“No problem. Would you let me know what develops, though? It’s all such a mystery and I’m really worried about Veronica.”

“Sure thing. I’m worried about her, and about Ellen, too.”

Hanging up the phone, Liz took another look at her countertop. Picking up the Ziploc bag containing Ellen’s lipstick, the hair band, and taxi receipt, she dialed the number for Cormac Kinnaird.

“You have reached the office of Dr. Cormac Kinnaird. This is December twentieth. This morning, I will be testifying in Concord District Court. Please leave your message and I will get back to you at the first opportunity.”

Surprised that Kinnaird would reveal his schedule in a phone message, Liz recorded her own message for him, letting him know she had more materials relating to the Johansson case.

Next, she phoned Elizabeth Seaport, reaching yet another answering machine. This one had a message with a child’s voice advising callers, “You have reached the Seaport family. Please leave us a message!” as a dog barked in the background.

As Liz began to leave a message, a woman picked up the Seaport line. “Just screening my calls, ever since I had a friend disappear,” she volunteered.

“That’s just what I wanted to discuss with you,” Liz explained. “I’m a Banner reporter who’s working on the case. . .”

“I don’t want to talk with reporters!”

“No! Please wait. I’m also acquainted with the family, and I’m truly concerned about Ellen and particularly Veronica.”

“Oh, you’re the one who took her around to the malls, aren’t you? Veronica was so proud when her Santa ratings made the paper.”

“That’s right. I was at the Johanssons’ soon after Ellen disappeared and I promised Veronica I’d find her mom. To do that, I need your help.”

“Look, I’m just about to take Rhoda—that’s my daughter—to school. Then I was going to wrap presents while Rhoda is out of the house.”

“I’m great at wrapping. How about I save you some time? We’ll wrap gifts together while you share some insights about Ellen?”

“Well, it does seem sort of callous to go on with Christmas preparations while she’s missing. And Ellen spoke so highly of you. All right. Come on over in about a half an hour. I live two doors down from Ellen, in the center- entrance colonial. Our shrubs are covered with white Christmas lights and there’s a reindeer loaded with lights on the lawn. Kinda kitschy, I admit, especially for this neighborhood, but the kids love it.”

“See you then. Thank you!”

Liz lingered near the phone, tempted to place a call to Olga Swenson. But she decided to put that off until she’d spoken with Elizabeth Seaport. Very possibly, Ellen’s friend and neighbor would have insights or information that would smooth the way toward an interview with Veronica’s grandmother. Instead, Liz phoned the Banner and asked to be connected with the city desk.”

When Jared Conneely answered, Liz dared to hope Esther O’Faolin was still in charge at this early hour. She was in luck.

“Listen, Esther,” Liz said. “I’ve got some lines of inquiry I’d like to follow on the missing mom case.”

“You know, Dick has the contacts for that story.”

“Let him chase his. But I’ve got some promising community contacts I’d like to pursue. I’ve also got fewer assumptions than Dick and, for that matter, the World reporters who are covering this case.”

“Let’s be clear on this. What do you mean by ‘assumptions’?”

“They look at her kitchen memo and see it as a goodbye message. They look at the blood and think she put it there on purpose. I’m not ready to draw conclusions so early in the game.”

“I’m the first to admit that the reporter who works without blinders will see the most in a story. But you may be wearing blinders without knowing it, Liz. Have you considered the possibility that you may be looking for a way to exonerate a person who deserted her husband and child, just because you knew and liked her? Or maybe you bonded with her daughter so well that you are hoping against hope you can save the day for her.”

“You’re on target on both counts, Esther. Sure, I’d like to save the day, as you put it. But more important than that, I’d like to tell the truth here—even if it is ugly. I have some avenues that might lead me toward that truth, and I’d like to have a day to pursue them.”

“Well, you know it’s really up to Dermott to decide where to send you when he gets in at ten. But if you’re already engaged in some reporting that can’t wait until then, I guess I can authorize it. What’s up?”

Liz paused. Then she said, “I plan to help Ellen Johansson’s neighbor wrap Christmas gifts while she shares insights about her friend. I have an appointment to arrive at her house in a half-hour.”

Esther groaned. “That hardly sounds urgent enough for me to pull strings with Dermott on your behalf when he gets in.”

“My thought is that she’ll give me enough insight about the family to smooth my way to an interview with Veronica’s grandmother.”

“OK, I’ll give you an inch, but you’ve got to win your mile. You go play Santa’s elf for a short while. Then, if you get an appointment with the grandmother, you can have the rest of the day on this. That would free up Dick for the fire story follow-up. If you don’t nail an interview with the grandma, I expect you to cover whatever Dermott has in mind for you. I’ll authorize overtime for your early start today with the expectation that you’ll put in a full day for Dermott—on the Johansson story or something else.”

“You won’t regret this, Esther. Thanks.”

New York City, December 16, 2000

“Stereotypes!” Ellen thought as she stood on the curbside by the World Trade Center. “Here I am feeling bad about any prejudice I might be feeling and, all the while, that cabbie is making assumptions about me. Just because I’m a blonde, it doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Well, I showed him!” she thought to herself, smiling.

Looking at her watch, she realized the cabbie had been a good one. She was early for her date. There was enough time to document the occasion in photographs. Taking out her camera, she pointed it at the towers, only to realize immediately that they were too large to frame in her lens. In the hope of getting a slightly better perspective, Ellen crossed the street where she joined a Japanese tour group that was also attempting to capture the scene on film.