Rosemary Herbert - Front Page Teaser

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.

Even from this perspective, it remained impossible to capture the full buildings in a single photo, but Ellen could get a sense of their size by having pedestrians and traffic in the foreground, looking dwarfed by a fraction of one tower. Seeing her with a camera, the Japanese tourists asked if she would photograph their group in the scene. When she assented, they provided her with five cameras. Using one camera after another—all but one equipped with much better wide-angle lenses than she had on her camera—she shot five photos of the patiently smiling group. As a thank-you gesture, one of the tourists offered to photograph Ellen, using her camera. When he recognized the limitations of her lens, he made the effort of walking half a block down a side street in order to capture more of the scene. Ellen walked with him so that she would be in the photograph’s foreground.

On her way back toward the towers, she shot another photo of her own, this one with a street-corner vendor of roasted chestnuts shown in the foreground. This shot particularly pleased her, since she saw it as a scene that brought together timeless and contemporary New York.

Snapping the lens cap onto her camera, she reached the corner as the WALK light invited her to cross. She stepped off the curb with a crowd and strode across the street toward her long-awaited rendezvous .

Newton, Massachusetts, December 20, 2000

The plastic reindeer in the Seaport family’s front yard was an eyesore during daylight, at least. But it made the house easy to identify. When the mom who ruled the roost opened the door, it was immediately obvious that the Seaport home had a more lived-in atmosphere than did the Johanssons’ house. A plastic mat covering the carpet in the vestibule was cluttered with shoes, boots, and a dog bone, all of which were rapidly becoming more disordered as a good-natured golden retriever danced around in excitement at Liz’s arrival.

“It’s so wonderful of you to help out,” the lady of the house said as she led Liz into her dining room. “I’ll just get you some coffee. Cream? Sugar?”

“Just cream, please, Elizabeth,” Liz said, thinking how rare it was to be thought of as helpful to others in the course of reporting.