Rosemary Herbert - Front Page Teaser

Hasan hastened across the lobby as the women exited, arm-in-arm, crushed in one compartment of a revolving door. While Hasan followed, the pair crossed the plaza to the globe-shaped sculpture and asked a passerby to take their photo in front of it. While his head spun in the effort to find a way to warn her about her plight—or to somehow to be man enough to carry out his horrific order—he nevertheless found himself marveling, again, at the woman’s faith in other people. He would never hand his camera over to a total stranger and leave, as she did, valuables such as a purse and briefcase lying on a bench while the photo was being taken. In fact, the woman never picked up her things. Instead, rapt in animated conversation with her friend, she simply walked away from them.

Now I am a thief, as well, Hasan told himself as he picked them up. Or, maybe not, he thought, more happily. Here was the excuse to approach the woman again as a Good Samaritan.

Waving the purse and calling out, “Lady, lady! I have found your handbags!” Hasan attempted to get Ellen’s attention. But he was too late.

The women were already too far away to hear him, and before he could break into a run to catch them, they had entered an idling cab. To make things worse, Hasan’s cab was nowhere to be seen.

Exasperated and frantic, Hasan was confused as to where he had left his cab. Nevertheless, he retained the presence of mind to repeat to himself the medallion number and cab company name emblazoned on the women’s cab as it drove away, headed uptown. He could plant it in his memory.

At least in the eyes of one man, he didn’t look suspicious carrying the woman’s things.

“Nice try, buddy,” a businessman said to him. “You’re a rare bird.”

Whatever that meant, it was said in friendly manner. Still, Hasan was uneasy to be seen with the bags. He wished he still had his Gap bag containing his old clothes. But that had been left behind in the restaurant. Taking off his blazer, he wrapped the purse and slim briefcase in it and hailed a cab himself, asking the driver to follow the woman’s cab. But such chases are far more difficult in real life than they are in films, and the cabbie soon lost sight of the vehicle. Hasan ordered him to return to the World Trade Center and make a circuit of the building. Allah be praised, Hasan’s cab had not been towed away, although it was parked in a tow zone. Perhaps the police had been too preoccupied with the fire emergency to take heed of it.

Hasan’s relief was short-lived. The two-way radio crackled to life as Faud’s voice commanded, “You know what you have to do. The teena must go missing. For always.”

“ Hamdu-lillah ,” Hasan said, hoping his cohort would take it as assent, while in fact it was his prayer to Allah to help him have the manhood to do what he must.

Newton, Massachusetts, December 26, 2000

If Olga Swenson felt edgy as she entered the Newton Free Library, no one took notice at first. The day after Christmas, the place was little used by patrons, leaving the library staff free to take extended coffee breaks and tell one another about their holiday celebrations. It was also a day for Monica Phillips to shine by overseeing a “Boxing Day Cookie Fest” that she had made a tradition for several years. Apparently, the librarian had some English background and felt eager to acknowledge, with a little celebration of her own, the December 26 holiday that was celebrated with a day off from work in the British Isles. The event required librarians scheduled to work that day to bring leftover cookies from their family celebrations for all of the colleagues to share.

Although Olga Swenson had forgotten all about the occasion until she arrived at the library, she did have a tin of leftover cookies with her to present to the librarians. Little did she know how useful this icebreaker would become.

“Mrs. Swenson, how lovely to see you,” Monica Phillips said, as Olga approached the reference desk. “And how kind of you to remember our Boxing Day Cookie Fest!”

“How could I forget it?” Olga fibbed. “It is one of Ellen’s favorite library occasions. So lovely of you to have established the tradition.”

“Perhaps you’d like to join us,” the librarian said, looking at the clock. “We begin in about fifteen minutes in the conference room.”

“It’s kind of you to include me, but I fear I couldn’t face all of Ellen’s colleagues just now. It’s all so very upsetting, as I’m sure you may appreciate, Miss Phillips.”

“Of course, of course,” Monica Phillips said with a small reassuring smile that masked her great pleasure in being the only person privy to a conversation with Ellen’s mother. It would mean she would have gossip—or at least an impression of the woman’s demeanor—to share at the cookie fest. “May I offer you a cup of tea in my office, at least?” she inquired, stepping away from the reference desk in the rare act of leaving it unattended.

Monica Phillips led the way to the modest office Olga knew the librarian shared with her daughter. Shrewdly, Olga decided to give the librarian something to talk about in the cookie party.

“That would be just wonderful,” Olga said. “I find I need to stop and collect myself, off and on, all day. Ellen’s absence has a kind of physical effect on me, you know. Mentally, I feel distracted, and profoundly worried, of course. But physically, I feel quite drained—exhausted without being sleepy.”

“How strange that must be,” Monica said. “How difficult for you! And Veronica? How is she bearing up?”

Olga bristled. It was awful enough to have to emote about herself to this woman, but she felt the others in her family—especially her granddaughter—were completely off limits. Still, it was important to feed Miss Phillips something more to talk about.

“At a time like this, the presence of a pet in the household is wonderful, don’t you think?” she said, as the pair entered the small office. Pinned up all over Miss Phillips’s bulletin board were photos of her three cats.

“I wasn’t aware Veronica had a pet.”

“Not in her home. But Veronica has grown up—during visits to my home in Wellesley—with Hershey. That’s our chocolate Lab. In fact, Veronica is the one who named him.”

“So, Veronica is staying with you then?”

“Oh, yes. But although the circumstances this time are—unusual—it’s quite ordinary for her to stay with us on Boxing Day. Unless it fell on a weekend, Ellen always had to work then— and enjoy your cookie party—so it’s become an annual treat for me to have Veronica overnight on Christmas and for the day on December 26th. Erik is looking after her and Hershey this morning so I could deliver the cookies.”

Monica Phillips tore herself away from the conversation to fetch the tea. During the seven or so minutes she was gone, Olga noticed her daughter’s PC was gone from her desk while the screen on the PC belonging to Monica Phillips was entirely black. It had not been turned on.

“Sorry about the delay, but I had to get someone to cover at the reference desk before I could fetch the tea.”

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Not at all. I would have needed a substitute at the desk in a few minutes anyway.”

“I suppose I will have to consult your reference desk colleague about my question before I leave.”

“What question is that?”

“I wanted to see if I could borrow a copy of Gone With the Wind today. It’s the book Ellen was reading, in paperback, when she—well, before she left. She must have taken her copy with her. I’d like to read the novel, too, if there’s a copy here in the library. I think it would make me feel closer to my daughter at this time.”