Rosemary Herbert - Front Page Teaser

Back in the Tracer, Liz headed west on the Massachusetts Turnpike, listening to news radio as she drove. The back of her billboard was still lit with “MERRY XMAS LIZ” spelled out in lights. Allowing herself a fleeting smile, she listened carefully as the radio announcer reported more breaking news in the Johansson case.

“‘We have evidence two people were injured in Ellen Johansson’s kitchen,’ Newton police chief Anthony Warner told WLTR-News today. Two days after the Newton librarian and mother of one went missing, leaving bloodstained cookie-making ingredients on her kitchen counter, police confirmed the blood belonged to the missing woman herself. Now, Warner revealed, analysis of swabs taken from the kitchen floor area indicates another, unknown person was also injured in that kitchen.”

“Shit!” Liz exclaimed, thinking she’d lost her scoop. But then she realized WLTR did not have the whole story. Only she and Kinnaird knew the probable identity of the second injured party. She had to believe the doctor would not share his information until she reported it and turned in the cigarette butts to the police. Still, the timing of the WLTR report was a disaster in the making for her. As soon as she got off the turnpike onto Route 16, she pulled over and phoned the city desk.

“I know who the unidentified bleeder may be,” she told Dermott McCann without preamble.

“Then where the hell are you? I realize it’s your day off, Higgins, but were you waiting to be back on the clock tomorrow to tell me?”

“What do you think?” Liz shot back. “Ask DeZona if you want proof I’ve been on this all day.”

“Since when do you report to DeZona?”

“Look, Dermott, I don’t have time to argue with you. Just trust me on this one. While I verify one more piece of information, save me a four-inch front page story with a twenty-two-inch jump and a front page teaser for a ten-inch piece on Page Three.”

“Who the hell are you to tell me . . .”

“Liz Higgins, star reporter, if you want to know. I’ll see you in about an hour and a half.”

Liz pushed the button to cut the call on her cell phone and drove on to the Swenson residence. Thanking Providence, she caught sight of Veronica playing in the yard before she reached the house. Turning off her headlights and parking her car out of view of the house, she approached the child on foot.

When she saw Liz, Veronica flew to the reporter. “Did you do it? Did you find my mommy?” she asked.

“Not yet, Veronica, but once again, you can be a big help.”

“I can?”

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t you need your detective pad?”

“I’ve got it right here,” Liz said, looking around as she pulled the notebook from her bag. “Oh, Veronica. I see you’ve made a super snow fort. It would also make a great private eye office, if you lived in the North Pole.”

Veronica smiled. “Let me show it to you.”

Sitting on a block of snow that served as a chair, Liz took out a pencil and held it poised over a new notebook page. “You should hang a few pictures in your fort, Veronica. Your daddy showed me a great one you drew of your family that he has hanging in his office.”

“That’s a baby picture!” Veronica said disdainfully. “It’s not very good. I drew that when I was little !”

“In first grade?”

“No. That was in kindergarten. I remember because we only got one box of crayons then. I used up my purple crayon before Thanksgiving and I couldn’t have another one.”

“You must like the color purple!”

“Oh yes. It’s my favorite color, still!”

“In that picture your dad has in his office, you drew a purple tie on your daddy.”

“That’s because I love purple and I love my daddy. When I was little, I always used to draw him with a tie. You wanna know why? Because he used to let me pick the tie for him to wear every morning.”

“ Every day! Wow! You were such a good help to your dad. Some dads like to wear something different on weekends. Does your daddy usually wear a tie even when he’s not at work?”

“No, Liz. He hardly ever wears a tie when he’s raking leaves or things like that.”

“What about if you do something fun together, like flying a kite? Would he wear his tie then?”

“One time he did wear a tie when we flew my kite. It was my purple kite!”

“Were you in kindergarten then?”

“I don’t know. I remember it was funny, though. My daddy was trying to run with the kite and his tie kept hitting him in the face.”

“It must have been very windy!”

“Yes, it was!”

“Veronica, I hear you have Madeline wallpaper in your bedroom. Is that right?”

“Yes, but I’m tired of it.”

“Do you remember if you were in kindergarten when it was put in your room?”

“Maybe. My mommy let me write on the wall. That was so cool.”

“She was in kindergarten then,” Olga Swenson interrupted. “Why are you sitting outside in the cold?”

“I was showing her my private eye . . . ,” Veronica began.

“Her private, fully furnished snow castle!” Liz interrupted. “Do you know, my mother used to let me put candles in my snow forts. I could never, ever light candles in the house, but my mother used to light some for me in my snow forts.”

“Don’t give the child ideas!” Olga snapped. “Indoors or out, she might get burned.” Olga hustled everyone inside. After she’d settled Veronica with hot chocolate in the den, she listened as Liz explained the blood evidence she planned to report on.

“No, I never heard Ellen talk about a taxi driver. It must be some madman. Do you think he harmed my daughter?” Grasping at straws, Olga added, “That blood they found—do they know how long it was there? Maybe someone got hurt while they were investigating the scene.”

This line of conversation came to a dead stop as Veronica flew into the room announcing, “They arrested my daddy!!”

“I told you to watch the video, not the regular television!” Olga scolded, then changed her tone. “Oh, dear Veronica, forgive me for scolding you. It’s just that I knew the police were asking your daddy questions and I wanted him to tell you about that himself. They only want him to help them find your mommy.”

“But they said the police arrested him! When people get arrested, they go to jail! Everybody knows that!”

“Please, Liz, allow me to talk with my granddaughter,” Olga said, nodding her head in the direction of the door.

“Of course. I’ll let myself out,” Liz said. “Goodnight.” Looking over her shoulder she saw that Olga’s eyes were haunted, red from crying, but she mustered a soothing voice on her granddaughter’s behalf.

“Sometimes the reporters get it wrong,” she heard Olga tell Veronica. “The police can come and drive someone in their car to their station to help them. That’s not the same thing as being arrested.”

Walking to her car, Liz thought honesty would be a better policy, but she could not fault a loving grandmother for cushioning her grandchild from these harsh realities. Before making her drive, she phoned Lucy Gray at the library and asked her if Ellen had any old drawings by Veronica pinned up at her desk. Lucy said she did, and verified that one portrayed Erik wearing an outsized tie. Lucy promised to meet Liz at the library door with the drawing.

The rush-hour traffic was terrible, but Liz made it to the library and then the newsroom by 5:30. Lines had been up for well over an hour, and McCann was edgy at setting aside significant space to be filled by an absent reporter.

At her desk, Liz found she had missed Cormac’s 3:15 phone call, but at least he’d left a message. “Don’t worry about fetching the evidence, Liz,” he said. “I turned it in to the authorities myself.”