Front Page Teaser lhm-1

by Rosemary Herbert

  “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.”

  So, he didn’t trust her to do what he considered the right thing.

  “From my experience, I know you will need these facts,” Cormac continued on her voice mail. After providing his job title and university affiliation and some details about the bloodstain analysis, he added, “I hope this is adequate because I’m going to be out of reach this evening.”

  “Yeah, sure!” Liz muttered.

  Reading the assignment sheet, Liz saw she’d been given slots for 24-inch and 8-inch stories. Her over-long requests had worked. McCann had cut them to the story lengths she’d hoped for. The first was assigned to run on Page One with a 20-inch jump running on Page Three, along with the 8-inch related story. But there were question marks next to it. Liz knew the only way she could erase them was to deliver the news, so she got right down to writing it.

  When she’d filed the articles electronically, she found DeZona, gave him the lead story’s slug, and told him to mark the photos of Kinnaird and the file photo of the bloodied kitchen with matching information. Then she handed him Veronica’s drawing. “Can you scan this for me?”

  “I recognize the style,” DeZona said, handing Liz prints of the pictures Tom had taken. Apparently in order to fill the frame with the drawing, Tom had shot the photos at close range. Designed to be used at a distance, the cheap flash had washed out Veronica’s pencil drawing in every one of the close-ups. But, apparently as an afterthought, Tom had taken a picture of the whole room.

  “When I looked at that shot with a magnifying glass, I figured you’d need this,” the photographer said, handing Liz an enlargement. “Not a pretty picture,” he said.

  “Not when you see this. Take a look at the tie. Veronica always drew her dad wearing an oversized tie. Freud might make something of that, but not me. Read all about family ties in tomorrow’s Beantown Banner!”

  “‘FAMILY TIES.’ Not a bad headline, and it looks like you’ve got the art to back your story, too. Great job, Higgins. I gotta hand it to you,” Dermott McCann said, standing in the doorway to the photo department. “You made front page, with a lead and a teaser. Take the day off tomorrow. I’ve got Dick working on the Social Security angle. He’s got the contacts. Even if it’s a dead end, we’ve got to report what the government knows about this Hasan’s work record.”

  Leaving the newsroom, Liz wondered if she could ever take a day off while a little girl counted on her to bring home her missing mom. Tired as she was, when she arrived home, she made another phone call to Jan Van Wormer’s Workshop, only to find the voice mail still jammed. Ali just had to be found. Two mysterious Middle Easterners connected to one missing woman were two too many. Their connection to Ellen demanded explanation.

  “Wait!” Liz said aloud, startling her cat. “There are not just two but three people in Ellen’s life with ties to the Middle East.” Pouring a glass of Chardonnay, flipping on her gas fireplace, and pulling her afghan over her lap, Liz settled down in her armchair and opened the airmail letter addressed to Ellen.

  18 December 2000

  My Dear Ellen,

  How can I ever express how marvelous it was to meet you at last! Such a strange experience it was, don’t you agree, to meet for the first time someone who has been your bosom companion for two decades? I am glad I need not struggle to describe such a feeling, because I know you, my dear friend, have experienced it, too.

  Here I sit, in Heathrow Airport, wishing I could actually lie down during this tedious time they call a layover. As my English instructor would say, “I feel frightfully shattered!” I think in America you would say, “exhausted utterly.” In my part of the world, I would say, “Jiddan ta~bana,” which means, “I am very tired.” (I write it down for you knowing you are making a study of my language. How pleased and surprised I was to hear you greet me in my own tongue when we met in New York.)

  I suppose the strangest and most wonderful thing about meeting you in person (I keep returning to the indescribable—I just can’t help myself!) was the opportunity to be looking into your eyes as you spoke. This, I think, was especially important regarding the confidences you shared with me. During my flight to this airport, I was unable to sleep, so I gave much thought to what you told me and I am of two minds about it. I have no doubt that I admire your courage, my dear friend. But I feel just as convinced that you are opening a Pandora’s box. I know you have told me there is relief in putting things out in the open, but I feel in my heart some things are better left with the lid on. Particularly, if they might be monstrous.

  Still, dear Ellen, you may count on me to support you no matter how you decide to proceed. Perhaps if you take the path I would not choose, you shall prove me wrong and win liberation for yourself in the process. But what will happen to your family, y
our mother, if you seek that liberation? You must think how they will fare when you are not in what you called the “circle” anymore.

  Perhaps, even now, you have already flown that circle. I sincerely hope not. Such decisions must be considered carefully and at great length. I regret I shall be world-hopping for the UN again, with no fixed address for several months, but I shall look for your letters when I return to my home in September. I hope they shall bear the familiar postmark, “Newton, Massachusetts,” on the outside—and happy news within.

  With my love and friendship,

  Nadia

  Chapter 21

  “What a fool I was!” Liz exclaimed. “Dick Manning, and even Tom, are right after all. I’m too close to this family.”

  She did not wish to consider the letter’s implications but she knew she must. The fact was, Ellen had considered voluntarily exiting the family circle. If this were true, it would account for some circumstances Liz had chosen to gloss over. There was the blood flung with the fingertips over the cookie ingredients. And the “FORGET ME NOT” message. Now that looked like it came to mind thanks to the broken teacup’s pattern name and seemed a good thing to write in the circumstances. And, of course, it accounted for Ellen’s reading choices, particularly How to Disappear Completely and Never Be Found. Liz was furious with herself for not keeping that book title in the front of her mind. And it occurred to her that in her haste, she had forgotten to thank Lucy Gray for e-mailing the code word “Blister” to her. Well, perhaps Lucy would rather not admit she’d sent it, after all.

  Haste. That was always the problem, wasn’t it? Here it was, December 27. Ellen had gone missing from her home December 18. While much had been accomplished in nine days, key items had been overlooked, and Ellen’s whereabouts remained unknown. The apparently perfect mother might have chosen to manufacture a scene of distress and desert her family, but that didn’t mean Liz should be any less earnest about finding her. She still had her promise to Veronica to keep. But what kind of revelation would accompany locating Ellen? How would it affect Veronica?

  Gazing into the flickering flames of her fireplace, Liz felt angry with herself not just for believing in Ellen, but also for wishing she could continue to believe in the picture-perfect mother. Getting up from her chair, she crossed to her kitchen, poured herself another glass of wine, turned on her radio, and peeled an apple in readiness to slice it. But she soon froze, with the apple skin curling over her fingers, as the voice of the WLTR-Radio announcer caught her ear.

  “During routine towing of illegally parked, snow-covered vehicles in Boston this afternoon,” the announcer said, “Boston police uncovered a car rented by Ellen Johansson, the woman who has been missing from her Newton home since December 18. According to police spokesperson Tara Foley, the vehicle was found completely buried in plowed snow near the Boston Public Library.

  “Inside the car, police found paperwork indicating the car had been rented by Ellen Johansson yesterday, eight days after she went missing from her home. The woman’s husband, Erik Johansson—who had been released from Newton police custody after he was questioned about assaulting Boston World news reporter Mick Lichen—was taken in to Boston police headquarters again this evening, where he identified the fountain pen, wedding ring, and bracelet found in the car as belonging to his wife. Under questioning, he admitted all the jewelry found in the car had been gifts to his wife from him. Lichen remains in the Newton-Wellesley Hospital with a broken leg sustained in the altercation. Boston police are holding Erik Johansson in custody overnight.”

  When the report was finished, Liz set down her apple, rinsed her hands, and phoned the newsroom. “We’re onto it,” Jared informed her. “Dick’s at the car rental place now.”

  “Is that Higgins?” she heard Dermott McCann inquire. “Hand me the phone. Listen, Liz, are you sure that drawing is of Daddy’s tie? It’s looking like something was rotten in that household.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. About the drawing, at least. When you print the piece, don’t cut Veronica’s quote about the kite-flying outing when the tie flew up and slapped Erik in the face. We really need that quote now.”

  “Gotcha. Hey Garamond,” he called out to the copy editor. “Can you stet that kid quote I cut in 28DRAW1? By the way,” he said to Liz, “forget about that day off tomorrow. I’ll need you to follow up on the Social Security information for that guy Hasan. I had to pull Manning off that and put him onto the car rental place. I’ll have Dick message his contacts to you.”

  Liz decided not to tell McCann about Nadia’s letter. Knowing the realities of the newsroom operation when news broke mid-evening, she knew something would get short shrift if a story on the letter was added—and a good candidate was the article about the drawing. Even if Erik had given Ellen reason to leave him, there was no sense in tarring him with the child abuse label unfairly. And an incomplete report on the drawing would make Erik look very suspicious indeed.

  But in the hands of the World’s Mick Lichen, that is exactly what happened, as Liz learned when Tom knocked on her door in the early hours of December 28.

  “Sorry to wake you, but I thought you’d want to see this. You not only scooped the World but got the front page, too. Take a look.” Wiping his feet on the mat, he handed her two newspapers. Then he set down a bakery box and two Styrofoam cups of coffee on Liz’s coffee table.

  In uncharacteristic uppercase type the World’s front page announced, “ABUSE QUESTION RAISED IN MISSING MOTHER CASE.” In the article, Mick Lichen made much of his observations through Veronica’s window:

  A child’s portrait of her father raises the question of sexual abuse in the Newton household that has been home to tragedy since Ellen Johansson, 34, went missing from it December 18. Ever since they stripped the wallpaper in the bedroom of Veronica Johansson, age 8, last week, police have been mum about the clue they found written on the wall. Now, based on exclusive observation of Veronica’s bedroom, we can report the writing on the wall spells trouble for Erik Johansson, 37, husband of Ellen and father of Veronica.

  The drawing depicts a large protuberance extending outward from the chest or midriff area of a figure labeled “DADDY.” According to Dr. Lesley Choate, professor of child psychiatry at the Harvard Medical School, “The huge ball-and-rod–shaped protuberance appears to be a classic depiction of the male member as seen by an abused child. The drawing is particularly disturbing in that it depicts a symbol of rape in a scene of innocent play or father-and-daughter companionship.”

  Lichen went on to suggest that child abuse accounted for all the problems in the household, including serving as the spur for Ellen’s leaving it. However, because she didn’t see Veronica’s drawing as an indicator of abuse, Liz knew that notion was false. In addition, she still could not visualize Ellen leaving her daughter in danger. There must be another reason she departed.

  The World also ran an article by Nancy Knight about developments with the rental car. Like Manning in the Banner, Knight read the cast-off jewelry, particularly the wedding ring, as a sign there was marital trouble, but she followed in Lichen’s footsteps and based the spousal discord on the premise of child abuse. The large front page of the World also held room for a piece by Lichen, headlined “Blood of a Stranger,” in which Lichen let on the World had no idea who’d been injured in the kitchen with Ellen.

  In contrast, the Banner’s front page screamed, “POINSETTIA POINTER: Was Hackney Hacked in Mystery Kitchen?” Liz’s lead article was accompanied by a file photo of the Johansson kitchen showing the poinsettia there and by a cameo shot of Cormac Kinnaird scrutinizing a poinsettia petal with a magnifying glass. Manning’s article about the rental car, headed “WEDDING BAND BLUES,” speculated on marital discord and showed the car rental clerk as gaga about getting her name in the paper and incapable of spitting out a sentence without several “likes” and a “whatevah.” A photo of the clerk captured her in the act of chewing gum while screwing a cap on a jar of nail polish. Finally, a front-
page teaser zooming in on Veronica’s drawing of the wind-blown tie, was emblazoned with the words, “DADDY DEAREST: Veronica’s Drawing Tells All.”

  “I’m sorry you had to realize the truth about Erik,” Tom said. “I know you liked him. I heard on the radio, as I was driving over, that the Department of Social Services is stepping in to take temporary custody of Veronica, based on newspaper reports.”

  “Not mine!”

  “But it says here, ‘DADDY DEAREST.’ Doesn’t that mean you wrote about the abuse? That teaser makes me think of the movie Mommie Dearest, about Joan Crawford’s abuse of her kid.”

  “No! For once the Banner headline writers’ words can be taken literally. Sure, they tried to pique readers’ interest by making it look like a parallel to that case. But that’s just to get readers to turn to Page Three.”

  “Well, it fooled me. Especially since there’s that penis drawing right there. It makes me think Erik Johansson is guilty as sin. Not everybody is going to read any further, Liz. If your story says Erik is a good guy, it’s not clear from this front-page teaser.”

  “He is all right, at least in this regard. I talked with Veronica myself yesterday and she told me her drawing depicted a windy day when Erik’s tie blew into his face while he flew a kite with her. That drawing is not evidence of sexual abuse.”

  “Well, I sure hope the Department of Social Services reads past Page One of the Banner then, because the World won’t help them here. Maybe you should call them and inform them of what you know.”

  Before Liz could cross the room to it, her telephone rang.

  “Liz. This is Olga. I have to thank you for your piece about Veronica’s drawing. When I called it to the attention of the Department of Social Services, they said they’d release Erik later this morning, as soon as they can complete their paperwork on this. I have to question, though, the box on your front page. If you didn’t know better, you would think the paper was reporting on a child molester rather than a misunderstood child’s drawing. The way they enlarged that picture of the tie is utterly irresponsible.”