Erik also showed Liz more incoming mail—all postcards—from Nadia. None of them had a word to say about the secret the pen pals had shared in New York. Nor did they indicate when Nadia expected to return to her home in Jerusalem.
In addition, Erik let Liz know he phoned Nadia’s Jerusalem home twice a week, every week. Liz had been doing the same thing. There was no answering machine, so the phone just rang and rang each time either of them called. In February, while Veronica spent her school vacation with Olga, Erik made an unproductive trip to Nadia’s Jerusalem address, only to have neighbors tell him they had no idea when she would return. They insisted they had no information to share about relatives or friends of Nadia.
Unwilling to trust Erik on this, Liz prevailed on the Banner’s travel editor, Susan Damon, to visit Nadia’s address while she was on assignment there in May. Susan, too, found Nadia’s neighbors less than helpful.
Once a month, Liz penned a letter to Nadia, expressing her concern for Ellen and her hope that Nadia would contact her at the first opportunity. She also phoned Jan Van Wormer on the eighteenth of every month, the anniversary of Ellen’s disappearance. But there was never news of the man who called himself Al Hazard. Spring came and went as Liz, working with Erik, systematically contacted United Nations personnel who they thought might require the services of a translator with skills in English and Arabic. Not one of them knew a thing about Nadia.
Still, the pen pal’s postcards kept coming. Most were sent from airports and bore messages indicating Nadia was about to leave for another destination. This had been true throughout the pen pals’ correspondence, Erik said, recalling how his wife had envied the international life her correspondent enjoyed.
Veronica’s June 11 birthday came and went with no word from Ellen. However, that day there was a phone call made to the Johansson home from Ellen’s cell phone. The caller—was it Ellen?—said nothing. Investigation of the cell-phone records indicated no roaming charges for the call, which must have been placed from a location tantalizingly close to home. At the urging of the police, Erik continued to keep the cell phone in service, in case another call came through.
For her birthday gift to Veronica, Olga had Veronica’s birthstone attached to Ellen’s wedding ring circlet to make a unique pendant. “I know people think Erik did something to drive Ellen away, but I’m sure he didn’t. That marriage was rock solid,” Olga told Liz, “so I’m celebrating it and Veronica’s birthday with that pendant.”
On June 18—the six-month anniversary of Ellen’s disappearance—Liz wrote a recap of the mystery for the Banner and included Olga’s heartwarming vote of confidence in her son-in-law to balance the many unanswered questions that led many to think ill of him. Nevertheless, Erik was uncomfortable with the article and dropped his contact with Liz after it ran. The anniversary article also drew criticism from Lucy Gray, who phoned Liz in a pique when it was published.
“I didn’t betray your trust . . . ” Liz began, in response to the librarian’s angry tone.
“You couldn’t have!” Lucy said. “I never gave you access to the information.”
“Well, not directly. But you did e-mail me the title of the list, if not the password.”
“What e-mail? What password?”
“You didn’t send all those e-mails with the word ‘Blister’?”
“No, I didn’t! I debated about letting you know but I just couldn’t.”
“Then, it must have been someone else. But who was it? I didn’t talk with anyone else at the library.”
Liz explained how Olga had retrieved the information. Could it have been the most unlikely person the two could imagine: Monica Phillips? In any case, Lucy seemed to relax knowing someone else had done the deed she had debated about perpetrating.
“So, you know about Ellen’s reading choices then?” Lucy asked.
“How to Disappear Completely and Never Be Found,” Liz said, naming the memorable title.
“Not that one! That’s a children’s book.”
“With a title like that?”
“Yes. You can tell by the call number indicating the juvenile category. She probably took it out to read to Veronica along with the other children’s title on the list. No, it was the title about child abuse that concerned me.”
“I don’t remember anything about that on the list.”
“The circulation list does not provide subtitles. Perhaps that’s why you didn’t see Silent Knights as significant.”
“Is it a book about child abuse? Did Ellen ever let on to you any fears that Erik might abuse Veronica?”
“Erik! No. The book Ellen was reading was more along the self-help lines. That book’s full title is, Silent Knights: Finding the Courage to Admit Aberrant Impulses. It addresses how to overcome the impulse to behave abusively. When I told you the reading list made me doubt how well I knew Ellen, this is what I was talking about. I have to wonder if Ellen herself had a problem.”
“That’s why you were reluctant to share the information.”
“That, and my profound belief in the right to readers’ privacy. Suppose Ellen was only trying to get further support on a problem she had thus far been able to control? If the reading list were known, she might be vilified despite doing a good job of maintaining self control.”
“You have a point there.”
“I have to wonder, Liz, if Ellen fled in order to prevent herself from hurting Veronica.”
It was an avenue no one had explored thus far, but why would a New York taxi driver be traveling that route with Ellen? Was it just a fluke that he had entered her life at that moment? Or was he some kind of stalker? There seemed no way to find out.
After Dick Manning outdid Liz by scooping a few early summer news items, Liz found herself back on the community news beat, for the most part. She was also asked to cover some home and garden items for vacationing columnists. While she sometimes ran into Cormac Kinnaird when covering breaking news, as her hard news assignments dropped off they did not cross paths. But she and Tom discovered a passion for picnicking, and when it was possible, she took Tom along on some of her garden-related assignments, where they spread out his Mexican blanket with the greatest of pleasure.
In August, another call was made from Ellen’s cell phone, this time to the World’s Nancy Knight. The reporter made much of her scoop, even though the message was another blank one. A psychiatrist consulted by Knight told the reporter, “It’s evident this model mother cannot entirely separate from her child.” While Newton police duly discovered the phone call had been placed somewhere where roaming charges did not apply, the new contact seemed destined to underline Ellen’s absence as voluntary, even if it was uncertain who had made the call.
Then in September 2001, everything changed. Everything.
On the second of the month, Liz returned to Gravesend Street to find in her mailbox the long-awaited letter from Nadia. Tearing it open, she stood in her tiny driveway, oblivious to the sounds of passing traffic and of Prudence meowing inside a window. Posted from Jerusalem, the letter read:
Dear Liz Higgins,
Forgive me for my delay in contacting you, which is made all the more dreadful by the fact, which I have just learned from your letters, that my dear friend Ellen is missing. I’m afraid my work keeps me world hopping, and my stays in each destination are too short to make the forwarding of letters practicable.