ANOTHER ONE! is the Post’s effort. The Daily News’s banner is COPYCAT OR SERIAL? Even the paper of record, the New York Times, devotes front-page real estate to Charlotte’s disappearance. Bottom left, below the fold, under the headline: DAUGHTER OF FAMED LAWYER MISSING.
I plunk down a few bills and grab the Times. The story cites anonymous but “high-ranking” sources inside the NYPD stating that there is no evidence of any connection between this most recent disappearance and the prior reported case of Jennifer Barnett. The middle of the article focuses on Charlotte’s father’s legal representation of Nicolai Garkov, recounting the crimes for which Garkov has been indicted as well as the Red Square Massacre, which he’s only suspected of masterminding, and then leaves it to the reader to connect the dots that anyone that evil could be behind Charlotte’s disappearance too.
The bottom line is that the police have nothing. Less than nothing, in fact, because they’re apparently barking up the wrong tree with Garkov.
Still, that could change quickly. Or maybe the newspapers had it wrong.
Which is why the most important fact I learn from the press accounts is that the police will be holding a press conference today at noon. That’s when I’ll hear what the cops have, and know how to plot my next moves.
At noon, I tell Beth that I’m about to begin a conference call with Europe that I expect to last for an hour and that I’m not to be disturbed. I take my phone off the cradle so it will light up as in-use at Beth’s desk—and not ring audibly at mine—and I click my mouse so that it pulls the press conference up on my computer. It’s being broadcast live on NY1, the city’s news station.
The shot on my screen is of an empty podium, a young reporter with glasses standing beside it. He’s saying that someone from the NYPD will be making a statement any minute now and then will be answering some questions.
The live shot is replaced with the photograph I’d seen about a million times before of Jennifer Barnett. She’s on the beach, crystal-blue water behind her. Her photo vanishes from the screen. In its place is the picture of Charlotte the tabloids ran. It’s not one I’ve seen before. She’s in a restaurant, wearing a black T-shirt. Her hair is down and loose and she’s got the classic Charlotte smile front and center.
The TV image returns to the podium. Now a man is standing behind it. He looks to be Hispanic, about my age, dressed in all black and not wearing a tie, which strikes me as odd for some reason.
“My name is Lieutenant Gabriel Velasquez,” he says. “I’m going to make a brief statement, and then I’ll take some questions. Charlotte Broden, a twenty-five-year-old graduate student at New York University, has been missing since Wednesday morning. Although it’s early in the investigation, we’ve already developed a short list of people of interest in the disappearance. Let me say at the outset that we have absolutely no reason to believe that there is any connection whatsoever between Ms. Broden’s disappearance and the previously reported disappearance of Jennifer Barnett. Now, I know that some of the more irresponsible members of the press have raised the possibility that someone might be targeting young women in our city. There is absolutely no evidence to support that conjecture. Obviously, I cannot share with you the leads we have uncovered in either investigation, but I will tell you that at the present time we have a limited number of suspects in both matters, and I can further state that there is no overlap between the two suspect lists. Now I’ll take a few questions.”
The camera stays on the cop, so the questions come from disembodied voices. Despite the cop’s disclaimer a minute earlier, the first reporter asks whether the disappearances of two young women might be the work of a serial killer.
The cop is having none of it. He quickly shoots down any suggestion, reiterating that the police believe they are looking for two different people, one responsible for each crime.
Next up a woman’s voice asks whether the police are going to impose a curfew. This question merits only a one-word response: “No.”
“Can you identify the person or persons of interest in the Broden case?” another woman asks.
I can feel my heart rate spike. I can’t help but imagine that he’s about to say my name.
Instead he says, “No. Not at this time.”
“What can you tell us about the suspects, then?”
“I can tell you that there are a limited number of people who are, at the moment, our primary focus. And I can say that each one was personally acquainted with Charlotte Broden.”
A few more questions follow, but none of them adds anything until someone asks, “Do you believe Ms. Broden is still alive?”
The question hangs in the air. Even I’m anxiously awaiting the cop’s response, which makes no sense at all. I know the answer.
“We pray that she is . . . and we have no evidence that she’s not,” the cop says.
In other words, they don’t have the first clue what’s happened to Charlotte. I feel my body relax. It’s all good.
The cop says, “Now I would like to turn the microphone over to Charlotte Broden’s father, F. Clinton Broden, to say a few words.”
The man who enters the screen looks like the very epitome of grief. His face is almost frozen in shock. He says something I don’t quite catch and then shakes his head, clearly unable to utter a word more.
A woman comes to his rescue. A moment before, she was nowhere to be seen on the screen. She’s wearing a black business suit and her hair is pulled back tight into a ponytail. The resemblance to Charlotte is striking.
“My name is Ella Broden. Charlotte Broden is my sister. My father is obviously overcome with emotion, as we all are. We miss Charlotte so much. On behalf of our family, I want to thank the NYPD for all the work they’re doing to find my sister. I also want to announce that tomorrow we will be holding a search for Charlotte at Riverside Park. It’s open to the public, so please join us. We will be meeting at Ninety-Sixth Street and Riverside Drive at noon. Our family has also established a reward of one hundred thousand dollars for any information leading to Charlotte’s safe return.”
She pauses and then looks directly into the camera. If I didn’t know any better, I might have thought she was looking right at me.
“If anyone knows anything about my sister’s whereabouts, or has any information at all, please call the police . . .” She pauses, and for the second time I think she might address me personally, but then she says, “And if you’re out there, if you can hear me, Charlotte, please know that we love you . . . that I love you, Char-bar.”
I click off the link and place the phone receiver back on the cradle. It immediately starts ringing, but I leave it for Beth to answer.