Free Burning Time by Leslie Glass Page A

nice …” The voice trailed off.
    The girl couldn’t say why they weren’t good friends. Fair enough.
    “What about a boyfriend?” April asked. “Did she have a boyfriend she might have gone away with?”
    “She had one for a while, but he dumped her.”
    “Recently?”
    “Yeah, Ellie was pretty upset. That’s why she didn’t want to go with anybody. She wanted to be alone.”
    “When did you see her last?”
    “I saw her when she left for the airport.”
    “The airport. Which airport?”
    “I don’t know. LaGuardia, I think. I don’t remember which airline.”
    “What time was it?”
    “It was afternoon.”
    Connie told April what Ellen was wearing when she left, and they hung up. Someplace warm. That left a lot of places. Mexico, the Caribbean, Florida. California. She checked the flights going out of LaGuardia to sunny places on Thursday afternoon a week before. There were a lot of them. The airlines didn’t keep passenger lists for this long. And if Ellen were running away, she might not haveused her own name anyway. Checking airlines was not a useful path to pursue. It was exactly a week since Ellen had left the city. She was due back in school the following Monday. April was quite certain she would be there.
    She handed in her report. This was more detailed than the initial one. Now she knew what Ellen had been wearing, and the fact that she had most probably left the city of her own volition, probably by air, during a school vacation. The assignment notebook and calendar on her desk had corresponding stars in red ink to show when papers were due and test dates. Ellen was a conscientious and methodical student. The following Thursday was starred for a test with a note to “Study hard for this one.” Nothing about her room indicated a girl who didn’t intend to come back.
    The case was not closed, however. Sergeant Joyce had received several calls from the parents—both parents, at different times—demanding a stepped-up investigation. Joyce assured the Roanes they were doing everything they could to locate the girl and told April to stay with it.
    April called Jennifer Roane with another approach. “Does Ellen have a credit card?” she asked.
    “Why? Has it turned up?” Jennifer started to cry.
    “No. But if she used it, it’s a way of finding where she went. Her roommate says she left last Thursday for the airport.”
    “What?” Jennifer said, appalled. “You mean, she went somewhere?”
    “It looks like it. Do you have the credit card number?”
    “Just a minute.”
    Jennifer Roane was away for several minutes. Finally she came back with the credit card number. It was a MasterCard.
    “Anybody else use this card?”
    “Uh, her father. I have my own.”
    “Thanks.”
    April called MasterCard. “This is Detective Woo, NYPD. I need some information on recent charges to card number 956-1900-9424-1992.”
    “You’ll have to talk to my supervisor.”
    “That’s fine. What’s your supervisor’s name?”
    After a brief discussion with the supervisor, April faxed an official Police Department request for information to the MasterCard office. An hour later, she received a printout of charges to the account for the last month. Among them was a charge to American Airlines on the date Ellen left her dorm. And a number of charges to a restaurant and shops in—bingo: San Diego.

13
     
    Jason slammed his appointment book shut on the five worrying letters to Emma that had come in the five days since his return from Toronto. Then he masked the movement by rearranging a few things on his desk and checking the answering machine to make sure it was on. As he did this, he realized it was absurd. Harold wouldn’t notice his office under any circumstances. Harold never commented on anything but himself. Jason looked quickly around anyway.
    His was the usual sort of psychiatrist’s office, with a leather analyst’s couch, a leather Eames chair behind it, a large desk covered with papers, and