A beat.
Another beat.
He raised a single eyebrow. Still he didn’t speak. He was very much like his father. He didn’t rush to fill the gaps.
‘Are you married yourself, Logan?’
He looked at his left hand as if to check. ‘No. I’m not. Never married.’
‘In a relationship?’
He smiled wearily. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Would you say your parents have a complicated relationship?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘They have an excellent relationship. They’re doubles champions. You have to be good communicators to play doubles successfully.’
‘What about off the court?’
‘They ran a very successful business together for thirty years.’
‘So their marriage hasn’t been . . .’ She looked down at her notes. ‘Rocky at times?’
‘Every marriage is rocky at times.’ He peered over as if he were trying to see what she had written down. ‘Did someone actually say that to you?’
‘I believe your sister told the police officers that things had been – what was the word she used? – a little “tumultuous” lately.’
‘Which sister?’ He lifted his hand to stop her answering. ‘I know which sister.’ He seemed to come to a sudden decision. ‘Look. Can I get one thing straight? Are you guys treating my father as a suspect?’
Of course I am, mate. You know I am.
She assumed Logan had seen the healing scratch marks on his father’s face. Stan Delaney said they came from climbing through a hedge to retrieve a tennis ball. They looked to Christina like classic defence wounds.
Yesterday’s search of Joy and Stan Delaney’s home had revealed little of interest. The house was clean and tidy. It was notably clean and tidy. No signs that remotely indicated a struggle, except for one thing: a faint crack that snaked across the glass of a framed photo in the hallway. The photo was of a child holding a tennis trophy.
‘What happened here?’ Christina had asked Stan Delaney, and he said, ‘No idea.’
It was a lie. Just like the story about searching through the hedge for a tennis ball was a lie. They’d seized the framed picture in the faint hope that it might contain blood or hair.
Stan Delaney had answered all of her questions yesterday with little to no detail. He said yes, he and his wife had argued, but he refused to say what the argument was about. He said yes, it was out of character for his wife to go away like this. He said yes, it was strange that she had not taken her toothbrush, or any clothes as far as he could tell. He was obviously a smart man. He knew he didn’t have to be polite and that he couldn’t be compelled to say anything he didn’t want to say. He was good. He was bloody good. But Christina was better.
‘Your mother is missing and I’m hearing that’s out of character,’ she said to Logan. ‘So all we’re doing at this stage is collecting information.’
‘Dad is worried sick. He’s not sleeping or eating. He’s not coping well.’
Christina tapped her pen against the notepad. ‘May I say, you don’t seem that worried about your mother, Logan.’
He raised his eyebrows. Waited for the question.
‘Yet it was you and your sister who filed the missing persons report.’
Again, he waited for the question.
‘As you know, we’re holding a press conference later this afternoon. We’re putting a lot of time and effort into finding your mother.’
She saw his good manners kick in. ‘Thank you. We’re grateful. We’re worried she might have had an accident. Or that she might have had some sort of . . . episode, or something.’
‘Episode?’ Christina pounced. ‘Do you mean a mental health kind of episode?’
‘I guess so.’ He shifted in his seat.
‘Has she been showing signs of depression?’
‘Not really,’ he said. He winced and then said carefully, ‘Maybe a little bit.’
‘Can you tell me more about that?’ said Christina.
‘She’s been not quite herself.’ He looked past Christina’s head. ‘She may have been feeling a bit . . . down.’
‘What about?’
‘Well,’ he said, and she saw him consider and then discard the truthful answer. ‘I’m not exactly sure.’
‘So she sent a text to each of her children saying she was going away, but she left no message for your father. Did you find that strange?’