Amy said, ‘Expect the best but prepare for the worst. I thought you’d check out the hospitals, put out an alert, that sort of thing.’
‘We’re doing all that,’ said Christina. ‘You were obviously there at the press conference.’
‘Yes, I know I was there! That was a great press conference, thank you! It was really . . . professional!’ She looked around wildly for inspiration. ‘But, um, I guess what I’m saying is, I really didn’t expect you guys to treat my parents’ house like an actual crime scene.’
Christina said nothing. She waited.
‘Those scratches on my dad’s face are from the hedge out the back of our house. I can show you the hedge! They’re not from my mother’s fingernails.’
Yes, they are, thought Christina. I’d put a million bucks on it.
Amy shuddered so convulsively at the thought of her mother’s fingernails that for a moment Christina thought she was having an actual seizure.
Ethan glanced uneasily at Christina as Amy closed her eyes, breathed deeply and grimaced like a weightlifter, as though she were physically taking control of her mental state.
She opened her eyes and when she spoke again her voice was steady. ‘Here’s the thing. You don’t know my father. He’s a stranger to you. All you see is a grumpy old man. He suppresses his emotions. That’s what men of his age do. That’s probably why he looks guilty to you.’
Actually, Stan Delaney was not behaving like a guilty person. Guilty people overexplained. They talked too much and gave unnecessary detail. They were too polite and tried too hard to hold eye contact for too long. Stan answered their questions with terse impatience, as if he had somewhere else to be.
Amy said, ‘I mean, you haven’t found anything at the house, have you? Like, you haven’t found any actual . . . evidence?’
There was a tiny flinch on the word ‘evidence’， as if she’d burned her tongue.
Christina ignored the question. Instead she threw out a piece of information like a fishing line.
‘Amy, were you aware that your father had his car washed and detailed the day after your mother went missing?’ she asked. ‘He took it to a car wash café he’d never visited before and he got the most expensive service they had to offer. Their “premium” treatment. Normally only people with luxury cars choose that option. It cost him four hundred dollars.’
‘Four hundred dollars?’ The colour left Amy’s face. ‘You’re saying my dad spent four hundred dollars getting his car washed? Are you sure?’
Christina said jovially, ‘Would you say that was out of character?’
She didn’t need to hear the answer.
From a forensics point of view the car told Christina nothing. The car detailers had done an excellent job. No-one at the car café remembered anything unusual about the car. They did proudly confirm the use of oxidising cleaners, which would have removed all evidence of blood stains.
But a man who gets his car cleaned the day after his wife goes missing has something to hide.
‘Do you know a Dr Henry Edgeworth?’ she asked Amy.
‘Doctor who?’ said Amy.
‘Edgeworth,’ said Christina. ‘Henry Edgeworth. Your mother had a long telephone conversation with him on the day she disappeared.’
‘Really?’ said Amy. She brightened. ‘We should call him!’
It was like she honestly thought they hadn’t considered this idea.
‘We’ve been trying to contact him,’ said Christina. ‘But he’s out of the country. At a conference.’
‘Wait, do you think my mother could be with him?’
‘We can’t find any record of your mother having left the country,’ said Christina. ‘We also know she hasn’t got her passport with her.’
‘Unless she travelled with a fake passport?’ said Amy.
Christina couldn’t tell if she was serious.
‘Does that seem likely?’ Ethan spoke up. ‘That your mother would have a fake passport?’
‘No,’ admitted Amy. ‘But I guess it’s possible she could have a secret life that I know nothing about, right? I mean, your parents can surprise you, can’t they?’
‘Is it possible your mother was having an affair?’ asked Christina.
Amy’s mouth dropped. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘You did just say it was possible that she had a secret life.’ Christina finished the brownie and licked her fingers.