Free Siren by Tara Moss Page A

ask another question when Adam’s mother abruptly got up from the couch and walked away. Mak wasn’t sure if she was too upset to go on and was leaving to compose herself, or if she had just remembered something.
    ‘Just a moment,’ the woman murmured as an afterthought in the doorway before disappearing from view.
    Mak waited dutifully on the loveseat. She took the opportunity to quickly jot down some notes, before taking stock of her surroundings. There was an older-style tube TV against one wall, increasingly rare even in lower-middle-class households. There was a model ship on the hearth, of the type Mak’s dad had once been interested in constructing. Perhaps John had made it before his fatal elevator ride. Landscape prints adorned the walls. Glenise had lots of books stacked on her shelves, and rows of family photographs propped up in frames on every surface. Mak got up to take a closer look.
    Well, hello there.
    On the mantelpiece were pictures of family milestones that one might expect—graduation, birthdays, school presentations—and images from other gatherings. There was also a striking photograph of a well-built young man reclining on a sandy beach with his shirt off, skin glowing, his hair sun-kissed and wavy. It could have been an advertisement for something luxurious like cologne, so handsome was the young man.
    Adam Hart?
    ‘That was taken in Noosa two months ago,’ came a voice behind her. Glenise had returned with a notebook in her hand. ‘He’s sweet, isn’t he?’ She hovered in the doorway then disappeared into the kitchen without another word.
    There was a rattling of dishes and the whine of water coming to the boil. After a few moments, Mrs Hart returned with a pot, some biscuits and glasses of water on a large lacquered tray. She put her notebook on the seat next to her, and poured Makedde some tea that flowed from the spout the colour of molasses. You’ll be up for hours, Mak predicted.
    ‘Thank you. That’s very kind,’ she replied graciously. She took her place on the lonely loveseat again, and picked up her pen and notepad. ‘May I have that photograph to copy?’
    ‘Yes.’ Glenise nodded and closed her eyes for a moment.
    ‘Adam looks quite athletic. Does he play much sport?’ This was more than a way of simply building rapport. Mak needed to find out whom she could canvass about his disappearance. Team-mates? Classmates? Friends? Neighbours?
    ‘Oh, no. Nothing like that. I tried to get him interested in joining some clubs but he’s not very social.’
    Does ‘not very social’ mean ‘depressed’? Mak wondered.
    Glenise explained that Adam had not played organised sport since early in high school, and that he was not in touch with any of his school friends now. He was a natural athlete, she said, but never used his gifts. His only nod to athleticismwas his cycling, which he appeared to do mostly to get to university and back. It kept him fit, and meant he didn’t feel the need for a car. Again Mak wished he had a car or something equally traceable. His bike was missing, which meant that whatever happened to him, he appeared to have at least left the house voluntarily. But that didn’t mean he was voluntarily staying away. Am I going to be knocking on doors all bloody day, with nothing else to go on?
    ‘If you could provide me with a description and a serial number for the bike, that would be helpful.’ It would be something. Mak took a sip of tea. It tasted as strong as it looked. ‘I have a few more questions,’ she continued, her pen poised.
    Glenise nodded distractedly, her fingers unconsciously straying to her notebook.
    ‘Has your son ever run away before?’
    ‘No!’ Glenise declared, fully alert now, her hands forming fists. ‘He hasn’t run away. He’s a good kid.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘Not that he’s always been an angel. But if I find out he’s run away…’ She trailed off and her fists tightened, a wellspring of anger becoming apparent.