"Chad had been gone for two days."

"Gone'?" Myron Bolitar, Grand lnquisitor.

' 'Yes.' '

"When you say gone "

"l mean just that," she interrupted. ' 'I haven't seen him since Wednesday."

"But the kidnapper just called today'?"

' 'Yes.' '

Myron started to speak, stopped himself, softened his voice. Tread gently, fair Myron. Ever gently. ' 'Did you have any idea where he was'?' '

' 'I assumed he was staying with his friend Matthew,"

Linda Coldren replied.

Myron nodded, as if this statement showed brilliant insight. Then nodded again. "Chad told you that?"

' 'No.' '

"So," he said, aiming for casual, "for the past two days, you didn't know where your son was."

"I just told you: I thought he was staying with Matthew.' '

"You didn't call the police.,"

"Of course not."

Myron was about to ask another follow up question, but her posture made him rethink his words. Linda took advantage of his indecisiveness. She walked to the kitchen with an upright, fluid grace. Myron followed.

Bucky seemed to snap out of a trance and trailed.

"Let me make sure I'm following you," Myron said, approaching fiom a different angle now. "Chad vanished before the tournament'?' '

"Correct," she said. "The Open started Thursday."

Linda Coldren pulled the refrigerator handle. The door opened with a sucking pop. "Why? ls that important?"

"lt eliminates a motive," Myron said.

"What motive?"

"Tampering with the tournament," Myron said. "If Chad had vanished today with your husband holding such a big lead I might think that someone was out to sabotage his chances of winning the Open. But two days ago, before the tournament had begun . . ."

"No one would have given Jack a snowball's chance in hell,' ' she finished for him. "Oddsmakers would have put him at one in five thousand. At best." She nodded as she spoke, seeing the logic. "Would you like some lemonade?" she asked.

"No, thanks."

"Dad'?"

Bucky shook his head. Linda Coldren bent down into the refrigerator.

"Okay," Myron said, clapping his hand together, trying his best to sound casual. "We've ruled out one possibility. Let's try another."

Linda Coldren stopped and watched him. A gallon glass pitcher was gripped in her hand, her forearm bunching easily with the weight. Myron debated how to approach this. There was no easy way.

"Could your son be behind this?" Myron asked.

"What?"

"It's an obvious question," Myron said, "under the circumstances." .

She put the pitcher down on a wooden center block.

' 'What the hell are you talking about? You think Chad faked his own kidnapping?"

"I didn't say that. I said I wanted to check out the possibility. ' '

"Get out."

"He was gone two days, and you didn't call the police,"

Myron said. "One possible conclusion is that there was some sort of tension here. That Chad had run away before."

"Or," Linda Coldren countered, her hands tightening into fists, "you could conclude that we trusted our son.