You mean, Michael? That’s who you mean?” She keeps looking at the walls, not facing me, avoiding my gaze. Her voice is almost automatic and it seems as though she’s reading from a book, when she answers. “Yes, yes, of course, Michael. Michael.” It’s not fear, or maybe it is. Maybe it’s the uncertainty, the unknown, but I have to ask, have to see if there’s another way. “I wonder if there’s someone who specializes in this, a detective, an investigator. I wonder if there’s somebody that could work with us, research it, find out more. There must be somebody that can help us to find Emily, find out where she is.” I know that she must have thought about it, considered it, and she doesn’t hesitate in answering me. “I can’t Malcolm. I just can’t. I can’t take the chance that he’ll take her away, hide her away, if he knows that I’m looking for her. I have to do this myself. It’s time. I left it too long as it is. She’s ten, ten years old, and she’s my girl Malcolm, she’s my little girl.” I don’t know children.
