Page 92 of The Memory Wood

A pulse ticks in MacCullagh’s throat. She’s a cool customer,all right, but she can’t control her heartbeat. ‘Do you really want to help us, Kyle?’ she asks. ‘Do you really want to help Elissa’s family?’

‘Of course.’

‘OK. That’s good. Then I’d like you to think, very hard, of anything you can tell me about what happened to Elissa, or where she is now.’

Unlike the detective’s, Mama’s lips are a thin line.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I really don’t know. I don’t know anyone called Elissa.’

It’s a while before I manage to meet MacCullagh’s eyes. When I do, I see they’ve moved elsewhere. She opens a folder and searches through it. ‘The cottage where we found you, on the Meunierfields estate. Is that your home?’

‘Yes.’

Her tone has changed, brisk and businesslike. ‘How long have you lived there?’

‘Long as I can remember.’

‘Alone?’

‘No.’

‘Who else lives there?’

I glance up at Mama.

‘Who else lives there, Kyle?’

‘Just me.’

‘You rent the property from the Meuniers?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘You know them personally?’

Something warns me I’m on dangerous ground again. I think of Leon Meunier, standing in the Memory Wood with his rifle:I could’ve put a bullet through you. Then where would we have been?

Staring at the detective, I realize I’ve been quiet far too long. I blink, trying to remember her question. At last, I say, ‘I don’t know them well.’

Nodding, MacCullagh takes a colour photograph from her folder and slides it across the table. ‘I’d like to show you something. We’ll call this AR1. Is this a photo of your bedroom?’

‘Yes.’

Out comes another image. ‘We’ll call this AR2,’ she says. ‘It’s a closer shot of the floor. Do you recognize what you see?’

‘Some of it.’

‘There’s writing on the box lid shown in the photograph. Please could you read it out?’

I lean forwards, but I don’t need a closer look. ‘“Top secret. Private property. Do not open without permission.”’

‘Is that your collection box, Kyle?’

‘I think so.’

‘You think so?’

‘Yes, I mean. It is.’

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