‘Gordon Blake?’ he asks a young nurse dressed in purple scrubs.
‘Oh… Mr Blake is in room number thirty-two,’ she replies. She stares at Lenny after answering, but he doesn’t say anything. He just nods a ‘thank you’ at her and then paces in the direction she had pointed, staring at the numbers on the ward doors as he goes. When he arrives outside number thirty-two he pauses to catch his breath. Gordon Blake had asked him to be as quick as he could possibly be. Lenny removes his mobile phone from the inside pocket of his coat, notices it’s 10:36. Fourteen minutes since Gordon Blake called him. Not bad. Then he blinks and pushes at the door.
A pale face turns towards him, then the man in the bed sits up, pushing his back against the railed bed post.
‘Lenny Moon?’
‘Yes, Mr Blake. I got here as quickly as I could.’
Lenny stares at the man. He looks as if his death is imminent alright; the face gaunt, the veins in his neck trying to poke their way out of the skin that covers them. All of his limbs are thin and long; even his fingers. Strands of his balding black hair are matted to his forehead.
‘Lenny. I may only have a few hours left to live. I need you to find out who took my daughter.’
Lenny nods his head as he walks closer to the bed.
‘I’ve been trying to recall Betsy’s case on the way over here,’ he says. ‘What is it you would like me to find out for you, Mr Blake?’
‘Gordon… please. And eh… I need you to find out who took her.’
Lenny sniffs out of his nostrils, then points his hand towards a blue plastic chair. When Gordon nods an invite for him to sit in it, Lenny takes off his hat and coat, hangs them on the back of the chair and then sits in it, crossing his right ankle over his left thigh. He reaches into the back pocket of his trousers, pulls out a small note pad that has a pen attached to it, and opens it up to a blank page.
‘Okay, Gordon,’ he says, clicking down on the top of the pen, ‘what makes you think I can find out what happened to your daughter in the next few hours?’
Seventeen years ago
Betsy
It’s dark. Dark for a long time. A long, long time. Ever since the man put me in the back of his car. I don’t know how long I’ve been in the back of his car but I don’t like it. I’m hungry. And thirsty. And tired. Really, really tired. But I can’t go asleep. Even though I want to. It’s been too bumpy and wavy. I lifted up the flap that is under me earlier. There’s a big wheel underneath it. That’s why I can’t lie down nice and go asleep. I’m really scared. But I’m not crying. I stopped crying a long time ago. I don’t have any tears left inside my eyes probably. I just want to go home. I want my dinner. Want my Mummy. My Daddy.
It smells really bad in the back of the car. A bit like Daddy’s old socks. But maybe the smell is my wee wee. I did two wee wees in my Dora the Explorer pants. My pants aren’t wet anymore. But it still smells. He opened the door one time. He threw me in a apple and a bottle of water. But that was a long time ago. It’s gone really cold. It’s not as cold when he’s driving. But when he stops driving it is really cold. Really, really cold. And he has been stopped driving for a long time now. I wonder what Mummy and Daddy are doing. They have probably called the police. The police might be looking for me. But maybe the man will let me go soon. If he does, I’ll stop a man or woman on the street. Tell them my name. Who I am. Who my Mummy and Daddy is. I don’t know the name of where I live. But if Mummy and Daddy have called the police then they can come and take me home.
Daddy will be crying. I’m not sure if Mummy will. I’ve never seen her cry before. Daddy cries all the time. Even when he is watching telly. I saw him cry watching Coronation Street one time. I sometimes think I love Daddy more than Mummy. But then other times I think the other way round. Sometimes Mummy is my favourite. It can be different. But I know they love me because the two of them buy me sweets sometimes. And the two of them play games with me. Wish I was playing a game now. Maybe next time I play hide and seek with Daddy I will hide in the back of his car. Because it would be a good place to hide. Nobody can find me in here. Oh. Nobody can find me in here. My eyes do still have tears inside them. I can feel one come down my cheek. Then another one. I wipe them away. But my nose is making tears too and I can’t stop it. I don’t want to cry. But I’m making the crying noises now and I can’t stop it. My body is shaking. I’m scared again. I had forgot I was scared.
‘Twinkle, twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.’
Daddy sings that to me when I cry at sleep-time. It helps me stop crying. But it’s not helping now when I sing it to myself. My nose still has tears coming out. I should keep singing anyway. It might work. Might help me stop if I keep singing it. I haven’t sung Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star in a long time. I told Daddy I was becoming a big girl and didn’t need that song anymore. I told Daddy I didn’t like it. But I do. I wish he was singing it to me now. If he was singing it to me now I would stop crying. I know I would. I miss my Daddy singing. I miss hearing my Daddy’s voice.
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
How I wonder—
I hear him. He is close by me. Maybe he is going to give me another apple. Another bottle of water. He is definitely going to open the door. I can hear the keys. The door lifts up. But I can’t see him. It’s too dark.
‘Shhh.’ I think he is holding his finger to his mouth. I blink my eyes loads of times to try to see him. I think it’s getting brighter. I can see him a little bit now. He reaches in to me and grabs me around the shoulders and around the legs. A bit like when he carried me off the wall earlier. I think that was yesterday or maybe today. I don’t know. But I do know it’s night time now. I can see the light on the other side of the street on. That’s the only light I can see. Everything else is dark. Really, really dark.
‘It’s okay, Betsy.’ He drops me to my feet. Then he reaches up and puts a key in the door. I think it’s a purple door. Or maybe it’s black. After he opens it, he picks me up again. I don’t want to go into his house. Maybe I should scream. But I don’t want him to hurt me.
He carries me past two rooms. I try to look inside. But don’t see anybody. I don’t see anything. Then he kicks open another door and carries me down some steps.
‘There ye go, Betsy.’ His voice is all funny. He has a different voice. It sounds funny. Not like my Mummy’s or Daddy’s. Not like Ceri’s Mummy or anybody I know. I think he is from a different country. I saw somebody on the television one time from a different country and he had a voice like this man. But his skin was brown. This man’s skin isn’t brown. He has the same kind of skin as me and Mummy and Daddy.
He walks back up the steps. He opens the door then walks out. It’s dark in here too. But not as dark as in the back of the car. I can see a few things. I can see walls. Can see the floor. It’s all very hard. Like stones. I try to walk around but my legs are tired I think. They won’t let me walk. So I sit down on the cold floor. I wonder why I’m here. What the man wants me to do. I just want to go home. Maybe I should scream. My lips shake a little bit. Scream. I want to scream but my voice won’t let me. Scream, Betsy. Go on.
‘Ahhhhh.’
The door opens. He runs down the steps.
‘Didn’t I tell you to be quiet, Betsy?’
I think he looks angry. It’s the first time I can see his face. It got lighter in here. Because the door up the steps is open. And it’s really bright up there. He is about the same age as Daddy. But more scary looking. ‘You scream out loud again, Betsy, and I will hurt you. Do you understand?’
I look down at the stone ground. Then I nod my head. I don’t want to make him angry.
‘Good girl.’ He puts his finger under my face.
‘Look.’ He takes a teddy bear from behind his back. It’s brown. ‘You like teddy bears don’t you, Betsy? This is yours. It’s called Bozy.’
I loo
k at the bear. That is an odd name. I nod my head again because I don’t want the man to hurt me. Then he holds Bozy to me and I take it. The man runs up the steps again. I just look at the bear. I used to have a teddy bear in my bed with me. But it wasn’t brown. It was white. And I didn’t give him a name. Just teddy bear. But I better call this one Bozy, because the man might hurt me if I just call it teddy bear. Then the man comes back down the steps. Not running this time. Slowly. Real slowly. He is carrying something big. He throws it down in front of me.
‘This is your bed tonight.’
I look down at it. Then I look at him. I don’t want to cry. But I can’t stop it. Another tear comes out of my eye.
‘Why do I need a bed?’
10:40
Gordon
He doesn’t look like a private investigator. He’s too short. And his beard – if anyone would call it that – is a mess, like he just hasn’t bothered to shave for the past week. Not that I’m in any position to judge someone’s appearance. It’s just… I assumed a private investigator would look more like… more like… well… I’m actually not sure what I expected a private investigator to look like. Maybe I’ve watched too many movies down the years; expected this guy to turn up in a trench coat and fedora hat, not a fuckin plastic yellow jacket that makes him look like the Michelin man and a stupid furry-muff hat.
He points towards the blue plastic chair by my bedside and I nod to welcome him to sit in it. Though he shouldn’t be sitting for long. He needs to be out there; out there finding Betsy.
He sits, removes a pad and a pen from his pocket, and then crosses his legs as if he’s getting comfortable.
‘Okay, Gordon,’ he says. ‘What makes you think I can find out what happened to your daughter in the next few hours?’
That’s a hell of a question. A question I don’t have an answer to. I’ve been looking for her for seventeen years. I don’t expect this guy to find anything in the next few hours, but I have to at least try. I can’t lie here and do nothing.
‘The police have never done a good enough job,’ I say, not wanting to pause too long, in case he realises I don’t have an actual answer to his question. It’s the first thing that came into my head. But it’s also the truth. They didn’t. They fucked up the investigation on day one. They took too long to ignite their search – concentrating on me as if I had something to do with it. It meant whoever took my daughter had time to get away; time to get Betsy hidden in whatever place he wanted to hide her.
‘They questioned a few suspects, but not intricately enough. I know she’s out there, Lenny. And I—’
‘But what makes you think I can find her in the next few hours if nobody has found her in the past seventeen years?’ he says, interrupting me.
I take a deep breath as I push myself back into the steel bedpost to sit more upright.
‘There’re a few things that have niggled at me for years, things I couldn’t push too far because the cops wouldn’t let me. But now that I’m dying… or probably about to die, I need a new perspective on this. I can’t lie here in the final hours of my life and not… and not…’ A tear drops from my eye. Lenny stands up, turns towards the bedside cabinet and pulls two tissues from their box.
‘Here,’ he says. I fold the tissues in half, dab at my face.
Then I turn to him.
‘One thousand euro to try your very best over the next few hours, but,’ I say, pausing. ‘If you make any breakthrough I’ll make you a rich man.’ Lenny blinks. Repeatedly. About four little twitches. He looks like a fuckin idiot. But I know he’s totally tuned in. He’s intrigued. ‘Listen; I have no family, no friends. Not anymore. I’ve got nothing. My life is my home. It’s alI I have,’ I tell him. ‘If I don’t make it through the day and you do your very best for me in my final hours… I’ll leave you my house. I have a lovely home on the South Circular Road. Y’know those red brick Victorian houses?’ Lenny nods, but he looks perplexed. As if he doesn’t know what to make of me. ‘They’re worth close to a million,’ I say. ‘A neighbour sold his at the tail end of last year for nine-hundred and forty grand. And he didn’t have the kitchen extension I have.’
Lenny squints his eyes, circles his tongue around his mouth.
‘Gordon, let’s start with the one thousand promised. Can you – as you suggested – transfer that into my account? I think we’re both keen for me to get started. Then I’d like to talk to you about the leads you said you had.’
I take my phone up from my lap, log into my online banking app and within seconds I’m punching digits into the screen.
‘What are your bank details?’ I ask him. He scoots one bum cheek up off the chair and removes his wallet from his back pocket. Then he slips out a debit card and hands it to me.
‘Account number and sort code are on the bottom,’ he says. I type them into my screen, then turn the phone to face him.
‘Press transfer,’ I say. And he does. Without hesitation. Maybe he’s desperate for the money. Maybe I’ve chosen the wrong private investigator. If he’s not very rich, he mustn’t be very successful. I just plumped for the nearest private investigator I could find on the Yellow Pages website. I was surprised to even find one based in Tallaght. I needed someone here as quickly as possible.
‘Transfer complete,’ I say, turning the screen back to Lenny.
He blinks rapidly again. It’s really weird.
‘Thank you, Gordon.’
He sits back in his seat, reopens his notepad and re-crosses his legs. He has the same tics every time. He’s meticulous. Perhaps he is a good investigator after all. I guess we’ll find out.
‘In terms of leads—’
‘You only have until three p.m.’ I interrupt him. ‘I’m having emergency heart surgery then. May not wake up from the procedure.’
He flicks his eyes up from his notepad to stare into mine.
‘My heart’s a mess. The hiatus hernia I’ve had as far back as my late twenties has grown and torn my main aorta. I have to have an open aortic valve replacement as well as some other procedure… a eh… triple-A something. I can’t pronounce it. The two surgeries have to be done at the same time. If they’re not carried out as quickly as possible, I’ll have an unrecoverable major heart attack. My heart’s basically a ticking time bomb, Lenny. Doctors said if I hadn’t come into the hospital last night, I’d already be dead. They’re just waiting on a couple more members of the surgical team to get here, and for the theatre to be cleared and set up. Said everything will be ready for three o’clock.’
Lenny gets up from the chair, walks slowly towards the foot of my bed.
‘Do you mind?’ he says, nodding towards the clipboard hanging on the bed rail.
I shake my head.
‘An abdominal aortic aneurysm repair,’ he says, his eyes squinting.
‘That’s the one.’
‘So this could literally be your last roll of the dice. You want to throw everything into your final hours to find Betsy and you’re hiring me to do it?’
‘Ah – you are a good detective, huh?’ I say. I laugh as I say it. But the laugh isn’t reciprocated. Probably because it wasn’t funny.
He hangs the clipboard back onto the rail, then paces to the blue plastic chair and sits in it again. But he doesn’t cross his legs this time; instead he leans forward, eyeballs me.
‘Gordon. It’s admirable that after seventeen years of looking for Betsy and all that you’ve been through that you would dedicated the final hours of your life to continue looking for her… but…’ he pauses, then blinks rapidly again. ‘What, eh… what do you think I can actually achieve in such a small amount of time?’
Monkeys see as monkeys do. I blink too, mirroring him.
‘Barry Ward,’ I say. ‘Police interviewed him. Dismissed him too early for my liking. I’ve spent a lifetime digging around, following him, getting information on him—’
‘So you think he took Betsy?’
‘Him or Alan Keating.’
&nbs
p; ‘Hold on,’ Lenny says, scribbling down the two names I gave him on his pad. ‘Just so I can be clear now… you are paying me one thousand euro to speak to a Barry Ward and an Alan Keating to see what they know about Betsy’s disappearance? Is that what you’re hiring me to do?’
‘I’m hiring you for more than that. I’m hiring you to find Betsy,’ I say. I know it sounds ridiculous. I know I sound like a madman; like the madman Michelle has often told me I am. But what else am I supposed to do? Lie here and die without giving it one last go?
Lenny’s eyebrow twitches, as if he is trying not to blink. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wait for him to look up at me, to meet my eyes.
‘You make a breakthrough in this case today, Lenny, my house is your house. While you’re out investigating, I’m going to write a new draft of my will. It’ll include you getting my house if I die today. I’ll leave it in an envelope there on that cabinet with your name on it. I’ll send a picture of it to my lawyer. But you’ll have to make a breakthrough for that will to be sanctioned.’ I grip the top of his hand; the one he has resting on his notepad. ‘It means everything to me that you try your hardest to find Betsy; that you give it your all. You have until three o’clock.’
I take my hand off his, reach it under my pillow and take out the note I spent the last fifteen minutes writing.
Whatever Happened to Betsy Blake? Page 3