Whatever Happened to Betsy Blake?

by David B Lyons

  I know I’ll never get over Betsy’s disappearance, not until I have answers. But I really don’t know how to get them. Don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I could curse De Brun forever for closing the case with his made-up theory that Betsy died; it means nobody is out there looking for my daughter. Except of course little Lenny Moon this morning. That’s so fucking pathetic. I know I’m going to die today, I can feel it deep in the pit of my stomach, and with that, I know I’ll never find out what happened to Betsy.

  My shoulders begin to shake again, my hands going directly back up towards my face in an effort to stem more tears from falling. But Elaine grabs at my wrists.

  ‘Gordon, let’s get you out of this room for a few minutes, huh? Will we go for a little walk, try to get you into a more positive mind-set?’ I shake my head. I can’t, I can’t face real life. Not now. ‘Because, Gordon, I have to say, that if things continue the way they are, I’m going to have to inform Mr Douglas that you’re not mentally fit enough to go through with the surgeries and… and… well, if you don’t have surgery on that heart as soon as possible, Gordon, well, we both know an unrecoverable heart attack is inevitable.’

  I look up at her, blinking the wet away from my eyes.

  ‘I either get into a positive mind-set and give myself a chance of living… or I die?’

  Elaine nods her head slowly.

  ‘It’s what we’ve been saying all morning. It’s your only chance.’

  I throw my legs over the side of the bed.

  ‘Okay, take me for a walk. Let’s try and calm my mind down.’

  Elaine gathers my sneakers at the foot of the bed and I slip my feet into them. I look a right state, but why am I even bothering to give a fuck about what I look like? Just as Elaine holds my right arm to lead me out of the ward, my phone buzzes. I reach back towards the bed for it, but Elaine snatches at it before me.

  ‘Ah, ah,’ she says. She holds down the standby button, then scrolls across the screen to turn the phone completely off. ‘The investigation is over for you for today. I’ll turn your phone back on for you in the morning when you recover and you can take it from there. How about that?’

  I don’t say anything. I just watch Elaine place my phone in the drawer of the bedside cabinet and then allow her to link my right arm and lead me out of the ward.

  Ten years Ago

  Betsy

  The Simpsons is my favourite. It always seems to be on when Dod lets me up the steps to watch television at six o’clock. It’s funny. Bart is funny, Homer is funny. But watching television isn’t better than reading a book. No way. It is nice to be up the steps and out of my room for an hour every day though. It’s different.

  We normally watch The Simpsons and then a show called The Weakest Link. A woman asks loads of questions but I never know the answers. Dod knows some of them some of the time. I think he is clever. He reads lots of things, but not books. Just normally loads of pages with loads of words and numbers on them. I’m not sure what they are.

  I always feel a bit sad when I have to go back down the steps but today it has gone past seven o’clock and Dod hasn’t told me to go down yet. He is in the room next to me. I can hear him with plates and stuff. It’s the first time he has ever left me alone in this room. I click at the buttons of the remote control to see if there are any other cartoons on but I can’t find any.

  ‘Betsy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Come in to me here.’

  I walk out of the television room and then stop at the door of the kitchen where Dod is.

  ‘Come on – you can come in.’

  I step inside. I’ve never been in the kitchen before. It is all white. The table in the middle is white, all the little doors around the walls are white, the walls are white.

  The smell is delicious. It makes me lick my lips.

  ‘I’m cooking a stir fry.’

  Dod tilts the pan he is holding towards me and I see loads of different colours in it. I think they’re all different types of peppers; red, green and yellow ones. I take a step forward and breathe in the smell again. The closer you are to it, the nicer it is.

  ‘I’ve decided I’m going to teach you how to cook with me after we watch television every evening. How about that?’

  I don’t answer him by talking. I just throw my arms around him and squeeze him tight. Really, really tight. Like I do when he buys me books. I’m really happy. It means I get to spend more time out of my room and up the steps with Dod. I’m becoming a big girl now. I squeeze him even tighter.

  ‘Whoa, whoa; careful, I’m holding the pan.’

  ‘Thank you, Dod.’

  I smile a big huge smile.

  ‘Okay, sit up here.’

  Dod puts down the pan then grabs me and sits me up on the counter where all the food is.

  ‘I really trust you now.’

  I smile again.

  ‘I think you are getting old enough to be able to do things around the house, so you don’t have to spend too much time down in your basement, what do you think about that?’

  I feel really excited. My belly has that fuzzy feeling it can get sometimes when things are good.

  ‘What would you like me to do?’

  ‘Well, has cooking come up in any of your books?’

  I nod my head.

  ‘Sometimes. Some books talk about making breakfasts and dinners but I don’t know how to do it. It doesn’t say how to cook in the books, just that dinners are cooked. That’s all… I think.’

  Dod laughs a little at what I’m trying to say. I feel a bit embarrassed.

  ‘Well, see these books here?’

  Dod reaches past me and to four really big books. They’re huge. Really thick. There must be a million words in them.

  ‘Well, I know you like reading, so maybe you can read some of these and they’ll teach you how to cook.’

  I take the first book off him. It says Gordon Ramsay: Easy on it. I flick through it then nod my head.

  ‘I can read this. Thank you, Dod.’

  ‘Great. Soon you’ll be like my little housewife.’

  I look at Dod and am not sure whether to laugh or not. I’m not sure if he was making a joke. Then he leans towards me and kisses me on the lips. That’s weird. He hasn’t done that before.

  ‘I think you’re old enough to be a little housewife now,’ he says.

  13:20

  Lenny

  Lenny grasps Michelle by both wrists. He wants to stare into her eyes, but can’t really make out her face, not with her hair strewn over it.

  ‘Michelle, it’s okay. It’s okay.’

  He helps her to an upright position and walks her to the sofa where she sits. She parts her hair from her face and then covers it with her hands.

  ‘Michelle, we are only looking after Gordon’s last wish,’ Lenny says. ‘I didn’t mean to bring back so many horrible memories for you, I’m sorry.’

  Michelle blows out a sigh, then wipes her hand across her nose, sniffing as she does so.

  ‘It’s not you I’m angry with. It’s bloody Gordon. I haven’t heard from him for years… and now this… this.’ She stretches her arms outwards as if she’s preaching at a ceremony.

  ‘Just gimme one sec,’ Lenny says before spinning on his heels and making his way to his mobile phone he’d left resting on the arm of the chair.

  ‘Ray…’ he says.

  ‘What the hell is going on there, Lenny?’

  ‘I’m eh… I’m with Betsy’s mother Michelle right now; she’s obviously and rightly upset by all of this. Can I please ring you back in ten minutes? I’d love to talk to you.’

  There’s an obvious and awkward hesitation on the other end of the line.

  ‘Okay – but don’t leave it longer than ten minutes. I’m all set to go back out onto the lake.’

  Lenny thanks Ray, hangs up and then moves slowly towards Michelle again. She’s removed her hands, is now staring into space, oblivious to the mess of broken glass on
the floor.

  ‘Michelle, can I make you a cup of tea or get you a water or anything?’

  Lenny’s question is met with silence.

  ‘Michelle… Michelle.’ He inches closer to her. Then her eyes refocus and her head snaps to face Lenny.

  ‘So he’s probably gonna die today huh?’

  Lenny stiffens his nose, then nods.

  ‘It’s not definite, he still has a fighting chance, but…’ Lenny plonks himself on the sofa next to Michelle and holds out his hands as if he’s finishing his sentence through body language.

  ‘I feel sorry for him, but this… bringing all this shit to my door again. Lenny – it’s not fair. I’ve never done anything wrong in my life. And I’ve just lost my job as well. Why does he always—’

  ‘He just wants closure before his operations,’ Lenny says, interrupting Michelle in an effort to stop her from flying into a rage again.

  She turns her soaked face towards him.

  ‘We got closure twelve years ago. Betsy’s gone. She’s dead.’

  Lenny swallows hard, then taps his hands against his knees, unsure what way to continue the conversation with the devastated woman next to him. Even when Lenny had dreamt of investigating real crimes, he never quite concocted a case in his head that would involve such complicated conversation. When he was training to be a policeman, his tutors touched upon the communications required with family members of deceased persons, but nothing could have prepared him for this. He subtly presses at a button on his phone so he can see the time on his screen. 13:24. He only has an hour and a half to ensure Gordon activates the will. Lenny clenches his teeth, then speaks up.

  ‘Are you absolutely certain in your heart that Betsy is deceased?’ he asks.

  Michelle turns her head slowly to face him again.

  ‘You’re as bloody deluded as he is. Aren’t you supposed to be an investigator? Some investigator you are. It’s on record… go, go on, ring De Brun back, he’ll tell ye. Then you can give up the ghost. You can go back to Gordon and tell him his dying wish is not achievable. That Betsy is gone. And it’s all his fucking fault for never being mature enough to be responsible for somebody else.’

  Lenny cringes a little inside. He knows he fucked up. It wasn’t his place to ruin poor Michelle’s day. The woman had been through enough over the years. Last thing she needed was him dragging all of her miserableness back into her home. He reaches out to her, places the palm of his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Get your hands off me,’ she snaps. Then she stands, her arm stretched towards her door. ‘Get out of my house. Out you go. And don’t come back this time.’

  ‘But Michelle—’

  ‘Out!’ she screams, so loudly that Lenny immediately takes a step back.

  He places his phone back in his pocket, picks up his hat and heads for the door without saying another word. He’d like to offer Michelle more apologies but feels every time he opens his mouth to her he says the wrong thing.

  When he gets outside the rain is falling harder than it has at any point so far today. He wonders if he should call a taxi or Ray De Brun first. As he’s thinking it through, he strolls down Michelle’s drive, plonking his hat atop his head, then comes to rest against the lamppost outside the neighbour’s house – much like he had done fifteen minutes ago. It’s a bit like Groundhog Day – one of Lenny’s favourite movies – only Lenny’s mind was swirling too much for him to entertain such a notion.

  ‘You’re a fucking idiot, Lenny,’ he says to himself as he bumps the side of his head against the lamppost. Then he holds the phone to his ear and awaits an answer.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Ray, it’s Lenny Moon. Thanks for taking my call. So sorry to disturb your day, but as you know, Gordon Blake is in a very bad state, may well be dead in the next couple of hours—’

  ‘Lenny – let me stop you there so we can end this conversation quickly and get back to our day. As I said, Betsy Blake is dead. If Gordon wants finality or closure or whatever it is he’s looking for; that’s closure right there. She’s gone. She was killed the night she was reported missing… there’s no investigating needed anymore. Case is closed.’

  Lenny sucks cold air through his nostrils. He knows this information is likely true, given that not only Betsy’s mother, but the lead detective in the case has confirmed it for him in the past ten minutes. But he’s also aware that going back to Gordon with this information most likely won’t be good enough reason for him to activate the will. Lenny needs something, something Gordon hasn’t heard before.

  ‘Is there anything… anything about the case that Gordon and Michelle won’t have known?’ Lenny asks, almost cringing as he does so; his eyes shutting, his neck hunching under his raised shoulders.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I just want to find out as much information about the investigation as possible.’

  A snort of laughter comes down the line.

  ‘Lenny… Please.’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just…’ Lenny doesn’t know what to say.

  ‘What happened with Michelle; is she okay?’ De Brun asks.

  ‘Yeah – she just got upset at me dragging back up her past. I’m an idiot. I should’ve handled it more sensitively. Gordon sent me to her house. He says Jake Dewey might’ve had something to do with Betsy’s disappearance.’

  ‘Well… I’ve mishandled things many times as a detective when it comes to dealing with families, so you have my sympathy. As does Michelle… and Gordon. They’ve always had my sympathy. But listen, Jake Dewey had absolutely nothing to do with Betsy’s death.’

  ‘What about Alan Keating and Barry Ward?’

  ‘Lenny, you sound like Gordon. Listen to me, it wasn’t Jake Dewey, wasn’t Keating or Ward, it wasn’t Gordon Blake himself and it wasn’t… Look, Betsy is dead.’

  ‘Hold on – it wasn’t who… who was the other suspect you were gonna name there?’

  ‘Lenny, Betsy is dead. We found a car many years later that had her DNA in it. And that DNA pointed to her dying. We believe the driver of that car that night hit Betsy when she ran out onto the road and, rather than face the music, he scooped her up, put her in the boot and dumped or hid her body somewhere… She’s gone, Lenny. Betsy died. She’s not being held captive anywhere. Case is closed.’

  ‘But who was the other suspect you were about to name there? Please.’

  ‘Listen, all suspects were cleared, okay… cleared because they didn’t have anything to do with Betsy. Lenny, I gotta go. I can’t give you specific details of any suspects and you know it, or you should know it.’

  Lenny slouches against the lamppost, breathes out a cloud of a sigh, then holds his hands together as if in prayer, the phone sandwiched between them.

  ‘I am begging you, Ray. Just for something. I’m a poor guy… I have nothing, my family has nothing. Gordon Blake promised me some riches if I could find anything out today. If I don’t find anything—’

  ‘Don’t believe anything Gordon Blake tells you, Lenny. I’m sorry… goodbye.’

  Lenny kicks at the lamppost when he hears the dead tone whistle through his phone. Then he stares back at Michelle’s house and pictures the poor woman inside balled up on her sofa crying. It makes him kick the lamppost again. This time harder.

  ‘She’s dead. Course she’s dead! What was I even thinking?’

  Lenny opens his hand, stares at his phone and then begins to dial for a taxi. He’s half way through punching in the number when the phone begins to vibrate.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Lenny; listen,’ says De Brun. ‘This is only because you pleaded… I can’t give you any inside info from our side, but if you want to know what happened in the Betsy Blake investigation off the record, then perhaps you should speak to Frank Keville. D’ye know who he is?’

  ‘Frank Keville? The journalist fella who’s in a wheelchair?’

  ‘Yep – he covered the case for years, knows it inside out. Perhaps he’d be willing t
o share information with you that I can’t.’

  Ten years ago

  Betsy

  Making curry is my favourite. Me and Dod both really like Chicken Madras. I cut up the chicken breasts so they are really small, like little Lego blocks, and then I cut some onions and green peppers. After I fry them in the pan for six minutes, I add the sauce. I love the smell of the sauce. I am so happy Dod lets me cook. I have learned so much from the Gordon Ramsay books. Me and Dod have curries every Tuesday and Thursday. On Monday, I cook a stir-fry and Dod cooks the other days. He doesn’t let me up the steps to eat every day, but I come up most days.

  It depends on how he is feeling. He’s not always happy, but he is definitely never angry Dod anymore. He doesn’t hurt me. He doesn’t pick me up and throw me around. He hasn’t done that for years. I feel happy when I am around him. Not scared like I used to be. The only weird thing now is that he keeps kissing me on the lips, not on the cheek like he used to. It doesn’t taste nice.