Whatever Happened to Betsy Blake?

by David B Lyons

  ‘I love you, Dod,’ I say.

  He kisses the top of my head again.

  ‘I love you too, Betsy.’

  We hug for ages. Then after he lets me go, he picks up the Kindle.

  ‘Ah, you need a system update,’ he says. ‘Let me sort this out for you. Why don’t you come upstairs with me. There’s a Christmas film on the TV, you can watch that while I fix your Kindle, huh?’

  I smile at him. Then I grab his hand and we both walk up the steps. This is the happiest I’ve felt in a long, long time.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Dod.’

  14:40

  Lenny

  ‘What the fook are you talking about. Kiddie porn?’ Guus snaps, narrowing his eyes again.

  Lenny clasps his hands together atop the table, then nods his head slowly.

  ‘Don’t just sit there nodding,’ Guus says. ‘Tell me what you mean by kiddie porn?’

  Lenny’s cool demeanour begins to wear away again. He just can’t stay consistent with it; it keeps coming and going. He begins to blink rapidly, then shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He didn’t get enough information from Frank Keville to follow through on his claims; he was in too much of a rush. Is not sure where to take the conversation from here. He coughs lightly into his hand.

  ‘Yes. I have it on good authority that you were charged with possession of child pornography.’

  ‘This ish unbelievable,’ Guus says. He stands up again, spins in his kitchen, his hands on his hips. ‘Not this shit again.’ He pauses, facing away from Lenny and takes in three long breaths. ‘I’ve been through this with the cops. I have never had any interest in child pornography. And this was all proven. I was just checking on paedophilia, to see what is classed as paedophilia exactly… because I myshelf was sexually abused as a child. I was doing research for my own sanity.’ Guus spins back around, faces Lenny. ‘I put my laptop in to be repaired one day, next day I know the cops are at my door wanting to talk to me.’

  Lenny looks sheepishly up at Guus.

  ‘And?’

  ‘What do you mean ‘and’?’ They fooking let me go because it was nothing. They looked at the computer – nothing. I wasn’t watching child porn, I was researching paedophilia. That’sh it. Then when Betsy went missing, they dragged all this shit up again because they had nothing elshe to go on… they questioned me about Betsy for four hours in Kilmainham Station before they realised I had nothing to do with it. They said they’d never tell anyone I was a shuspect because the links to my paedophilia search were so sensitive and so innocent… Now, here you are, dragging all this shit up again.’

  Lenny rubs at his own temple, still unsure whether or not to believe everything he’s just heard.

  ‘How did you find out that I was questioned about Betsy?’ Guus asks, his face turning stone cold.

  Lenny shifts in his seat again.

  ‘I can’t divulge that information.’

  Guus paces towards him, crouches down so he is face on with the investigator, their noses just centimetres apart. Lenny can taste his stale breath.

  ‘You have fooking nothing on me.’

  Lenny holds his eyes wide open, determined not to produce his tic with his suspect in such close proximity. They eyeball each other, seconds passing without either of them blinking. Then Lenny’s jacket buzzes, causing them to break the standoff. Guus leans back to an upright position. Lenny gulps, then removes his phone from his pocket. Gordon. When the ringing stops, he checks the time on his screen. 14:49. Jesus – Gordon only has eleven minutes. Lenny stares down at his own feet resting under Guus’s table and tries to think everything through. The end goal is securing the house. He’s got to call Gordon back before his surgeries.

  ‘Guus, let’s take a time out. Two minutes for us each to calm down. Then I have one more question for you and once that’s answered I’ll be out of your hair.’ Guus doesn’t say anything, he’s too busy circling his kitchen floor, his anxiety evident. ‘I just wanna make a quick phone call, get all my ducks in order and then we can rule you out of our investigation. Am I clear?’

  Guus shifts his eyes sideways, to look at Lenny. Then he nods his head.

  ‘As long as it’sh to rule me out,’ he says.

  Lenny stands up, nods his head at Guus as he passes him and then makes his way out of the kitchen. He looks right, takes in the door of the basement again, wonders what’s behind it, before turning left towards the front door. When he’s outside, he palms his phone, presses at Gordon’s number. The call is answered before he even hears a dial tone.

  ‘Lenny, what the hell’s going on?’ Gordon snaps down the line, though he sounds as if he’s whispering it, as if somebody might be in earshot that he doesn’t want listening in.

  ‘I’m at Guus Meyer’s house,’ Lenny says, almost in a whisper himself. ‘Guus was a suspect for De Brun back in the day, Gordon. They never told you about him because of some sensitive information relating to the cop’s interest in him. But I’m questioning him about all of that now and I’ll have answers for you in the next few minutes. I’m going in to search his house now.’

  ‘Are you telling me Guus took Betsy?’

  Lenny stares back at the house.

  ‘That’s what I intend finding out.’

  ‘They’re coming to get me for my surgery in a few minutes. I don’t have much time, minutes…’

  ‘Gordon, I promise you I will ring you back before three o’clock. Guus’s house is odd. Very odd. There’s something not quite right about it. He has a basement that I wanna get inside. After I check it all out, I promise I will ring you back. And I’ll have answers for you. Now… are you keeping your promise to me?’

  Lenny bites softly down on his bottom lip in anticipation.

  ‘Lenny, I gotta go. Ring me back!’

  The line goes dead.

  Lenny stares at the phone in his hand, then takes a long, deep inhale. He clicks into his text messages, re-reads what he sent to his wife earlier. Then he taps at his buttons again.

  Please get back to me. I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’ll be back home soon and will tell you everything about my crazy day. Don’t do anything stupid. I love you. x

  After the text is sent, he eyes the hall door again, then walks towards it and pushes it open. When he closes it behind him, the whole hallway falls into darkness again. He walks slowly, his shoes tip-tapping against the floorboards, then calls out.

  ‘Guus.’

  No answer.

  ‘Guus.’

  Lenny steps backwards, his heart thumping when the light switches on.

  ‘Lishten,’ Guus says appearing right beside him. ‘I don’t know where you got your information from, but it’sh not on, you coming here to my house and opening up old wounds. I’m shorry Gordon’s health is in a bad way, but I would like to be left alone now.’

  Lenny holds a palm out, to signal to Guus that they need to calm tensions down.

  ‘I promised Gordon I would give this my best shot. I told you before I went to make a call outside that I had one last question for you – do you mind?’

  Guus stiffens up his nostrils, then turns around and walks towards the kitchen again. He opens the door, flicks on the light and awaits Lenny.

  Lenny turns his head left, stares at the basement, then follows Guus into the kitchen. Guus has his arms folded, is leaning the arch of his back against his kitchen countertop.

  ‘Go on,’ he says.

  Lenny blinks, and as his eyes refocus he notices the time on Guus’s microwave oven. 14:53. He’s gotta get a move on.

  ‘The cops weren’t only interested in you because somebody had once reported that you searched for… paedophilia, I guess, on your laptop, there was another coincidence.’

  Guus shrugs his shoulder towards Lenny.

  ‘Sarah McClaire,’ Lenny says, and as he says it, Guus’s eyes close. And stay closed.

  ‘Same shit, Lenny,’ he says, his fists closing into a tight ball.

  Lenny doesn’t let up. He
knows he doesn’t have the time.

  ‘You happened to be in Birmingham when Sarah McClaire went missing, you happened to be in Dublin when Betsy Blake went missing. There were searches of paedophilia on your laptop—’ he spits all of this out of his mouth like a rap verse.

  Guus finally opens his eyes, takes a step forward, stopping Lenny’s flow.

  ‘The fooking cops have been through all this with me. I am in Birmingham about six or seven times a year. My business requires it. This is nothing new. You have nothing new. You are just dragging up old shit. I was cleared. The cops cleared me. How fooking dare you come back in to my home and drag all this shit up again.’

  Lenny holds his hand across his own face as he blinks in rapid succession. He tries to reassure himself he’s doing the right thing, that he is conducting a huge investigation just as he always dreamed he would. He’s got his suspect rattled. Surely that’s a good thing. He’s doing a stellar job. He pays himself a compliment inside his own head, reminds himself to stop blinking, that he’s winning here.

  ‘I wanna check your basement,’ he spits out.

  Guus baulks his head backwards. He looks as if he’s aged ten years since Lenny first saw him twenty minutes ago.

  ‘The fook you will.’

  Lenny blinks again.

  ‘Well if you want me to remove you from the investigation, you will let me see what’s down there.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s down there. A fooking washing machine and boxes of files from work. Who the fuck do you think you are coming into my home and demanding to look around? You will do no such thing.’ Guus walks towards Lenny, his index finger pointed. He jabs it back and forth at Lenny’s chest. ‘I think I’m a better investigator than you, Lenny, you know why? Because I’ve learned more about you in the past twenty minutes than you’ve learned about me. You know fooking nothing about me, nothing that the cops haven’t already questioned me on. But y’know what I’ve learned about you?’ Lenny starts to shake a little. He takes steps backwards, driven by Guus’s jabbing finger, finds himself in the hallway, up against the wall. ‘I’ve learned that you don’t have a fooking clue what you’re doing. You came to my home acting like some kind of big shot inveshtigator. Please. You’re not an inveshtigator. You are a fooking bluffer. You thought you could catch me out by bringing up my old Google searches, by bringing up Betsy, by bringing up Sarah McClaire. Hey… why not ask me about Elizabeth Taylor too? The cops asked me about that one back in the day as well. Ooops, did you forget about that one? Or did you just not know that bit of information? You’re embarrassing. You’re not an investigator, you’re a clown. I’m sure Gordon only hired you becaushe you were the cheapest option. Are you really that shtoopid that you thought you could solve the Betsy Blake case in just a few fooking hours?’ Guus laughs out of the side of his mouth again.

  ‘I… I,’ Lenny stutters, his bottom lip shaking. Guus has him practically pinned up against the wall, his finger digging into the centre of his chest. ‘I just want to clear you from my investigation, that’s all. Quickest way is for you to let me see what’s in the basement, then I’ll be on my way. On to the next suspect.’

  Guus looks away from Lenny, stares towards the basement door.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Guus, listen to me. Gordon doesn’t have long left. Minutes. He just wanted one last sweep of the investigation so he could clear his mind before his surgeries. Don’t let him go down for his surgeries thinking you had something to do with Betsy’s disappearance. What if he dies thinking you took his little girl?’

  Guus removes his finger from Lenny’s chest, then reaches his hand around the back of his own neck and starts to rub at it.

  ‘Well that’s all your fooking fault isn’t it? Gordon didn’t know I was a sushpect until you somehow found out today and told him.’

  Lenny gulps. He doesn’t know what to think. Maybe he did fuck up. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Gordon that Guus was once a suspect. It probably wasn’t his place. What if Guus is totally innocent; that he really was just researching his own abuse as a child, that he really does visit Birmingham six times a year. But what if… what if he isn’t innocent? What if Gordon’s best mate took Betsy in 2002; has been hiding her in his basement ever since?

  ‘Guus,’ he says, holding the stare of his suspect. ‘Let me see the basement, then I’m outta here.’

  ‘Uuugh,’ Guus rages, punching the wall just behind Lenny’s head. He snarls, breathes deeply right into Lenny’s face. ‘You know what; fook you.’

  Guus walks away from Lenny, allowing him to breathe properly for the first time in minutes. He’d felt smothered.

  He straightens the collar of his yellow jacket, then watches as Guus walks up the hallway, towards the basement door. He stretches up, on his tip toes, takes a key that had been resting atop the door frame, then places it into the keyhole and turns it. The door creaks open. Lenny walks slowly towards him, notices Guus’s hands are clenched tightly.

  ‘You first, hot shot,’ Guus says.

  Three years ago

  Betsy

  I take Dod’s plate off his tray, put it on to mine, then place my tray on top of his empty one and make my way to the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks, Betsy, that was lovely,’ Dod says.

  I made a chicken stir fry in sweet and sour sauce. It was a recipe I got from a cookbook by a chef called Jamie Oliver. I liked it too. I just think next time I can make it even nicer. I can add a bit more spice. I read the four cookbooks Dod has bought me over the past year or so and pick out ingredients that Dod will go and buy from the shops. He calls us a ‘team’ now. I agree. We’re a really good team. Dod hasn’t been angry in nearly two years – not since we made up on that great Christmas day.

  I get cookbooks and other nonfiction in actual paper books. But I use my Kindle for all fiction stuff. Dod always has money in my account. I just download some great books with the push of a button and get reading. I am really happy that I am back reading fiction these days. It makes me sad to think that I didn’t really read fiction for a few years. I hope everybody reads fiction; reading a book like that takes you away from real life. It makes you have adventures.

  ‘I’ll wash up,’ Dod says, following me into the kitchen. ‘You go and watch the TV. You like that cooking programme.’

  I smile back at him, hand him over the dirty plate I was about to dunk in the sink.

  ‘Thanks, Dod.’

  The show he’s talking about is called US Masterchef. Loads of different people cook dinners and desserts to try to win their own restaurant. I love it. As I’m walking out of the kitchen I notice the back door on the other side is slightly open. Dod opens it sometimes if I’m cooking to let the steam out. Looks like he forgot to close it today.

  I decide I better not go near it. I don’t want to upset Dod. So I just continue to the TV room, pick up the remote control and turn the volume up.

  I really like the chef Gordon Ramsay. He shouts at the cooks all the time. But he knows what he is talking about. I have four of his cookbooks. Dod says he is going to buy me his latest one when it comes out in November.

  I read non-fiction during the day and fiction at night. Last year, I asked Dod to buy me a copy of The Bible because religion and God kept appearing in my books. Some of the characters in my books prayed a lot and I wanted to know what God was all about.

  The Bible’s a big book. A really, really big book. And the way it is written means it is tough to read. But I got through it all in the space of one month. I wasn’t sure whether it was a fiction book or a non-fiction book when I asked Dod to buy it for me. But I know now. It’s definitely fiction. It has a talking snake at the start of it and then after that it is all about a man called Jesus who grew up in a place called Nazareth. In the story it says his mother, Mary, got a visit from an angel who made her pregnant from God. Then when Jesus grew up he was able to perform magic. A bit like Harry Potter. I still can’t understand why some people think it is a non-fiction boo
k. They must be really stupid.

  It’s the same with my book; Betsy’s Basement. Some people might think it is fiction, some people might think it is non-fiction. But I’m not sure who is ever going to read it. Maybe people will only read it after I’m dead. It is still in my copy book, in the bottom drawer of the cabinet beside my bed. I have often thought about asking Dod if he would like to read it. But that’s not a great idea. He is likely to get upset, or angry. I have only written the truth in it about Dod. Most of the things I write about him are nice things. But he might get angry about me writing about the beatings he has given me in the past. And about the newspaper articles. It makes me a bit sad that I won’t be able to share it with anyone. Especially him.

  I laugh when Gordon Ramsay spits out one of the cook’s dinners into a bin.

  ‘Christ, that’s raw chicken,’ Gordon says. ‘It’s redder than your cheeks.’

  I giggle so loudly that Dod pops his head around the door.

  ‘Gordon cracking you up again?’ he says as he dries his hands with a tea-towel.

  ‘He always does,’ I reply.

  ‘Okay… Betsy. I’m just gonna run upstairs to hang up some of my clothes. Are you okay staying here, or should I put you back down in the basement?’

  I’m sure my eyes are really wide. I can’t see them of course, but I think I can actually feel them getting bigger. Dod has never given me this option before. Ever. Anytime he’s not with me, he puts me back down in the basement and locks the door. I even wonder if he is messing with me, testing me. I decide to take the test.

  ‘I’d like to watch the end of this,’ I say nodding over at the TV.

  ‘Thought you might,’ he says coming over to me. He kisses me on the top of the head. ‘I trust you, Betsy, okay? Don’t do anything silly.’

  I look at him.