The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set

by David B Lyons

  Lenny blinks. Sometimes his blinking sorts his mind out for him, bides him vital seconds to think things through. But he’s stumped. He only came here with one goal: securing Gordon’s big house by eliminating Jake Dewey as a suspect. But he didn’t realise the full complications of his call to this home.

  ‘Michelle, your ex husband didn’t want to spend what could be his last few hours lying in a bed and doing nothing. He wanted to spend that time at least trying to find out what happened to Betsy.’

  Lenny watches as the blood returns to Michelle’s face; her cheeks turning from faded pink to a roaring red. Her jaw swings. Then she holds her eyes closed, takes a big sigh and sucks a long, slow breath in through the gaps in her teeth. Lenny can sense she is doing her best to refrain from saying exactly what she wants to say. Michelle then places her hands on her knees, stands up and walks to the doorway of the sitting room. She swings it open, takes one step aside.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Moon, you can leave now,’ she says.

  Lenny stands up, ringing his Sherpa hat through his hands. His mood has changed from excited to gloom over the past few minutes. If Jake Dewey is up in Belfast on business; the chances of Lenny ruling him out as Betsy’s abductor are limited. The million euro house is locking its doors on him.

  ‘Michelle – listen; I don’t believe at all that he had anything to do with it. But can you give me something concrete that Jake was not involved in Betsy’s disappearance?’

  Michelle’s face stiffens; her nose, her chin, her lips. She reaches a hand towards her sitting room door again and ensures it’s as wide open as it can be.

  ‘Out!’

  Lenny shuffles his feet towards her, pauses to say something when he’s as close to Michelle as he can possibly be.’

  ‘Mich—’

  ‘Out!’ she shouts without even opening her mouth. It roars from the back of her throat.

  Lenny feels bad. He didn’t want to upset Michelle; she’d been through enough in life. His trainers squelch down her hallway, towards the hall door. He fumbles with the latch before opening it. Then he stalls in the door frame, looks back.

  ‘I’m so sorry for upsetting you, Michelle,’ he says. He steps out and pulls the door closed behind him.

  He covers his face with his hat on her doorstep.

  ‘Fuckety fuck!’ he says into it as he strolls down the garden path, kicking up rain spray as he does so. Then comes to rest against a lamppost outside the next-door neighbour’s drive. He looks up to the clouds to feel the sprinkles of rain fall on his face. It’s only light rain, but the greyness of the clouds suggests it won’t be light for long.

  He breathes in his thoughts. All he has to do is to close Jake Dewey off as a suspect, then the house is his. But how can he do that? How can he get closure for Gordon?

  He removes the phone from his jacket pocket, begins to nibble on the rubber case once again. Instead of thinking about the Blake family, he thinks about his own. He’s barely noticed Sally is in great form today; when he imagines her, she’s normally mute, downbeat. He wonders what she’s up to now; probably carrying another heavy basket of clothes towards the washing machine, getting down on her knees and sighing as she carries out another boring, routine daily task. Then he imagines Jared and Jacob; the two of them sitting in class wondering what the fuck their teacher is rambling on about. He blinks rapidly into the rain, then turns on his heels.

  ‘Fuck this,’ he says to no one. ‘If you’re gonna be a good PI, be a good fucking PI.’

  He paces up Michelle’s drive again, doesn’t even take a split second to look at her beautiful car this time. He heads straight for the door, his finger stretching for the doorbell.

  Michelle’s eyes look heavy when she answers; as if she’s been twisting the palms of her hands firmly into them. Lenny doesn’t give her time to snap at him.

  ‘Michelle, I’m just trying to carry out Gordon’s dying wish. He’s been living with so much guilt for so many years and—’

  Michelle shoots a laugh out her mouth.

  ‘Guilt? Gordon doesn’t even know what the word means.’

  Lenny tilts his head back to look up at the dark clouds again, then pivots his chin back down to stare into Michelle’s eyes.

  ‘If I could step in for just five minutes… I can explain everything to you.’

  Michelle pushes the door open wider, giving Lenny the space to pass her. He walks up her wooden-floored hallway again and this time enters the living room without even being invited to. The first time he walked into this room – not more than ten minutes ago – he was struck by the size of it; the richness of it. But this time, all he’s drawn to is the tiny family portrait encased in a glass frame atop the mantelpiece.

  ‘Got twins myself. Boys – Jared and Jacob. We tried for four years, couldn’t get pregnant. Had to spend almost fourteen grand on IVF before we finally got a positive result.’

  He looks back at Michelle, offers a sterile smile. But she doesn’t react. She’s mute, her arms folded under her breasts.

  ‘We thought it would be the start of a great life when they were born; a life we’ve always wanted. But it’s been traumatic. My wife’s had post-natal depression; has tried to kill herself twice.’

  This makes Michelle squint a little. She unfolds her arms, allows them to hang by her side.

  ‘We’re taking it each day as it comes. I used to be a cop, y’see. I always wanted to be a detective; but the circumstances meant… I just… I had to be close to my wife at all times, couldn’t risk not being on call for her if she needed me. That’s why I opened up my own private investigating business.’

  Michelle stiffens her mouth, nods.

  ‘I’m just trying to do my job here, Michelle, much like Jake is in Belfast today. We’re just trying to provide for our… for our twins, for our wives, right?’

  Michelle plonks herself on the sofa. Lenny’s not sure if she’s listening to the words he’s saying now, wonders if she’s still in shock with the news he gave to her earlier.

  ‘Your ex-husband needs to go into his surgeries with a clear mind. He just asked me to rid his mind of all of the evil thoughts he’s had over the years. Of course he doesn’t believe Jake had anything to do with Betsy’s disappearance.’ Michelle’s head stays still, but her eyes look up, her tongue swirling in her mouth. ‘In the same way that Gordon felt Alan Keating and Barry Ward didn’t have anything to do with Betsy’s disappearance, but he asked me to talk to them this morning, just to clear his mind of any small doubt.’

  ‘You spoke with Alan Keating today?’ Michelle asks, her face contorting.

  Lenny sniffles his nose, then nods his head.

  ‘He was very helpful… Gave me—’

  ‘Alan Keating is a fucking scumbag. Of course he didn’t have anything to do with Betsy’s death, but that doesn’t stop him being a scumbag.’

  Lenny pauses, tilts his head and then walks tentatively towards Michelle and sits beside her on the sofa.

  ‘Betsy’s death?’

  Michelle turns her head, stares at his face from about ten inches away.

  ‘Oh for fuck sake, I can’t deal with this right now. Please. Please.’ She holds her hands to her face, her fingers gripping at the top of her crown. Her shoulders shake, a sobbing sound purring from somewhere deep within her.

  Lenny winces in his seat. He holds out a hand to place around Michelle’s shoulders, then pauses, unsure whether to follow through or not with his embrace, his arm remaining stretched and hovering behind Michelle’s head. He holds his eyes firmly shut, wondering what to do next. The buzzing inside his jacket pocket makes his mind up for him.

  He relents, takes his arm back and then fumbles inside his pocket and removes his phone. A strange number. Michelle continues to cry, continues to break down right beside him, but Lenny – unsure how to react – stands up, presses the answer button and holds the phone to his ear.

  ‘Hello,’ he whispers.

  ‘Lenny Moon?’

&nb
sp; ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’m Detective Ray De Brun; Gordon Blake has asked me to call you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Listen, I don’t have a lot of time; large pike are prime for catching this time of year, so I’m gonna clear the case you’re working on in the next five seconds. Betsy Blake is dead. Was killed when she was hit by a car on the day she was reported missing. Was put into the boot of that car and driven away. Body’s never been found, but she wasn’t kidnapped, wasn’t taken by some psychopath, isn’t trapped in somebody’s basement. She’s gone, Lenny – dead. Has been for seventeen years.’ Lenny stands in silence. Doesn’t know how to respond to De Brun’s bluntness. ‘Listen, I feel really sorry for Gordon Blake; I always have done. That’s why I told him I’d take two minutes out of my day to ring you… so, I’ve rung you and, well… that’s that.’

  ‘No wait… Hold on, De Brun,’ Lenny says, sounding desperate, panicky.

  Michelle removes her hands from her soaked face and an in almost slow-motion rises from the sofa.

  ‘Is that Ray fucking De Brun?’ she asks, both of her fists clenched.

  Lenny inches the phone from his ear, nods his head once.

  ‘Arghhh!’ Michelle roars. She takes two large strides towards her mantelpiece, holds out her arms and with one large sweep, she cleans the marble top of all that was sitting on it; the candle sticks, the glass picture frame, the glass clock. They all come crashing down on to the designer floorboards, smashing into an array of shards; the noise echoing through the room.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ De Brun squeaks down the line. ‘Lenny… Lenny…’

  13:15

  Gordon

  ‘Gordon, what is going on?’ Elaine asks with genuine concern in her eyes. I place the phone back down on my lap, then swallow hard as I realise, inside my head, that there’s no way I can lie my way out of this.

  ‘That was Ray De Brun,’ I say, nodding towards my phone. ‘He was the lead detective in Betsy’s case. I rang him this morning after you and the whole surgical team came in to give me my news. I just didn’t want to… I didn’t want to…’

  I try to not sob, but I can’t stop my shoulders from jittering. Elaine holds a hand towards my left bicep, rubs at it gently. I look up at her. Her body language is screaming sympathy, but the look on her face is in total contrast; she looks stern, disappointed. She doesn’t say anything, just continues to gently rub at the top of my arm as she waits on me to finish what I’d started to say.

  ‘I don’t want to die without knowing the truth. My worst nightmare is coming true.’

  As soon as I say that my shoulders do more than jitter; they shake uncontrollably. The tears jump from my eyes, from my nose too. I cover my face with my hand, then feel one of Elaine’s hands at the back of my head. What a fucking mess I am. Surely there can’t be anything more pathetic than this.

  ‘Oh, Gordon,’ she says. ‘We’ll do our best to get your through this, to make sure you still have an opportunity to find out what happened to Betsy once you recover from your surgeries.’

  I’d love to answer her back, tell her that there’s just as much chance of me dying on the operating table as there is of me recovering fully, but I can’t… the crying has totally consumed me, rendered me speechless.

  ‘I understand the news we gave you this morning is a massive shock… and I also understand that your mind would have gone straight to Betsy and to the fact that you haven’t had the answers to questions that must have eaten at you for years. But… but your best chance of getting answers is by living longer. I’m sorry to say, but it’s highly unlikely you’ll get answers in the next couple of hours anyway, is it?’

  I suck up my tears as soon as she’s finished. It’s not as if I haven’t been thinking along those lines all morning, but hearing somebody else say it really highlights how deluded I’ve been. I feel lost inside my own mind, trapped in a bizarre swirl of confusion. I’ve been confused and heartbroken for the past seventeen years, but I don’t recall being this discombobulated since the time Betsy actually went missing. I guess hearing you may only have a few hours left to live will do that to a man.

  I’ve been a mess in different ways ever since Betsy went missing, but that first ten or twelve months was a total headfuck. I was so pissed off with De Brun once he relieved Keating and Barry Ward of any involvement in the case. I was convinced at the time that they had something to do with it; but then my suspicions turned to Jake Dewey, probably out of sheer jealousy and heartbreak. The cops wouldn’t entertain my opinion; so I took it upon myself to look into him. I began to stalk the fucker. Two months later I was told I had to stay away from him for twenty years; that he’d filed a restraining order, using one hell of a lawyer to pull it off. I couldn’t cope; decided to fuck off on a break around Europe to get away from it all. The cops cleared me, said I could go. I took the car on a ferry to the UK and then to France, drove all through central Europe; Belgium, Holland, Germany, then back around through Austria and Northern Italy before coming home. I was away for seven weeks in total, and there were times on that trip that I felt I’d sorted my head out. But when I arrived home, my mind became more discombobulated than ever before. I was a changed man, but not for the better.

  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 T
he 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.’