I’ve written all of this into my book. Betsy’s Basement now has thirty-three chapters. The last seven chapters have all been about characters I made up that I saw when I was looking out of Dod’s bedroom window. So the book has changed. It has turned from a non-fiction book to a fiction one. Some days I think it’s all just rubbish and other days I think it is good. I’ve been writing it for three years. But the problem is, I don’t know how to end it. I don’t know what way the story should finish.
I pick up my copybook and wonder what I should write about today. But I’m not really in the mood. I’m bored. Or tired. Maybe both. I stretch my arms way above my head and then let out a big yawn.
Worst Christmas ever.
Bozy has the right idea. He’s all snuggled up under my sheets on the bed. I yawn again. Fuck it, I’ll join him. There’s nothing else to do.
I lift up the sheets, grab at my Kindle which is lying under them and then snuggle into Bozy.
‘This is a bad Christmas, Bozy,’ I say. I use my two fingers to make him nod back at me. Then I give him a big kiss.
I roll back over, turn on my Kindle and go straight into the bookstore. I have twenty-five euro in my account now. I click into non-fiction books and scroll through the list. I’ve read most of the ones I want to read. Nothing else really interests me. So I click out and into the fiction list. Nothing really on this list interests me either. I think this year has been my worst year for reading. I just haven’t been interested in reading too much. I haven’t really been interested in anything.
Ever since Dod beat me up, I’ve just wanted to do nothing but lie on this bed. I feel really sad. Really, really sad. So sad, I’d rather not be alive. Being alive and having all these sad thoughts makes me wish I didn’t have any thoughts at all. Being asleep is now my favouritist hobby. It would probably be better if I was always asleep.
I press the home button on my Kindle. Only because I don’t know what else to do. A little box flashes up that I’ve never seen before.
Software update required.
I click on it and then loads of writing comes up. It says ‘Terms and Conditions’ up the top, but when I try to read it I get confused. I don’t know what any of it means.
By the time I get to the bottom of the page it asks if I would like to continue. I am about to press ‘Yes’ when I see another box below.
Chat with one of our representatives now.
So I click that. And then a blank box appears. I don’t know what to do. I try to find something that will let me click away from it, but I can’t find anything. Then some writing appears.
Hi, my name is Sana. How may I help you today?
I stare at the message. Then a little keyboard appears. I hit at one of the keys and it shows up in the box.
My heart begins to get faster. Wow. This is amazing. I can talk back to Sana. This will be the first time I’ve spoken to anybody other than Dod since I was four years old. That’ll be a whole thirteen years next month. I breathe in and out really fast. Then in and out really slowly.
I wiggle my fingers in front of my face and then begin to type back to Sana. Slowly. Really, really slowly.
Hello, my name is Betsy Blake.
14:20
Lenny
Lenny blinks rapidly after hanging up the call.
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ he says to the man in the doorway. ‘That was eh… that was your old mate on the phone – Gordon Blake.’
‘Gordon? What the hell were you two talking about?’ Guus says, looking dumbfounded, his eyebrows almost coming together above his narrow eyes.
‘Guus, would you mind if I came in to speak to you for a few minutes?’
Guus looks behind him, into his hallway, then back out at Lenny.
‘I’m a busy man. What’sh going on?’
Lenny stares at Guus, assumes he certainly doesn’t look the type to kidnap a kid, though he’s under no doubt that his home looks exactly like the type of house a missing kid would be kept in. It’s eerie. Creepy. Something’s not right about this place. He can’t quite work out why Guus would be so well refined in his appearance, yet his home is a total mess.
‘I just need ten minutes of your time. I have some bad news about Gordon.’
Guus’s eyebrows are still narrowing when he steps out from his front door and stands aside.
‘Ten minutesh,’ he says, pointing his hand towards his dark hallway. Lenny inches forward, then stalls to look Guus square in the eye. He nods a silent thank you before walking past him. As he does, his phone begins to ring. He looks at the screen, sees Gordon’s number, then hits a button that silences the call and places it back inside his jacket pocket. He sucks on his own lips as he takes five steps down Guus’s floorboarded hallway, sparks of adrenaline beginning to rise from the pit of his stomach. This is the rush he’s been chasing his entire career. This is proper fucking investigating.
Lenny stops and looks back at Guus closing the front door. When it’s fully closed, the hallway falls into total darkness. Lenny’s knees almost buckle as Guus’s slow footsteps edge closer to him. Then he flinches slightly when he feels Guus raise an arm. Click. The entire hallway lights up. Lenny straightens his neck, lifting his head away from his shoulders and then takes in his surroundings. He’s immediately drawn to a door at the end of the hallway. A door that must lead downstairs. A basement. The perfect place to hide somebody.
‘I eh… I’m sorry to say,’ Lenny croaks, ‘that Gordon Blake may only have hours left to live.’
Guus’s eyebrows straighten and his pupils grow wide.
‘You’re fooking kidding me.’
‘I’m afraid not, Guus. He has to undergo major heart surgery that he may not wake up from.’
‘Jeshus fookin Christ,’ Guus says, bringing his hand to his mouth. ‘All the fooking shtress and strain he’s been under for so many years… I’m not surprised.’
The hallway falls silent but for the buzzing inside Lenny’s jacket pocket. He ignores it while staring into Guus’s face just inches away from his own. Lenny taps Guus on the shoulder, offering condolences in an attempt to come across as initially supportive. He figures it may be best to endear himself to his suspect before finally pushing at his buttons.
Guus turns his wrist over, checks the time.
‘Please,’ he says. ‘Let’sh go in here… would you like a cup of tea?’
Guus leads Lenny through a doorway before turning on another light. The kitchen is a beautiful white; modern and bright. Lenny creases his brow, confused by the contrast of the interior of the home compared to the exterior.
‘Please. Two sugars, drop of milk.’
As Guus makes his way towards the kettle, Lenny paces the kitchen, taking in all of his new surroundings. He stares at the framed abstract artwork on the walls, then picks up the salt and pepper shakers from the table as if inspecting them. He’s acting how he assumes a detective should act in these circumstances.
‘So… what’sh wrong with Gordon exactly?’ Guus asks.
Lenny places the pepper shaker back on the table, then looks up sheepishly at his suspect.
‘He has to have abdominal aortic aneurysm surgery at three p.m. today. The procedures he has to undergo carry major risks… surgeons are only giving him a fifty-fifty chance of making it out alive.’
Guus shakes his head and then blows out through his lips, making a raspberry sound that stops just as the kettle comes to the boil.
‘That man never caught a break his entire life. Do you know him well?’ Guus asks as he begins to pour.
‘I eh… only met him for the first time this morning.’
Guus stares back over his shoulder at Lenny, his eyebrows creasing inwards again. He makes his way to the fridge, pulls out a bottle of milk and when he realises Lenny isn’t following up, he asks another question.
‘You just met him today? Are you from the hoshpital or something?’
Lenny clears his throat.
‘No, Guus. I’m a
private investigator.’
Lenny maintains his stare after he says that, he doesn’t even blink. It’s his attempt at acting cool, composed, calm. He thinks back to Alan Keating and how brilliantly the gangster handled confrontation earlier this morning. He’s trying to act nonchalant, as if he’s in control of both the pace and the tone of the dialogue.
‘A private inveshtigator?’
Lenny just nods but then loses his cool persona when Guus walks towards him with a hot mug.
‘Oh, oh, oh fuck that’s hot,’ he says as he takes the mug from Guus.
‘I’m shorry. Let me cool that down for you,’ Guus says, turning around and then grabbing at the bottle of milk.
He pours some into Lenny’s mug, then sits at the table opposite and begins to sip his own brew.
Lenny pulls out a chair of his own, sits on it and then stares across at Guus, wondering how he should approach the conversation. He takes a deep breath, then dives straight in.
‘I’m investigating the disappearance of Betsy Blake.’ He stares at Guus’s face as he says this, determined to find a glimmer of guilt. All Guus does is tip his head back in surprise, then forward again.
‘Betsy’s disappearance? Does Gordon still think Betsy is alive?’
Lenny clears his throat again. He’s finding acting like a cool investigator particularly difficult. It just doesn’t seem to come naturally to him.
‘You don’t think she is?’ he asks, before sipping on his tea.
Guus offers half-a-laugh, a tiny snigger that sneaks out of the side of his mouth.
‘Nobody believesh she is alive, surely,’ he says. He stares over the rim of his mug at Lenny. His eyes change; his pupils growing large. He swallows, then gasps. ‘Hold on, does Gordon genuinely shtill think Betsy is alive?’
‘Yep,’ Lenny replies. ‘Gordon is convinced she is; that somebody abducted her.’
Another laugh sneaks out of the side of Guus’s mouth. Lenny swirls his jaw; the laugh grating on him.
‘Well… he must be the only person on the planet to think tha—’
‘He’s not,’ Lenny says placing his mug back down on to the table. ‘I think it too.’
Guus opens his mouth ajar.
‘But I thought the cops concluded Betsy was killed in a car accident. The DNA in the back of a car they found shuggested she was dead, no?’
Lenny coughs again, then shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
‘That’s one theory, yes,’ he says. He flickers his eyes up to the ceiling, reminds himself that he should stay cool, stay composed, stay in control.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Guus says, shaking his head. ‘You’re telling me the cops got it wrong, made it up?’
‘It’s possible the cops came to a conclusion under pressure to close the case. They never found anybody or anything relating to Betsy. There was a lot of heat on them.’
Guus pushes back his chair a little, then leans more forward, his elbows resting on the table.
‘Cops don’t do that kind of shtuff in Ireland,’ he says. ‘That doesn’t make any sense at all.’
‘Well, we’ve looked at the evidence of the car theory and none of it adds up,’ Lenny lies. ‘So we are looking again at all of the original suspects. We feel something went under the radar.’
Guus laughs; not with humour, with discomfort. He stands up, spins around and then grips the back of the chair he had been sitting on.
‘This doesn’t make any… I mean… I eh… I don’t know what to say.’
Lenny stands up, almost matching his suspect for height.
‘Well, you can start by telling me where you were when Betsy Blake was abducted.’ He lifts his mug from the table, stares over the rim at Guus as he sips from it. He notices Guus’s face crumble, his eyes darting left and right.
‘Not this shit again,’ Guus says. ‘I told the cops when they questioned me that I was here, working from home, ash I normally am, when Betsy was taken.’
‘And do you have any witnesses that can confirm that for you?’ Lenny asks.
Guus washes the palm of his right hand over his entire face; swiping it right, then left.
‘Listen, the cops have been through all this. I didn’t take Betsy… of course I didn’t. What would I be doing taking a four-year-old girl?’
Lenny shrugs his shoulders.
‘Well… you tell me,’ he says.
Guus squints, then shakes his head.
‘What does that even mean?’
Lenny falls silent, stares up to the ceiling in search of an answer to the question posed. He realises he may be taking his cool detective persona past a place of no return. Guus’s right; that question doesn’t make any sense. If he keeps acting ambiguously, he’s either going to be run out of the house, or run out of time. He tilts his head back upright, places his mug back down on the table and then eyeballs his suspect.
‘I’m intrigued,’ he says, ‘why is the inside of your home so immaculate yet the outside is eh…’
‘Unkempt?’
Lenny nods his head once, then awaits an answer.
‘I don’t like people coming to my home. Shimple as that.’
‘Hold on. You own this massive house that you must have spent an awful lot of money on, have it looking supreme inside, but on the outside you make it look…’
‘Unwelcome.’
Lenny squelches up his nose. ‘Why?’
‘I mostly work from home, like to be left alone. I don’t like attention. Lotsh of different reasons. I don’t live in the garden, I live inside the house. This ish where I’d rather spend my money, my time, my efforts.’
Lenny squints.
‘You got something to hide?’ he asks.
‘You mean apart from the young girl I have hidden in the basement?’
Lenny blinks rapidly. His cool persona dissipating. He doesn’t know how to react to what’s just been said. He wonders why Guus kept such a straight face as he said it. He tries to shield his eyes with his hand, to hide his blinking tic, but he’s aware Guus has already sensed that the investigator has been stumped.
‘Lenny, if that’s all the questions for now, I’d like to get back to work. Tell Gordon I’m shorry to hear of his condition and that I hope he makes a full recovery.’
Guus walks towards the kitchen door, holds it open, readies himself for Lenny to move. But Lenny remains where he is.
‘I have another question for you, Guus.’
Guus brushes his hand through the air, signalling that Lenny should fire away.
‘When is the last time you maintained your garden… gave it a good clean up?’
‘Holy shit – are you a PI or a horticulturisht?’ Guus says, a creepy laugh seeping out of the side of his mouth again.
‘I’m a PI, and I’d like you to answer the question.’
Guus sniggers.
‘Probably seven or eight years ago. When I first moved in, I looked after it. It was messy when I moved in, I gave it a good going over and then decided I preferred it looking dilapidated because nobody used to call to the house when it was dilapidated, so I’ve let it grow out since.’
Lenny sits down, stares right through the man standing across from him.
‘So you cleaned up the whole garden when you moved in?’
Guus shrugs his shoulder.
‘As best I could, yesh,’ he says.
Lenny smirks, adrenaline starting to rise in his stomach again. It was moments like these he’d had ambitions of experiencing for years – ever since he was a teenager. He reaches inside his jacket pocket while eyeballing Guus.
‘So if you cleaned up your garden, why did I find this in it today?’ he says, sliding the doll’s arm across the table.
Guus stares down at the plastic arm, squints to work out what it is, then looks back up at Lenny before creasing into laughter.
‘Sure you could find anything out there. There’s lotsh of shit in my garden.’
Lenny sucks in both of his cheeks, then nods
his head slowly.
‘But you said you cleaned up the garden after you moved in.’
Guus sighs, then strolls back to the kitchen table and sits down. He rubs his hand over his face.
‘I really don’t have time for this shit,’ he says. ‘Lishten, I gave the garden a once over when I moved in. My once over is fooking nothing. I cut down some bushes, trimmed parts of the garden. There is a whole load of shit out there that is probably lying there years. I don’t fooking know. What are you suggeshtin? You’re going to have me arrested because you found an old toy in my garden? Is this all you’ve got?’
Lenny stops himself from blinking; consciously stretching his eyes wide open. But he goes quiet, moot, as he tries to think of where he can go to from here. He thinks about the door in the hallway that leads down to the basement, then flicks his entire face when his next question pops into his head.
‘No, that’s not all I’ve got, Guus,’ he says.
Guus hangs out his bottom lip, shakes his head a little.
‘What… you’ve got a teddy bear in the other pocket?’ The volume of his laughter goes up five notches after he says this. Lenny doesn’t wince though. He doesn’t feel intimidated. He knows what’s coming next.
‘No – no more toys. Just records.’
‘Records?’ says Guus, still laughing.
‘Yep. Records of your online activity – records of your fascination with kiddie porn.’
14:25
Gordon
Michelle doesn’t answer my question. She just looks at me, then shifts her gaze to Elaine on the floor. Shit. Elaine. I turn around, offer her my hand. She allows me to help her to her feet.
‘I am so sorry, Elaine,’ I say. She keeps her gaze away from me as she steadies herself. What the fuck have I done? This young woman has done nothing but help me all morning.
‘What’s going on?’ Michelle finally pipes up. She removes her handbag from her shoulder, stares at me with wide eyes.
I hold my eyes tight closed for a few seconds, try to let everything wash over me.
‘Myself and Elaine here just had a little disagreement about how much time I’ve been spending on my phone; it’s nothing to worry about, Michelle.’
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 44
