Whatever Happened to Sofie Le Saux? (The Lenny Moon series Book 3) by David B. Lyons

Author:David B. Lyons [Lyons, David B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-08-23T16:00:00+00:00

LENNY

13:10

Lenny spins back around and with his two pointed shoes pressed together leaps from the concrete step like a penguin, his two hands hidden inside the deep pockets of his yellow puffer jacket.

There’s nobody home. Doesn’t look like anybody’s been home since Ruthgar Bilic was sent to prison however many years ago. The sheet didn’t even provide that much information. Neither did Dr Volgt this morning when he offered Lenny the job. He just said Bilic was involved in smuggling in some guise and was sent down for it. He got out two days ago. And happens to live twenty-two minutes away from where Sofie is believed to have been swiped. It’s not much to go on. In fact it’s nothing to go on, not if Bilic isn’t home…

Lenny glances up and down the vacant, grey street, before sighing heavily and then relenting by pulling his phone back out of his pocket and thumbing the screen again.

He presses his thumbprint against the Facebook app, then proceeds to type the name ‘Ruthgar Bilic’ into the search bar.

Dozens of Ruthgar Bilic’s show in the resulting list, though only three suggest that the profiles currently reside in Prague.

The first Ruthgar Bilic from Prague looks too young to be the man who lives in this grey house, on this grey street. He’s only a late teen. Maybe early twenties. Acne scarring his cheeks. The second Ruthgar Bilic can’t be ruled out. He’s the right age. Somewhere in his mid-forties. A rough haircut and even rougher beard. Looks like he’s been living a tough life. Certainly in contrast to the third profile Lenny clicks into. This Ruthgar Bilic is wearing expensive suits in each of his profile pictures. Is married to a woman who looks like she walked off the front of a magazine. And they share three beautiful sons according to the banner photograph across the top of his page.

‘It must be this guy,’ Lenny whispers to himself, clicking back into the bearded Bilic.

Lenny scrolls through the profile, noting a few shared memes is all his suspect has ever posted. There’s nothing to go on. Except the profile picture. A face to the name. An ugly face. To an ugly name.

Lenny pockets the phone again, before swivelling and stepping back up on to the concrete step, his knuckles curled, ready to rattle against the wooden door… when behind him, there’s a slam. And a cough. A really loud cough.

He glances over his shoulder, to see an elderly man limping away from one of the grey houses having pulled its front door closed.

Lenny leaps off the step with his feet pressed together like a penguin again, then looks up and down the street before striding across it.

‘Excuse-y me,’ he calls out in his awful European accent. ‘Excuse-y me, Sir.’

The elderly man’s limp turns to a shuffle, his pace quickening… But he doesn’t get far before Lenny is standing in front of him, holding his hands out.

‘Excuse-y me,’ Lenny says, pointing across the street. ‘Do you know anything about your neighbour, Ruthgar Bilic?’

‘Nemluvim anglicky.

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