I turn my attention to the photo of the four women. Unlike the edition of The Walsh Briefing I found in Sugar’s room the women’s names here have been replaced with a single word in block letters:
CENSORED
That’s odd.
Then I realise it’s not so strange when I read the article below.
To comply with threats from our two-bob and bent legal profession, I have had to redact some items from this article （remember that the next time they lie to you about living in a free society）。
It’s now a number of months since CENSORED, CENSORED, CENSORED and CENSORED vanished. They were all last seen at CENSORED. And where is CENSORED in all of this? I’ll tell you where. It’s clear that CENSORED have gone for a cup of tea and a sandwich. And as for CENSORED, they’re only interested in these new Lotto results and faces that fit.
My head’s spinning after reading that. I blink to clear my eyes, then read it again. And again. Now I try to decode:
CENSORED, CENSORED, CENSORED and CENSORED vanished.
They must be the names of Hope, Amina, Veronica and Sheryl, who all went missing in 1994.
They were all last seen at CENSORED.
Where? Where could they have last been seen? Was it at the Suzi Lake Centre? I turn to the internet to find information about the centre but frustratingly find nothing. I have to remember that in 1994, storing information on the internet the way we do today was in its infancy back then. And local authorities weren’t the most up to date with getting old information digitalised and online. Working as a doctor I’ve had one too many cases where information from local authorities turns out to be on a piece of paper that no one can find.
What I do find during my search is an arresting photo of the woman the centre was named after: Suzi Lake. She’s attending a grand gala wearing a shimmering, cream evening gown that brings the fire in her shoulder-length red hair alive. Tall with no-nonsense green eyes, her face is set in an expression that seemed to proclaim she was as at ease at a posh event as she was at rolling up her sleeves.
In fact, there are many pictures of her. And stories. I immerse myself in reading about her. She sounds like quite a lady. Rich with a big heart, noted for helping many charities and organisations, especially those connected to women. Sadly, she died many years ago.
I rest my head on the desk. This search is shredding my mind into tiny, useless pieces. A long yawn escapes my lips. I shut my eyes . . .
I snap them open and sit bolt upright. There’s no time for rest. Besides which there are signs around this building warning: Sleep in your bed not in our home of memories.
I go back to The Walsh Briefing. I take a photo of the Suzi Lake Centre and text it over to Danny with the message:
This building is/was called the Suzi Lake Centre.
Need the address.
Plus anything else you find.
A text swiftly zings back.
Let me get on to my contacts.
I’m on it, daughter.
He signs off his text with a cheesy smiley-faced emoji. I breathe easier and then turn back to The Walsh Briefing.
It’s clear that CENSORED have gone for a cup of tea and a sandwich. And as for CENSORED, they’re only interested in these new Lotto results and faces that fit.
It’s anyone’s guess who’s eating and watching the telly. Is this another part of Mr Walsh’s conspiracies? Aliens sitting in front of the TV having afternoon tea? Can I take seriously anything that he’s written?
And what about the photo of the building, the Suzi Lake Centre?
I check the date of the newsletter: December 1994.
The only contact for Walsh is a PO box number at the bottom of the last page along with another madcap message: Help me expose who should be helping you. All information received in strictest confidence. I know enough about PO boxes to know it will be long out of date, especially after all these years.
‘That’s him.’ Mrs Devi is back. This time she’s holding a tablet. ‘Standing outside the library as bold as brass he was.’
She shows me a photo of a belligerent-looking man holding a placard that says: Your local library suppresses free speech. Fight for your right to know.
The final words are crunched together where he ran out of space for all the words on the placard.
Mrs Devi adds, ‘He used to stage one-man demos outside because I banned his scandal sheet.’
I’m only half-listening because I’m sucked in by the photo. Patrick Walsh aka Prickly Patrick is lying in a bed on the respiratory ward of the hospital he got me suspended from.
I need to see him. However, there’s a big but. I’m still barred from the hospital while the board considers Patrick Walsh’s threat to sue. How am I going to get to him? And even if I do, will he want to speak to Doctor Death?