Blood Ransom (7 page)

‘Plus, she didn’t seem to have any appropriate interests – just this ridiculous obsession with self-defence . . . she’d been to a martial arts show just before she . .
.’ He tailed off.

Lewis and I exchanged glances. I knew he’d taught her some martial arts fight moves while the two of them had been preparing to rescue me from Elijah’s compound in Washington D.C. I
didn’t much like the idea that Lewis had sparked off such a big interest. On the other hand, maybe having an in-depth knowledge of self-defence techniques might help keep Rachel safe.

‘She didn’t even seem to have any friends . . .’ Mr Smith went on, his forehead creased with a deep frown. ‘I mean, maybe a couple of girls at school . . . She saw one
the day it happened, in the high street. The girl’s mother stopped to speak to her and apparently Rachel just ran past, saying “I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” Terribly
agitated, the woman said.’ Mr Smith sighed. ‘That sums it up really – the last few years Rachel turned into such a loner. Things were bad back in London, then, after the . . .
episode in Washington, she seemed stronger for a while – but recently she’s been more walled up in herself than ever. She’s stopped confiding in us . . . God, she must have felt
she didn’t have
anyone
she could talk to.’

‘She had
me
.’ The words just blurted out.

‘
You?
’ Mr Smith looked at me, his eyes worn and strained behind his glasses.

I could feel Lewis looking at me too. My face grew red as I explained.

‘Rachel and I met online every week. Don’t worry, we were careful. We used different internet cafés . . . different chat rooms . . . She told me stuff – about friends,
home, school . . .’ I hesitated. ‘She told me lots of things and, yes, she was bored and annoyed with some of her life but she was happy too – and . . .’ I tailed off, not
knowing how to express my certain feeling that Rachel would never have gone away without saying goodbye to me.

Mr Smith was still staring at me, his mouth gaping open. Lewis went over and touched him on the shoulder.

‘We just want to look around for a minute or two, Richard. To see if we can spot anything that would give us a clue . . . just in case . . .’

Mr Smith nodded slowly, his expression dazed. ‘The police already went through her things, but . . . well, all right. Just don’t make a noise. My wife . . . Rachel’s mother . .
. she’s taken some tranquillisers – it’s the only way she’s getting any rest at all and . . .’ He tailed off.

‘We understand.’ Lewis lowered his sharp blue eyes. ‘This is the second time.’

With a jolt, I registered what he was saying. I knew that Rachel had been cloned from her dead older sister, Rebecca. I’d never thought about it before, but that must mean that Mr and Mrs
Smith had already gone through the death of one daughter.

No wonder this apparent loss of Rachel was so unbearable.

Mr Smith said nothing more, just led us up some stairs and towards Rachel’s bedroom. He stopped at the door. ‘I can’t go in there,’ he whispered, sagging slightly against
the wall. ‘We haven’t touched anything. You go ahead.’

I pushed open the door, eager to see Rachel’s room. It was blue. Very blue. Blue blinds, blue duvet cover, blue walls. There was a wardrobe and a bookshelf and a desk. Two pictures of
ballerinas hung from the wall above the bed.

I looked round, disappointed. I’d hoped being here would give me a sense of Rachel, but this room was just like the rest of the house. This was Rachel’s mother’s version of a
girl’s room. It didn’t tell me anything about Rachel herself.

Lewis was examining the bookshelves. I went over – a few novels and textbooks and a whole shelf of martial arts books and pamphlets. Lewis picked one up and flicked through it.

I turned my attention to the desk. It was as neat and tidy as everywhere else. A few tubes of cream and a couple of bits of make-up were stacked in the corner. It was all so middle-aged and
formal – rather like the ballerina pictures on the opposite wall – and not at all like Rachel.

At least, not the Rachel I knew . . .

I fingered the two huge necklaces that lay across the desk. One was made of large brown and blue beads . . . the other of thick golden leaf shapes. They looked like the sort of thing
Rachel’s mother would wear. I couldn’t imagine Rachel herself in either of them.

What was that?

A tiny hairgrip with a diamante arrow at the tip was nestling under one of the large golden leaves on the second necklace. It was much simpler and prettier than anything else on the desk.

I picked it up. Rachel had worn this before . . . At her school disco and, later, in the cottage in Scotland.

I glanced round. Lewis was opening the big drawers under Rachel’s bed, his back turned. I slipped the hairgrip into my pocket and turned back to the desk.

It wasn’t much, but it was all that was here that truly reminded me of her.

A few minutes later and Mr Smith came in. He kept his eyes fixed on me as he spoke, clearly not wanting to look at the reminders of Rachel in the room.

‘You’ll have to go now,’ he said. ‘My wife’s waking up.’

Lewis nodded.

‘But we haven’t found anything yet,’ I said.

‘We can come back.’ Lewis turned to Mr Smith. ‘What can you tell us about the eyewitness who said he saw Rachel on the beach?’

Mr Smith shrugged. ‘Local police took a statement. It was a man in his early twenties. He only spoke to us for a moment – said how awful it had been not to be able to get to her in
time . . . how sorry he was for us . . .’

I exchanged looks with Lewis. ‘What was his name? What does he look like?’

‘Dean McRae,’ Mr Smith said. ‘Cropped red hair, squashed nose. A student, nothing special. He doesn’t live round here, he said he was just in the area for the weekend.
Apparently he noticed Rachel at the martial arts show then, later, saw her again while he was driving along the coast, looking for a pub. She was in the distance, on the beach . . . then . .
.’ Mr Smith’s mouth trembled.

‘Where does this guy live?’

Mr Smith shrugged. ‘Glasgow somewhere.’

‘How many McRaes d’you think there are in the Glasgow phone book?’ I asked Lewis.

But before he could answer, the bedroom door was flung open.

Rachel’s mother appeared in the doorway, dressed in a floor-length satin dressing gown. Her hair was a mess, with grey roots showing, and her eyes were wild with fury.

‘What the hell is going on?’ she yelled, taking in first me, then Lewis. She turned to her husband. ‘What are
they
doing here?’

Mr Smith started stammering out an answer, but Rachel’s mother was clearly beyond listening. I stared, transfixed by her mean, tight face with the skin stretched weirdly round her
eyes.

‘Get out . . . get them out!’ she shrieked.

Lewis grabbed my arm. ‘Come on.’

We nodded goodbye to poor Mr Smith, then raced down the stairs and out of the house. We didn’t speak again for a while. Lewis drove fast and hard, hissing softly under his breath . . .
lost in his own thoughts.

I looked out of the window as we drove, watching the passing houses and trees and fields. Even though it was the height of summer here, everything seemed grey and lifeless.

‘At least we know who we’re looking for,’ Lewis said at last. ‘Even if finding him is going to take forever and max out our cash.’

Max out.

Max.

Of course
. ‘I’ve just thought of someone who could help us do it faster,’ I said with a grin.

23

I woke with a start. For a second I was completely disoriented. Then everything that had happened flooded back.

Trying to save Daniel. Milo’s betrayal. The suicide he’d faked . . .
my
suicide.

A chill raced through me, as the horror of my situation fully registered.

I looked around the room. No window. And my phone was totally out of power – I couldn’t even check to see what time it was.

Across the room, the door handle turned. I sat up as it opened and a tall man with dark hair and a designer suit walked in.

‘Hello, Rachel,’ he said smoothly. ‘What a great pleasure it is to see you again.’

A small part of the answer to the million questions in my head slid into place, as I registered who I was looking at – Elijah Lazio.

24

My amazing hacker friend Max was gobsmacked to hear from me. I found her mum’s number through the online directory, then called her that evening – Sunday. After
she’d stopped demanding to know where I’d been for the past nine months, she agreed to do a search on Dean McRae, though I refused to tell her why.

‘It’s for your own protection,’ I said.

‘Jesus, Theo.’ Max laughed. ‘You sound just like your mum back when she wouldn’t tell you why you had a bodyguard.’

The reminder of Mum made me feel guilty. I quickly changed the subject, asking Max about her own life. We’d known each other since we were babies – our mothers were friends. As she
spoke I found myself lost in thoughts of my old life at school in London, when Max and I were kids and this other guy, Jake, was my best friend.

‘D’you still see Jake?’ I said.

‘Yeah, he comes round all the time.’ Max laughed. ‘Mostly just to annoy me.’

‘Sounds like Jake,’ I said.

For a second I wished I was back in the safety and ignorance of the past, a place where I’d never even heard of RAGE or Elijah Lazio.

Then I pushed the thought away. There was no point in wishing anything different. Everything was as it was.

Anyway, without all those other things I would never have met Rachel.

True to her ace hacker reputation, Max found six Dean McRaes in the Glasgow area within half an hour. A couple of them had some kind of police record. Lewis discounted those
two straight away.

‘RAGE wouldn’t use anyone like that. Neither would Elijah. They’d want their witness to be completely credible.’

I nodded, checking through the details Max had sent through for the other four men.

‘It’s him,’ I said, pointing to the second on the list.

Lewis looked over my shoulder and read out loud:

‘Dean McRae, 22, engineering student . . . interests include war memorabilia and martial arts.’

Lewis raised his eyebrows. ‘Why him?’

‘It’s the martial arts,’ I said. ‘Remember all those books in Rachel’s room? Her dad said she’d been to some sort of martial arts show just before she
disappeared.’

‘It’s definitely a connection,’ Lewis said. ‘The witness who saw her on the beach said he recognised her from that same show.’ Lewis clicked through to the attached
pic of Dean McRae. It was from a student ID card and fairly blurry, but his hair was close-cropped and his nose looked squashed and broken, just as Mr Smith had described.

‘I reckon he works for RAGE.’ I looked at Lewis. ‘You worked undercover there for a year, didn’t you? What d’you think? Does he look like he’d fit in
there?’

Lewis shrugged. ‘RAGE takes in all sorts – from idealistic hippies against genetic modification to thugs who are just looking for an excuse to beat up on people. This guy might just
as well work for Elijah as for RAGE.’

There was something particularly bitter about the way he said Elijah’s name. I’d only heard him sound that bitter once before . . . about Mel.

I stared at him, suddenly realising what Lewis was really focused on. ‘You
hope
McRae works for Elijah, don’t you? You hope all this will lead you to Elijah.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Lewis muttered.

‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘You might care about Rachel and want to save her, but you’re also hoping that you’ll find Elijah.
That’s
why you’re
spending all this time and money. It’s to lead you to Elijah so you can take revenge for Mel!’

Lewis glared at me. ‘He killed her in front of me . . . in front of you and Rachel . . . totally unprovoked . . . just because she’d been with me . . .’

I nodded. ‘I know.’ I felt uncomfortable now. Lewis looked so angry and upset. ‘I’m just saying our priority has to be Rachel, that’s all.’

‘Of course.’ Lewis looked away.

There was an awkward silence for a moment or two.

‘Let’s check in with Max,’ I said eventually. ‘See how she’s getting on.’

It turned out that Max hadn’t managed to find an address for McRae, but the college where he was studying engineering was listed. Lewis and I set off for it straight away, hoping that
McRae would turn up for school first thing on Monday morning.

We found a B&B near the college and, while Lewis took a shower, I went outside and used the call box I’d noticed to phone Mum.

It was now almost twenty-four hours since I’d sent her the text from my old mobile. I took a deep breath as I punched in our home number. I knew I had to let her know I was okay –
Lewis had already nagged me about it several times – but I wasn’t looking forward to the bollocking I was likely to receive.

In the end, I just got the answerphone. I left a short message, repeating my lie about having gone off for a few days with a friend. I knew Mum wouldn’t buy it, just like I knew she would
be beyond furious when we finally saw each other again. But, right then, I didn’t care.

I rang off, wondering vaguely if I should try Mum’s mobile. After all, if she wasn’t at home that probably meant she was out looking for me somewhere.

Another twinge of guilt.

I got into bed and tried to focus on what we had to do tomorrow: find McRae and make him tell us what really happened to Rachel.

I hoped it was going to be as easy as it sounded.

25

Elijah Lazio folded his arms, clearly enjoying the shocked look on my face.

‘Surprised to see me, Rachel?’ He stared at me appraisingly. A mean smile twisted across his lips. ‘Milo did well to trick you – I can see you’ve lost that
innocent, trusting manner you had last year.’

‘What are you going to do with me?’ I said. ‘And where’s Daniel? What’ve you done with him?’

‘All in good time, Rachel,’ Elijah said, brushing a speck of dust off his expensively-cut suit.