The guard inserted a key card into the lock. A green light flashed on and he pushed the door open. The inside of the house was as minimalist and smart as the outside – all soft lighting and elegant modern furniture.
The guard took me along a carpeted corridor and down a flight of steps. Another corridor. A series of abstract oil paintings lined the walls. I remembered Cooper’s comment about Duchovny’s art collection being worth millions and stared at the pictures. I’d done a huge project on both Kraminsky and Stutter for my Art GCSE and recognised works by both as I walked past.
If they were originals they were worth a fortune.
We reached a large wooden door. The guard pushed it open and stood back to let me through.
‘Wait here,’ he said.
As I walked in, he closed the door behind me. I was alone in what appeared to be some kind of home cinema. Three rows of squashy armchairs were ranged in front of a large screen hung on the far wall. I walked round the room. Signed prints of various celebrities – only some of whom I recognised – hung on the walls. A locked cupboard ran the length of one wall.
The room smelled of furniture polish and popcorn.
Footsteps sounded outside and, a second later, the door opened and a short stocky man with sharp grey eyes walked in. I didn’t have to ask if it was Duchovny. The way the security guard stepped back, almost bowing his head as the man passed him, said it all. And Duchovny radiated power, despite being only a couple of centimetres taller than I was. His suit – dark and sharply cut over a pale green, open-necked shirt – fitted him perfectly and he held himself very upright, from his polished shoes to his grey-streaked hair. But it was his expression that was most striking. He looked at me as if I were some kind of bug. Interesting, yes, but lowly. Very lowly.
‘What do you want?’ His accent was clipped . . . English, with an American twang.
I gulped, then spoke as Cooper had directed me to, using information from Sam’s letter:
‘I’m here because of Shelby,’ I said. ‘You had an affair with her mother, Annie, fifteen years ago. Shelby’s your daughter, as . . . as you know. You pay money to Annie for her every month.’
Duchovny’s expression didn’t alter, but a muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘Shelby?’ he said.
I wasn’t sure if this was just some shorthand version of the question he was really asking, as in why are you coming here talking about my illegitimate daughter? but I launched into my prepared explanation of our kidnap, saying immediately why the kidnapper (Cooper had insisted I didn’t use his name) had sent me.
‘He wants five million pounds transferred to his bank account within the next thirty minutes,’ I finished.
Duchovny frowned. ‘And you’re Shelby?’
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘No. She’s my sister. I mean we didn’t grow up together, but—’
‘Slow down, Lauren. Just tell him what he needs to know,’ Cooper’s menacing voice hissed in my ear.
I stopped speaking. Duchovny narrowed his eyes.
‘You’re Martha Lauren?’ he said. ‘The elder daughter? The one who was found a couple of years ago?’
I nodded. There was a long pause. I searched Duchovny’s face for signs of similarity to Shelby. Their eye-colour was definitely alike – and there was something about the shape of his mouth: the way the top lip dipped. She had his build, too, I realised – those same short legs.
I thought of Shelby and Jam and Madison waiting for me back in that basement. I had no idea how far away Cooper’s house was or in which direction – though we’d driven for over an hour to get here – but I knew their lives were in my hands.
Duchovny cleared his throat. ‘One of my conditions with Annie is that Shelby – that nobody – would ever know the truth about her being my daughter.’
‘This is good, Lauren, he’s not even attempting to deny it,’ Cooper hissed in my ear.
‘Annie told Sam, her . . . her husband who died. And Sam wrote us letters. I mean, he’s dead but he wrote us letters before—’
‘I’m not interested in the details.’ Duchovny’s voice was as cold as his eyes. ‘I made it quite clear to Annie many years ago that while I would make a reasonable financial contribution towards a situation I helped create, I was not prepared to go further.’
I stared at him. In all the upheaval of the past few hours it hadn’t occurred to me that unlike my anonymous sperm donor father, who couldn’t know who I was, Duchovny had made a deliberate choice not to know his daughter.
‘Shelby’s not a “situation”,’ I said. ‘She’s a person. She’s . . . jeez, you’re her father. Doesn’t that matter to you?’
Duchovny’s eyes were like steel.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter to me. Shelby is nothing to me . . . she’s just an annoying reminder of an irresponsible period a long time ago.’
My mouth gaped. ‘That’s horrible,’ I said.
Cooper swore violently in my ear. ‘Stay on track, Lauren. Don’t rile him.’
Duchovny raised an eyebrow. ‘Shelby’s mother had a husband who was prepared to accept the baby as his own. I had a wife and a son, neither of whom have ever needed to know of Shelby’s existence. I’ve done my duty to clear up the mess I made. My responsibility goes no further.’ He paused. ‘Now I’d like you to leave.’
Cooper swore again in my ear. ‘Tell him you’ll tell the wife.’
‘If you don’t pay the ransom, we’ll tell your wife about Shelby,’ I said.
‘A minute ago you said if I didn’t pay the ransom then Shelby would die,’ Duchovny snapped. ‘Whoever sent you hasn’t done their homework very well if they think I’m the sort of person who can be blackmailed. So let me make this clear: I don’t care what you tell to whom. I don’t care about Shelby at all.’
He opened the door.
I had no choice but to walk through it.
‘Don’t let this happen, Lauren,’ Cooper hissed.
‘What the hell do you want me to do?’ The words – meant for Cooper – burst out of me. Duchovny clearly thought I’d been speaking to him. He curled his lip.
‘I want you to leave, now, and never come back.’ He beckoned to the security guard who had been waiting outside the room. As the man walked towards us, his jacket flapped open and I noticed a gun, nestling in its holster against his chest.
‘Make sure she leaves the premises,’ Duchovny ordered.
‘No,’ I said.
‘Do something,’ Cooper insisted in my ear.
Duchovny turned and walked away along the corridor.
‘Come on,’ the guard said, indicating the way out which was in the opposite direction.
‘No,’ I said again.
‘Do something, Lauren!’ Cooper’s voice rumbled inside my head. ‘Do something or Jam and your sisters die.’
I had no idea what to do.
Without thinking it through, I lunged forward and thrust my knee up, hard, between the guard’s legs.
He doubled over. I reached for his gun. It slid, easily, out of the holster. I jumped backwards, the gun in my hand. The metal felt cold against my palm.
Beyond me, along the corridor, Duchovny was still walking away.
I took a deep breath. ‘Stop!’ I demanded. ‘Stop or I’ll shoot.’
23
The Ransom
The guard looked up, his eyes filling with horror. He took a step away from me. I glanced over at Duchovny who had stopped walking and was turning slowly around to face me.
‘Transfer the money or I’ll shoot you,’ I said.
My voice was steady with a steel edge. I should have been scared, but the gun in my hand made me feel powerful.
So did the look of fear on the guard’s face.
‘Have you taken his gun, Lauren?’ Cooper swore in my ear.
‘Put that down before you hurt yourself.’ Unlike the guard, Duchovny’s expression was full of contempt.
My resolution faltered.
‘Shoot the guard. Ge
t Duchovny alone,’ Cooper hissed.
My head spun. Was he seriously telling me to pull the trigger? I gulped.
‘Throw me the key card and get back,’ I ordered the guard. At least if I had the key card I could get out of here.
The guard unclipped his key card and slid it across the floor to me. He put his hands up and stepped back against the wall. Keeping the gun trained on him, I bent down and picked up the key card.
‘For goodness’ sake, she’s a child,’ Duchovny spat. ‘She doesn’t know how to use that gun. Go and get it.’
‘Lauren, stand up to him!’ Cooper insisted. ‘Get them both to back off.’
‘Shut up!’ I said.
I held the gun in both hands, my arms outstretched. I swung it from the guard to Duchovny and back again, past the rows of oil paintings along the corridor wall.
‘Get the gun off her,’ Duchovny ordered the guard again.
The guard hesitated, but I could tell he was going to obey the order. I only had a few seconds before he rushed over.
And I knew, in my heart, I would never be able to pull the trigger.
Duchovny swore. He started walking towards me.
‘Lauren!’ Cooper shouted.
I felt sick with fear. Somehow I had to take Cooper a ransom – and get out of here alive. I had no idea what to do.
And then I noticed the picture on the wall opposite. It was a Stutter, I was sure. Really similar to one I’d written about for my Art GCSE. About half a metre square: an abstract oil painting consisting of three blue stripes.
It was bound to be worth millions.
There was no time to think. Duchovny had almost reached the guard. In a single movement I darted forward, yanked the painting off the wall and raced for the stairs. I climbed them two at a time, then tore along the corridor to the door.
‘Stop!’ the guard yelled. He was right behind me.
I slid the key card over the lock. The reinforced glass door popped open. I ran through as the guard and Duchovny raced up. I slammed the door in their faces and slid the key card over the lock again. A red light came on.
Duchovny rammed his shoulder against the door, but it held firm. He was yelling at the guard to open it. The guard was protesting that he couldn’t because I’d taken his key card.
I dropped the gun and the key card and tore down the drive, the oil painting under my arm.
I flew along the track, my legs barely touching the path.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Cooper was shouting in my ear.
‘I’m coming!’ I panted. ‘Get the car ready!’
A second later I turned the corner on the drive. I could hear shouts now coming from outside the house. Duchovny was ordering his men to chase me.
I sped up, my breath rasping at my throat. I pushed my legs on. Further. Faster. The gate came into view. I reached it. Pressed the release button. The doors swung open. I raced through.
Cooper was standing outside his car. He saw me running and got inside. As I hurled myself into the passenger seat, he revved the engine. We sped off, the car screeching down the road.
‘What did you do?’ Cooper glanced at the painting. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘It’s your ransom,’ I gasped. ‘Duchovny wasn’t going to give you any money. So I took this instead. It’s an original Stutter. At least I think it is.’
Cooper swung the car round a corner. Then another. He swerved off the road and skidded the car to a stop. I had no idea where we were.
Cooper reached over and took the painting off my lap.
‘If I’d wanted a piece of art I’d have gone to a freakin’ gallery.’ He swore. ‘This is probably a reproduction anyway. Now get under the blanket on the back seat so I can drive home.’
I hesitated. I wanted to fight him. To get away. But Cooper was far more powerful than I was – and he still had his knife.
‘Are Madison and the others OK?’ I asked.
‘They’re where we left them,’ Cooper snapped. ‘Now get in the back.’
As I lay on the back seat, Cooper covered my mouth with a damp cloth. I smelled the same sickly scent as I had back on the cliff top.
‘No,’ I started to protest. But before I’d even finished speaking, I’d lost consciousness.
I came to back in the basement. I blinked open my eyes, looking round for the others as soon as I could move.
But I was alone.
Panic gripped me.
What had Cooper done with Jam and my sisters?
‘Hey!’ I struggled to my feet and hammered on the door. ‘Hey! Let me out!’
But no-one came.
I had no idea what time it was. Back at Duchovny’s house I’d had a strong sense that it was late evening. But I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious, and I couldn’t see outside – the only light in the basement came from the single bulb that hung from the middle of the ceiling.
Time crept by. I was getting more and more afraid. Suppose Cooper was just going to leave me here to die?
I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since . . . jeez, I couldn’t remember when. I felt light-headed and my head ached. I wanted to cry, but the terror inside me was like a fist gripping me, holding on too tight for me to let go and give in to my misery.
And then, without warning, Cooper unlocked the door. He looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes and signs of fresh stubble on his chin.
‘Time to go,’ he said, shortly.
‘Where are the others?’ I said.
‘Already there.’
‘Where?’
Cooper shook his head impatiently. He tapped the knife attached to his belt. ‘Come on,’ he ordered. ‘They’re waiting.’
Heart thumping, I followed him out of the basement room. He gripped my arm and led me along the bare corridor and up a flight of stairs.
I looked round, bewildered. The house sounded empty . . . almost eerie. Was Cooper really taking me to the others?
‘Are you letting us go?’ I asked. ‘Is that Stutter worth a lot?’
‘We’re moving to Plan B,’ Cooper said, ignoring my question. ‘Through here.’
We’d reached the top of the stairs and were standing in some sort of utility room. There was a boiler and a washing machine and a sink in the far corner. Cooper indicated a door that led outside to a dark garden. I could just make out the outline of a tree against the night sky.
I stared at him.
‘We’re going outside?’ I said.
‘You’re a genius,’ Cooper said sarcastically.
He pushed the door open and I stumbled out. The air was cold and damp, like it was about to rain. A strong, salt smell drifted on the wind across the garden. It took me a moment to realise that the garden led down to a jetty and that the sea – pitch black – lay beyond.
Cooper prodded me towards the jetty. A boat was moored at one end.
I looked round. The garden was lined on both sides by trees. The house was completely isolated – no other buildings in the distance.
‘Where are we going?’ I said.
Cooper said nothing. We reached the jetty. Our steps sounded loud on the wooden slats.
‘Get in the boat,’ Cooper ordered.
‘No,’ I said, backing away. ‘Why?’
‘I told you already.’ Cooper grabbed my arm. Somehow his knife was already in the other hand. He held it to my throat. ‘The others are waiting for you. Get in the boat.’
I had no choice. Trembling, I stepped into the wooden motor boat. It wasn’t large – just room for one person at the front and two at the back, by the engine. Cooper sat me down beside him and started the engine.
We motored out to sea. The spray was fine and cold against my face. I shivered in my jumper. I thought about jumping overboard and trying to swim back to dry land, but I knew how powerful the currents were here. Anyway, within seconds, the shore was just a distant bank of lights.
After a few more minutes, Cooper changed course. We motored along,
parallel to the shore, for a while. Gradually the bank of lights dwindled to darkness. I could just make out waves breaking at the base of a stretch of deserted cliff.
‘What are we doing here?’ I said. ‘Where are the others?’
Cooper didn’t reply. He turned off the engine. The boat rocked gently in the water. Waves slapped at the hull.
‘Get out,’ he ordered.
I stared at him, my pulse racing.
‘What?’
‘You heard.’ Cooper’s fingers curled round the knife at his side.
‘You want me to get into the sea?’ I said.
The water below me was dark as the night sky above.
‘If you don’t get in I’ll throw you in,’ Cooper said.
‘No.’ I scrabbled away from him, towards the front of the boat.
In a second he’d lunged after me, grabbing my arm and twisting it round my back.
I kicked out, my shoes thudding against the hull.
‘No!’ I screamed. ‘NO!’
‘Shut up.’ Cooper’s knife pricked at my throat.
‘Is this what you did to the others?’ I froze, the full horror of the situation dawning on me.
Cooper had dumped Jam and Madison and Shelby into the water too. They were already dead. Drowned.
Cooper said nothing. Still keeping the knife at my throat, he put his other arm round my waist and lifted me over the side of the boat. My legs dangled in the air for a second then, with a grunt, Cooper hurled me into the water.
It was ice-cold. I sank, the water consuming me for a few seconds. I clawed my way back to the surface, gasping for air. Salt waves splashed over my face. My arms and legs were already sodden, weighed down by my clothes and shoes. Automatically, instinctively, I began treading water.
The boat’s engine revved. Cooper motored away, the boat leaving a white trail in the water. In seconds it had disappeared into the darkness. Stunned, I watched the foam disperse.
Silence fell over the sea. Apart from the swish of the waves there was, literally, no sound. I looked around. From where I was, low down in the water, I could make out neither coast properly, but the current seemed to be tugging me to the right. I moved my arms and legs, going with the water, letting it guide me.
Sister, Missing Page 13
