I stared at these words over and over.
And then, without warning, the file vanished. I tried to call it up again, but it had disappeared.
An icy shiver snaked down my spine.
‘Done.’ Ed pushed back his chair and stood up. I shot a look sideways. The guy he’d just hypnotised was sitting limply in his chair, head lolling to one side.
I looked back at the screen. Still blank, but there was no doubt about what I had read, even though it went against what I’d been told my entire life.
‘Dylan,’ Nico snapped. ‘Are you listening to me?’
I hadn’t even heard him speaking.
‘Yes . . . no . . . coming.’ I jumped up, my head spinning. In seconds I’d closed the search, and logged out of all the databases. I switched off the computer and followed the others out the door as the terrible, inconceivable reality sank in.
My dad’s file wasn’t in the wrong place at all.
He’d been murdered and the true nature of his death covered up.
4: Family visits
Everyone else talked non-stop all the way back to the cottage.
Ed was delighted that the whole plan had gone so well and full of ideas for what we should do next in the investigation.
Nico and Ketty were happy to join in, with Jez and Alex making suggestions as we drove.
I sat huddled in my corner in the back seat with my headphones jammed into my ears. I had my music on loud to block them all out.
Music helps me think. And I had a lot to think about.
I was in a daze at first. Jeez, if Nico hadn’t pulled me back, I’d have walked into the laser beam by the fire door as we left. Not that I admitted it. Still, I got us past that and, once we were in the car and what I’d seen had sunk in, three questions burned in my mind.
Who covered up my dad’s death?
Why did they do it?
And, if his death wasn’t an accident, who killed him?
I had to find out.
We arrived back at the cottage halfway through the evening. Geri was clearly torn between relief that the outing had been successful and annoyance that we’d gone on the mission at all.
She kept nodding her head, her pointy bob swinging furiously back and forth, as we went through the debrief. I was careful to say nothing about what I’d seen. Geri had known my dad, so it was quite possible she knew the real circumstances of his death and hadn’t told me the truth about it. However, there was no point accusing her of lying to me. She’d just clam up altogether.
No, I had to be cleverer than that if I wanted to find out what she really knew. Which meant I needed time to think.
Geri took a phone call towards the end of the debrief. She came back into the living room, a smug smile on her face.
‘I’m pleased to be able to tell you that your family visits have at last been confirmed. Your visitors will arrive late this evening. We’re putting them up in a local hotel. You’ll be able to see them tomorrow – which means a day off lessons.’
The others were delighted. Geri had been promising us some time with our families ever since we left Africa two weeks ago. And who wouldn’t want time off from boring school work? Alex kept us on track with all our subjects, like a tutor, and we had online lessons for certain classes, like math (which I hated) and languages.
Ketty clapped her hands together when she heard her parents were coming and Ed beamed at the prospect of seeing his stepmom and dad and sisters. Even Nico looked pleased that my Uncle Fergus – who was also his stepdad and the head teacher at our old school – was going to pay him a visit.
I’d only met Fergus a few weeks ago, of course, so it wasn’t the same for me.
Geri turned to me. ‘Now I know you hardly know Fergus, dear, but your Aunt Patrice is also coming—’
‘You’re kidding.’ I stared at Geri. Patrice was the last person I’d expect to make the effort to visit me.
‘Don’t look like that,’ Geri said. ‘She really wants to see you.’
I didn’t believe that for a second. I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle when I was two, just after my mom died. Aunt Patrice already had two children, Paige and Tod, who were a little older than me. I think she resented having another kid to deal with, though she certainly liked the life insurance money that I’d inherited.
Anyway, I never fitted in. I had my dad’s last name and his pale skin and red hair while my aunt and cousins were all olive-skinned and dark-haired . . . plus, Paige bullied me from day one.
Next day, the families turned up one by one. Uncle Fergus was first. He smiled awkwardly and asked if I’d like to go out with him and Nico. I said I was waiting for my aunt.
Ed’s family turned up soon after that. His parents were very ordinary – plain and plump, in horrible cheap suits, trying to look smarter than they were. I don’t get the British class system, but I could see they were more than a little in awe of Geri. It was weird seeing Ed with his sisters. The younger one, Kim, was quite sweet, I thought, but Amy had buck teeth and glasses with horrid orange frames and never shut up. She kept staring around at everything, including me, going ‘Omigod, omigod, look at that . . .’.
Ketty’s mum and dad were smartly dressed, like Geri, but seemed real snooty, too. I was sorry to see they hadn’t brought Lex, Ketty’s cool, good-looking older brother, with them, but he was still in Singapore, where Ketty’s folks live now.
Everyone arrived except Patrice. The three families set off separately for a bit of private time.
I spent the afternoon training in the woods with Jez – basic self-defence stuff to support my Medusa gift.
I was glad it was just the two of us. I couldn’t bear the pitying looks Alex and Geri kept giving me when I was inside the cottage.
Patrice didn’t show up until 6 p.m. She swept in, laden with designer shopping bags.
‘Mwah.’ She air-kissed me, throwing Geri a curt nod and ignoring Jez and Alex completely. ‘Would you make a coffee for your poor, exhausted aunt, Dilly, honey?’
I gritted my teeth. I hate that nickname. It reminds me of Paige and years of torment.
‘I’ll make the coffee,’ Alex said quickly.
She and Jez left the living room as Patrice sank into the large armchair.
Geri and Patrice chatted for a moment. They’re quite alike in some ways. Patrice is a bit younger, of course, but she’s all skinny with a pinched-looking face, just like Geri. And they’re both super chic, in a middle-aged way. Right now Patrice was wearing a pair of dark jeans with a Chanel blouse and Hermès scarf and she smelled of something old and fruity – like an overripe melon.
I glanced at all the bags she’d deposited on the floor. Prada and Hugo Boss mostly.
‘Nothing for you, honey,’ she said, her lipsticked mouth puckering in pretend shame. ‘I only had a few hours at the stores.’
‘No problem.’
I wouldn’t want what you chose anyway.
Alex brought in a mug of coffee and left. Geri made her excuses soon after, which left Patrice and me alone.
Aunt Patrice had already said she could only stay a couple of hours. Just as well. I didn’t think I could have handled a longer visit.
As we sat in silence, my mind went back to my dad – and what I’d found out.
For the first time I wondered if my mom had known about the file that said he’d been murdered.
If so, might she have said something to her sister . . .?
‘I’ve been thinking about my dad,’ I said tentatively.
Patrice pursed her lips. Her beady brown eyes narrowed. ‘And?’ she said.
‘About how he died . . .’
Patrice rolled her eyes. ‘For goodness’ sake, Dilly, what’s the point in raking up that old business again? Your father was a law unto himself. He did what he wanted, when he wanted.’
Her voice dripped with contempt. I could feel myself getting angry.
‘What’s that got to do with how he died?’ I persisted.
‘I just mean he went his own way on everything. Not a thought for anyone else. He was selfish. Wrapped up in himself. Quite literally, which is how he came to walk out in front of a green light – he didn’t notice the car coming.’
I perched on the sofa, trying to keep a lid on my temper.
‘Okay, but how come you’re so sure that it . . . that that’s how it went down? How do you know he wasn’t deliberately killed?’
For a second, the atmosphere in the room froze. Patrice’s dark eyes widened.
‘Who told you that?’ she said, a deep, guilty blush spreading across her cheeks. ‘Of course he wasn’t delib—Dylan, what’s got into you?’
I stared at her, my heart thumping. What did that guilty look mean?
That she knew he’d been murdered? All this time she’d known and she’d kept it from me?
I met her gaze.
‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’
‘I did tell you the truth. Accidental death was the official version. The police said it was an accident, for goodness’ sake,’ Patrice protested.
‘What about the unofficial version?’ I said. ‘Somebody told you something different, didn’t they?’
Patrice looked away. Her sallow cheeks reddened.
‘I can see you know something and you’re not telling me,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘So you might as well say what it is. It can’t make any difference now.’
Patrice pressed her lips together in a thin line. ‘I really don’t see why you’re so intent on—’
‘He was my dad,’ I said firmly. ‘I have a right to know what happened to him. Or at least what people thought.’
‘For goodness’ sake, you sound just like your mother. Hysterical.’ Patrice sighed. ‘She once said she thought her phone was tapped.’
‘Did she?’ My throat tightened.
‘Oh, that’s just the start of it. She said that the motor accident was a cover-up . . . that William had been murdered. She was delusion—’
‘Who did she think killed him?’ I said. ‘Why would it be covered up?’
I could hear my heart beating loudly.
‘Your mother didn’t know anything specific, Dylan, and I’m sure she was wrong. The whole thing was preposterous. I mean the police report said it was a traffic accident.’ Patrice sat back in the armchair, examining her bright pink nails. ‘Your mom was – as I’ve told you many times – prone to getting hysterical, especially at that time . . . You were just a few months old and not sleeping and she was exhausted, and before he died, your dad was completely wrapped up in his work and she was getting no help from him—’
‘Please just tell me what she said.’ I gritted my teeth.
‘Goodness, it’s so long ago.’ Aunt Patrice paused. ‘Let me see, she said William . . . your dad . . . kept going to the Hub . . .’
‘What’s that?’
‘Some place to do with his work.’ Patrice paused again. ‘Not his lab, but . . . I don’t know . . . a headquarters of some kind.’
‘Who did he talk to there?’
‘Geri Paterson at first, but Geri thought he was being ridiculous so he went over her head to her boss, but he didn’t believe William’s life was in danger either.’
‘What was his name?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know, but William was convinced that “the others” would come after him. After he died, your mom kept saying, Now they have come after him . . . now they’ve killed him. I spoke to Geri afterwards and she said it was nonsense. William was killed in a traffic accident. End of.’
I frowned. ‘Who were “the others”?’
Patrice raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, your mom didn’t say, but I’d have thought that was obvious.’
I stared at her. ‘Obvious?’
Patrice adjusted her Hermès scarf, tugging the two ends so they met. ‘“The others” must be the others with the Medusa gene, of course . . . their families, I mean.’
‘Why?’ I said. That didn’t make any sense. ‘Why should it be them?’
‘Because the families had just found out that the Medusa gene – which William had sworn blind was harmless . . .’ Patrice sneered, ‘. . . was going to kill the mothers. I imagine William and your mom were convinced that they were going to take revenge.’
The room spun. I gripped the side of the sofa, suddenly light-headed.
My mom suspected my dad had been killed by the families of the other Medusa babies – the families who were, right now, in a hotel just a few miles away. The families of Nico, Ed and Ketty.
5: The Hub
The little mother-of-pearl box was concealed under a sweater in my backpack. I took it out carefully. All my stuff – and everyone else’s – had been left for a while at that hellacious training camp in Spain. It caught up with us eventually, but I hadn’t looked inside this box for ages.
I was in the bedroom I shared with Ketty. She – and the others – were still out at the hotel with their families. I went over what Patrice had said, forcing myself to take an objective look at each set of parents in turn.
Firstly Nico. His stepdad, Fergus, was certainly around at the time my dad died but, as my dad was Fergus’s brother, he didn’t seem a likely murder suspect. My dad had left the only copy of the Medusa gene formula with him, which meant he must have trusted him. Anyway, I couldn’t believe that Fergus, with his solemn eyes and straight-laced manner, was capable of murder.
Ketty had been adopted long after my dad died. She’d never known her father – and her mother, like mine, was now dead. If either of her parents had been involved in my dad’s death, the trail would be well and truly cold by now.
Which left Ed. His dad had been around at the time.
Still, could he really be capable of murder?
I couldn’t believe it. And I was even more certain that even if Ed’s dad was involved, Ed himself didn’t know anything about it.
Patrice had just left. Geri was working in her office and Jez and Alex were watching TV downstairs. The light through the window was dying as I glanced outside my room to make sure I was alone and opened the box.
It contained the few things of my parents that I owned. A white-gold necklace, with my mom’s name – Ashley – hanging from the chain. I guess I could’ve worn it. Ashley’s my middle name, after all, but something stopped me. I wore the wedding ring and the silver bangles, of course. There were a few photos, too – me and Mom and Dad. Dad had red hair and green eyes and a distracted look. Mom is much younger . . . and beautiful, with darker hair and pale, clear skin. Then there’s me. I had terrible skin when I was a baby, all red and raw. Apparently, I cried a lot then, too. I wish there were some pictures of me with my parents that I looked recognisable in. Or at least some photos where I didn’t look like the Devil Baby From Hell.
I flicked through the other items – an old Mac lipstick . . . a tiny vial of perfume that had long since lost its scent . . . some papers, including copies of my parents’ marriage certificate and my birth certificate . . . and a little Tiffany appointments diary of my mom’s from the year Dad died.
When Aunt Patrice first gave me the diary when I was about eleven, I pored over it for days, hoping for some insight into my mom’s personality. But it was just a collection of evening dates with my dad and lunches with friends, plus a bunch of beauty appointments. I guess Patrice wouldn’t have given it to me if it had reflected my mom’s actual state of mind. She’d explained, a year or so later, how my mom had been sick in the head when she died . . . how she hadn’t meant to do it . . . how it had been a cry for help . . .
It had taken me a while to realise she was telling me my mom had killed herself out of grief over my dad. Now, with a sick jolt, I wondered if my mom’s fears that my dad had been murdered had driven her to suicide.
I caught myself in the mirror . . . anxious-eyed. Maybe Mom and I had similar shaped faces, but that was about it. I used to hate my own colouring . . . the way it made me stand out everywhere. But mor
e recently, I’d come to like looking different. I loved the way people often did a double take when I walked past.
I turned to August in Mom’s Tiffany diary. My dad had died at the end of the month – after which, I already knew, the entries stopped. I looked through the first week of the month. The appointments were mostly as before . . . highlights and a blow-dry on the 3rd, then lunch with someone called Laura afterwards, plus cocktails on the evening of the 6th. How weird that Mom’s life was about to be turned upside down and she didn’t know it. The note on August 7th caught my eye.
Another birth.
W to Hub
August 7th was Nico’s birthday . . . He must be the ‘birth’ referred to.
I turned the page to the next week.
A meeting with her personal shopper . . . another lunch with Laura . . .
W to Hub was written again on Monday and Thursday and Friday. And again on the Monday and Wednesday of the following week.
That Wednesday afternoon was the day my dad had died.
Patrice had said the Hub was the headquarters of his work for the Medusa Project – and that Dad had gone there to speak to the guy in charge, Geri’s boss, but that the man hadn’t believed my dad’s fears.
If I could find out exactly what my dad had said, it would give me a genuine lead. I knew from our Medusa Project briefings that notes were always taken in meetings . . . often recordings, too.
I just had to find out where the Hub archives were stored and access them.
I could have asked Geri, of course, but Patrice had made it clear that Geri thought my dad was paranoid, too. She wasn’t going to tell me anything.
Downstairs I heard the front door shut and an excited chatter fill the living room. Damn it, what was everyone doing back here so soon?
My phone beeped at me. Absent-mindedly, I checked the text message.
My blood froze.
The text was short, but to the point.
We know what ur doing, bitch. Stop looking or u die.
6: The break-in
For a second I felt nothing, then fear swamped me like a tidal wave.
Hunted Page 3
