The Colours of Death
Page 1
About the Author
Half-Angolan and half-Portuguese, Patricia was born in Portugal but moved to England when she was eight. As well as an MA in Creative Writing from City University, she holds a BA in Creative Writing from Roehampton. She lives in London and The Colours of Death is her first novel.
The Colours of Death
Patricia Marques
www.hodder.co.uk
First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Patricia Marques 2021
The right of Patricia Marques to be identified as the Author of
the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with
the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Map by Rosie Collins
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any
means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that
in which it is published and without a similar condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
eBook ISBN 978 1 529 33667 2
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.hodder.co.uk
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 1
The first time Isabel heard a voice in her head, she’d tried to talk back.
It’d been different back then; the voices hadn’t been as clear.
Now, Isabel stares down at the still body on the slab. The chill of the room seeps through her skin to settle in her bones and she can’t help but wonder what this person’s last thought had been. If Isabel would have heard it.
The emotions would have packed a hell of a punch.
The body is that of a woman, leached of colour in death, lips together and arms limp at her side. There’s a jagged scar, cleaned and sewn in a crude line from the bottom of her left eye to the corner of her mouth. There’s another like it on the right side. The half of her that Isabel can see above the sheet is covered in more of those neatly stitched lines. The knife had punched through her chest several times and the woman had felt every single one of them.
Yes, Isabel thinks, I would’ve heard this woman.
With one last sweep of the wounds, she turns her back on the body and nods to the medical examiner, who’s tucked away in the corner of the room, clipboard in hand, only his eyes visible above the mask.
‘Thanks,’ Isabel says and walks out.
It’s warmer out in the hallway. The morgue has seen better days and could do with money, but the floor is pristine, the piercing smell of antiseptic permeating the air. Coupled with the lighting that sucks the colour from the walls, it makes for a grim practice.
Isabel’s steps are loud in the silent hallway, accompanied by the ticking of the clock on the wall at the end of the long room. It reads 8.15 a.m.
She signs out of the morgue with a nod to the man at the front desk, slides her sunglasses onto her face and steps outside. The fleece is soft against her neck as she tugs the collar up around her throat. The sun is bright, cold and cutting. It’s the coldest winter they’ve had in a while, though up until a few weeks ago the temperature had been mild enough that all she’d needed was a scarf and a blazer.
Lisbon’s weather had turned vicious as winter began to settle.
Her hair hasn’t quite dried from the quick shower she’d taken earlier that morning. It sticks to the nape of her neck beneath the coat’s collar and the rest has started curling around her face. It’s like a magnet, making the iciness more acute, and she grimaces. Her car’s parked half off, half on the kerb and she rushes to it, sliding in gratefully and starting the engine as soon as she’s slammed the door behind her.
The heat is beginning to blast into the car when her phone starts vibrating against her hip. ‘Merda,’ she mutters, leaning her head back on the headrest and closing her eyes. As usual Isabel hadn’t got much sleep the night before. Opening her eyes at the sound of her alarm had felt like a particular type of torture. Remembering how bad the pain had been has her rubbing her temples.
Isabel shifts on to her other hip and tugs her phone out. CHIEF flashes up at her on the screen.
‘Reis,’ she answers, voice still raspy from the remnants of a bad cold. In front of her car, a man stops on the street corner with his stand, huge bags of chestnuts leaning up against the cart. His hat is pulled down over his ears and air puffs out of his mouth in little white clouds as he gets ready to start serving.
‘I want you at Gare do Oriente terminal, ASAP.’
In her mind’s eye, Isabel is already adjusting her route. ‘Okay, what do I need to know?’ she asks. She puts the phone on speaker and tosses it onto the passenger seat.
‘Possible Gifted murder.’
Shit.
‘All right, should be there in twenty. What about my Jane Doe?’
‘I’ll put someone else on the case for now. If it turns out that this really has Gifted involvement, then I want my most competent inspector on it.’
‘And it won’t hurt that I’m Gifted myself,’ Isabel says, wry.
‘Exactly. Your new partner will be meeting you there.’
Isabel glances down at the phone as if she’ll be able to see the Chief’s expression on the other end. ‘New partner,’ she repeats.
‘You knew this was coming,’ the Chief says. ‘Oh. And Reis. HR are on my case about your retesting. Get it done.’
‘I will
.’
Chapter 2
Lisbon is buzzing at this time of the morning. Tourists who have woken up early to enjoy the clear weather mingle with the Lisboetas going about their daily business. The tables outside the café are packed with people, smiles more of a stretch of the mouth rather than genuine expressions as they snap pictures of themselves over breakfast. They seem to take to the weather much better than the locals, who huddle in their jackets, wrapped up with scarves halfway up their faces.
It’s rush hour and Isabel almost doesn’t make it in the twenty minutes she’d promised.
The first thing she sees is the wave of people running along the length of the station. Normally they’d be streaming into it, not fanning out from the entrance in an angry mob.
Gare do Oriente terminal is always busy, the amount of traffic it sees every day equal to that of New York’s Central Station. Its white arches, made to resemble trees, gleam in the sunlight. The shopping centre further down draws huge crowds year-round. Isabel can see a flash of police tape as people shift, some turning back to the bus stops and others shuffling forward to yell. Police dot the area surrounding the bus terminal directly outside the entrance to the trains.
It takes Isabel another ten minutes to find a parking spot. It’s further away from the terminal, but even from there she can hear them all. She feels the first shivers of the wall in her mind as the strong emotions batter past her car window. It’s a shock in comparison to the quiet of the morgue and the still mind of a dead woman.
People never know how loudly they think.
Isabel reaches for the glove compartment instead, digs through the stupid amount of energy bars inside until she finds and tugs out the see-through pillbox. She pops the tiny powder-blue pill, eyes still on the crowd. She pulls out a bottle of water from the footwell and takes a drink to wash the pill down with. The water is icy cold and leaves her throat tingling. She shoves one of the energy bars into her coat pocket, throws the pillbox back inside and closes the compartment.
She should have taken it on the way.
It takes between twenty and thirty minutes for the pill to take effect, which means Isabel’s going to be wading through the crowd unprotected except for her regular wards. The mental protective shields are instinctive now. There was a time when they really hadn’t been.
It had taken Isabel longer than her peers to learn how to block out the thoughts around her on command. She’d had to do extra sessions with her assigned Guide, Rosario, every Saturday morning. Because of the extra sessions, Isabel always missed her favourite morning show.
She sits quietly for a moment, eyes closed, attention turned inward as she focuses on building her wards, one strong enough to get her through the wall of people surrounding the station. It’ll be quiet beyond them.
A suspected Gifted murder is not something they need right now. In the current climate, it’s a very dangerous thing.
‘Well, not going to get any warmer out there,’ she says to herself and gets out.
The whip of the wind is harsh enough to make her gasp and try to duck her whole head into the loops of her scarf. It doesn’t help.
Crime scene tape covers both entrances to the train station and officers are positioned at the entry points. Isabel catches flashes of the yellow tape through the multitude of angry commuters. She can see each police officer at their post, some in pairs, some standing by themselves. A few of them are trying to address members of the crowd but don’t seem to be getting anywhere, others have given up and are either standing there with a stoic look on their faces or talking quietly to each other.
As Isabel gets closer, little tendrils of thoughts begin to brush against her wards. Even though she’s still quite a distance from the entrance, she feels them. They are whisper-soft at first, like the touch of a chilled breeze on the back of her neck, making the hairs on her arms stand up. They aren’t strong enough, at this distance, to disorientate and bring her to her knees.
Isabel stops, eyes roaming the scene. The wind drags her hair into her face, and she tries to knuckle it away from her mouth. Rain is coming.
As soon as she hits the crowd, it’s like someone turns up the dial and the volume of the angry voices echoing in her head shoots up. Isabel flinches before taking a calming breath and forcing her wall up higher. She can see it in her mind’s eye, focuses on building it taller until the thoughts swirling all around her fade into the background. It takes concentration to keep them out and she’s reminded that she only had a quick coffee before leaving home that morning. She’s going to need some proper fuel; even with the pill’s effects kicking in soon her energy will be eaten up in no time.
The crowd doesn’t budge. Their yells meld together, shouted words indistinct. Isabel manages to catch a few things, questions about when the station will reopen, demands to know what’s happening. There are a few ‘merda’s and ‘caralho’s thrown in for good measure but that’s typical.
‘Excuse me,’ she says.
There’s always something about her that makes people move. Isabel’s never been sure what that is. Maybe they glimpse the ID dangling from her neck or maybe it’s the look she gives them out of the corner of her eye when they don’t move fast enough. She’s not sure. She thinks, sometimes, that maybe they know she’s other.
One of the police officers notices her. He shifts, drawing up to his full height, mouth already twitching with the need to spout something condescending. Isabel can tell. She knows the look.
‘Miss—’
Isabel doesn’t stop. Around her, the crowd closes up once more. She can feel them at her back, jostling and trying to shift forward. Coffee breath and the clinging smell of one too many morning smokes surrounds her.
‘Inspector,’ she corrects and tugs her ID badge into view. The officer leans in closer than necessary to inspect it.
She knows the exact moment he focuses on her classification. His eyes flick from her back down to her ID. He licks his lips, a nervous tic as he takes a step back and nods, trying to put his tough mask back in place.
‘Problem?’ she asks. ‘Because I have people waiting for me and you’ve got enough on your hands out here.’
The man – Mateus, his ID reads – steps back. ‘Good morning, Inspector.’
‘Good morning.’
‘I’ll take you through, Inspector,’ Mateus says. Isabel nods and as they go into the station makes a note to call the Chief and suggest that she see whether she can spare any other officers to hold the fort.
Everything is still functioning inside the station but the large space that should be filled with the people cramming up against the police tapes, is empty. Their steps echo as they head for the trains. She spots more officers and gets a few more grumbled morning greetings as they head up towards the scene.
The platform they emerge onto is a flurry of activity and there’s a train stationed there. A small group of people is gathered at the end of the platform. All the doors on the train are closed save for the one they are standing in front of.
Leaving Mateus behind, Isabel makes her way towards them. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the train window and winces. She looks like shit.
At her approach, the three people standing by the open doors turn to look at her.
‘Reis.’
One of the three splits off and walks to her.
Jacinta tugs her mask down and hooks it underneath her chin. Her tight curls are starting to escape the hood they’re trapped under. The pale blue hazard suit looks oddly complementary against Jacinta’s black skin, which is ridiculous because the suit is fucking ugly.
The face itself is a familiar and welcome one, which Isabel is thankful for. There aren’t many people who she’s able to work comfortably with. Jacinta is one of them.
‘Então,’ Isabel says, ‘glad it’s you. I’m going on three hours’ sleep and I think I’d honestly make anyone else cry. What time did you get here?’
Jacinta shrugs. A camera dangles from her hand
. ‘Not long. About an hour or so. They had trouble clearing the station.’
Isabel nods. ‘I heard it was a bit of a shit-show. Anything compromised?’
Jacinta lets out an aggravated sigh and gestures at the train. ‘They were in there when it happened. Everyone trampled all over the place trying to get out.’
Isabel hums. ‘It is rush hour. They’ve got an angry mob outside.’
‘Wouldn’t want to be one of your officers holding the fort.’
‘Well . . .’ Isabel thinks about the dickhead outside who’d got in her face and can’t bring herself to feel too badly about it. A needle of sharp pain knifes through her temple and she winces.
Jacinta’s eyes narrow on her face. ‘You okay?’
Isabel rubs at the spot, teeth gritting. It abates as quickly as it arrived. ‘Fine.’ She drops her hand back to her side and tries to smooth the pain from her expression. The first hour of the pill taking effect is always a little worse. ‘So. What do we have?’
‘We’ve done a walk-through already. Your partner,’ Jacinta pauses here, arcing a brow at that piece of news, ‘got here about twenty minutes ago and we’ve been waiting for you to arrive. When did you get a partner, by the way?’ Jacinta looks over her shoulder. Someone else is making their way over.
The man is tall, Isabel thinks.
‘It’s new.’
Jacinta looks from Isabel to the man who is apparently Isabel’s new partner. ‘How new?’
‘Looks like we’re about to meet,’ Isabel says, watching him approach.
‘Inspector Reis?’ he asks.
‘Yes?’
He holds out his hand and Isabel looks down at it, then back up at his face, waiting.
His hand stays in the same place. ‘Inspector Aleksandr Voronov,’ he says.
Voronov. She’s not a stranger to the name. Isabel takes his hand and shakes. ‘Inspector,’ she greets him, already trying to place it.
He looks her over, his grip firm. He’s got sharp eyes.
Pretty striking looks, she thinks. Maybe not the best person to partner with if you wanted to keep a low profile. This one will turn heads: thick black hair, pale blue eyes and killer cheekbones.