But then seven months later her dad is dead, and Isabel’s best gift is taken away from her.
Chapter 12
Portugal’s NTI headquarters is situated on the outskirts of Lisbon. Every Gifted who’s been registered and has received their classification has passed through here. That is its main function.
The walls surrounding the building need a new coat of paint. The graffiti stands out, words in bright pink and blue bubble writing, caricatures of politicians, contorted in angry expressions and waving their fingers in the air. Whoever threw up the graffiti is amazingly talented. Isabel’s not so impressed by what’s in the speech bubbles though: We don’t endorse abominations!
Isabel looks away, rolls the stiffness out of her shoulders and fixes her gaze straight ahead as Voronov drives through.
They’re met at reception by Célia Armindas herself.
Célia Armindas, now the only head of the NTI, is a tall woman with elegant wrists poking from the sleeves of her pristine lab coat, wavy white hair parted in the middle and sensible shoes. A gold watch dangles from her wrist when she shakes Isabel’s hand.
‘Inspectors,’ she says, shaking Voronov’s hand as well, ‘you won’t mind if I ask to see your badges.’
‘Of course,’ Voronov says. Armindas’ eyes flicker over his behind the wire rims of her glasses. She then takes Isabel’s in hers, focusing on the classification printed there.
She gives Isabel a tight smile. ‘Inspector Reis, you’ve spent more time inside our walls than your partner here.’
Isabel smiles back, polite, even if her teeth are gritted and she’s not sure if it comes off looking like a grimace. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘Of course. Would you like to follow me to my office? I’ve had some refreshments sent up for us.’ Her smile falters. ‘Though I understand this isn’t exactly a social call. Please.’ She turns on her heel and leads them in.
Isabel wants to turn right around and walk back out but follows, walking a little behind Voronov and forcing herself to look around.
It hasn’t changed much. More security measures in place, but the smell is the exact same and it makes the sandwich Isabel ate for breakfast turn in her stomach.
She remembers it too well. Her first glimpse of it. She’d been on a school trip. They’d taken a coach and she remembers the long ride, the wrapped sandwiches her mother had made, the stickiness of the peach juice she’d spilled on the way over. The second they had walked into the reception area, led by their teachers, the place had smelled like everything had been washed in antiseptic from top to bottom. It had left her feeling off.
Of course, they hadn’t got to see anything important then. They’d been taken into a cool room that had shown them an animated explanation of the differences between Gifted and Regulars, and about the test. They’d made it sound so non-threatening.
It’s what comes after classification that they don’t tell you about. The video didn’t cover that part.
Isabel’s second time in this building had been for the test. There weren’t as many test centres back then and the bulk of them took place right here at NTI.
They call it a test as if it’s just the one thing, but there are three stages. The first one determines whether a person has an ability and, if they test positive, they get put through the second test. Officially, there are two categories that Gifted fall into, telekinesis or telepathy. Officially, because the whispers that there might be other categories have never been proven. Just urban legend, according to scientists.
As soon as they know an individual’s classification, they take the subject into the third round to determine their level.
Isabel had tested as a five. The first time.
She prefers not to think about those hours. They aren’t her best memories.
Dr dos Santos hadn’t been the head of NTI at the time of her test, but he’d risen to the position soon after. He’d also produced a lot of research on suggested treatments for Gifted who couldn’t control their powers, and for those Gifted who belong to the higher classification, eight through to ten.
Higher-classification Gifted are few in number. Most think that’s a good thing. They don’t get to stay out in general society for long enough to alarm the public before they’re taken away by Monitoring. For many years it was a flawless system.
Then Colombo happened. The Gifted girl in question had been seventeen at the time and was apprehended a few days later, neutralised with tranqs like an animal and hauled away. The trials had been kept out of the public eye. No one had seen or heard of the girl since the day of her arrest.
The building is huge and quiet. The route they take to Armindas’ office is the tourist version. Not the one Isabel had seen when she was younger.
In no time, they’re sitting in a plush office with a gorgeous view and a sofa area for guests. As promised, there’s coffee at the ready, a tall jug of water, and cakes that some poor soul had been sent to get.
The sofa Isabel and Voronov sit on is a bit on the small side and Isabel tucks herself closer to the arm. Voronov, like most men, seems to take up more room than necessary. She feels the weight of the headache, a shadow of a thing tucked in tight behind her eyes.
‘Coffee or water? I can have something else brought in if—’
‘No, thank you,’ Isabel says. She doesn’t glance at the offerings. Doesn’t consider it, doesn’t trust it. Voronov also declines.
‘Oh, well, please help yourselves if you change your mind,’ Armindas says and pours herself a coffee, leaves it black and cradles the delicate cup in both hands. A thick gold band on her left thumb winks in the light. ‘Forgive me but I feel like I need a bit of extra energy.’ She drains it in one before setting it down and pouring another. ‘Your colleague explained your visit over the phone. Are you sure it’s Gil?’
Well, that’s to the point.
‘We believe so, yes,’ Voronov says. ‘You two were close?’
Isabel forces herself to concentrate as the headache builds. She finds herself squinting at the other woman. It’s a bright, spacious room and, despite the dark sky outside, the overhead lights are strong enough that it’s starting to feel like sharp little pinpricks are jabbing at her eyes.
‘We’ve worked together for a long time,’ Armindas says and tucks her wavy white strands behind her ear, ‘a very long time. We both started working here in the same year, for the same team. I made head first, if you can believe it. Gil followed shortly after. Gil was an extremely intelligent man; he did great things in his time here.’ There’s a pause. She takes another sip of her coffee. ‘He was certainly a good friend.’
There.
Isabel tilts her head, like a dog catching a scent of something. Something not quite right. But she can’t pinpoint what it is with the constant pulse of the headache muddying everything for her.
‘Can you tell me what happened to him?’ Armindas asks.
‘I’m afraid we can’t disclose that at this time. We’re trying to find out a bit more about Gil, about his life, if there’s anything that may have happened recently that may have caused him to feel under pressure maybe?’
Armindas is quiet for a moment. Isabel can see the wheels turning.
‘No. I can’t say that there’s been anything that has stood out. It’s that time of year when we start prepping for the January tests, there’s a lot to get done and it can get stressful. A lot of administrative work and of course, implementing changes to the tests as we evolve. There have always been some adjustments to make and countless reviews of the changes to make sure they’re safe to go through with.’ Armindas sighs. ‘After Colombo last year, the whole system has had new regulations implemented.’
‘You’re referring to the young Gifted woman who lost control at the Colombo Shopping Centre?’ Voronov asks.
‘Yes. It was a great tragedy. The government were keen for us to look into preventative measures.’
Isabel keeps her face blank even as she feels those words c
rawl under her skin and leave a bad taste in her mouth. ‘Preventative measures and new regulations, you say. What kind?’
‘Just in regard to classification levels,’ Armindas quickly moves on, waving the question away, and Isabel has to physically keep herself from grinding her teeth at the dismissal.
‘But aside from that,’ Armindas continues, ‘there weren’t any issues that I know of, or that he’s discussed with me.’
‘Personal projects? Things that he might have been working on outside of the scope of NTI?’
‘No. Not that I know of.’
‘When did you speak to him last?’ Isabel asks.
‘Day before yesterday. He had a meeting the next morning, and we had a call scheduled to go over some of the data.’
‘Who was the meeting with?’
‘The European Gifted Union. We meet and present to them any major findings or incidents that have occurred. It’s a standard thing, happens twice a year.’
‘And he sounded normal, nothing out of the ordinary that you could tell?’
Armindas shakes her head. ‘No. We went over everything and made the necessary changes to his delivery but it was all fine. I’m sure he told me he’d be having an early night because he was getting the first morning train to make sure he arrived on time. It was a normal conversation, there was nothing wrong that stood out to me.’
‘And around what time was this?’ Voronov asks.
‘I was still in my office and left around eleven thirty that night. We were on the phone for a while. I think we finished our call around eleven ten?’
Voronov nods and notes it down. ‘You said he was working on something with you over the phone, do each of you have company assets that you take home? Computers, tablets etc?’
‘Yes, we do. We each have a laptop to work from home on NTI matters; our tech team has ensured secure servers. We deal with a lot of sensitive information, so we’re not really allowed to use anything else.’ After a pause, Armindas licks her lips, a small nervous tic. ‘Inspectors, I’m sorry, but these questions . . .’ She spreads her hands, ‘they’re making it seem like maybe there’s more to this. That you don’t think this is an accident.’
‘We’re investigating all possibilities, that’s all, Ms Armindas,’ Voronov says, ‘at the moment this is as much as we’re able to give you.’ He glances at Isabel, eyebrows lifting. ‘We saw that in Gil’s diary there was an entry marked under yesterday’s date that said “HSL”. Do you know what that could be? Do you know if Gil had any other work or personal engagements after his presentation?’
‘No.’ She frowns. It calls attention to how wide and thin her mouth is. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
‘One more thing,’ Isabel says, ‘what can you tell us about Julio Soares? Do you work closely with him?’
Isabel feels the uptick of something from Armindas, a feeling that’s instantly caught and tamped down before she can identify what it is.
Armindas works her shoulders in a small circle, head tilting with the movement as if trying to work a crick in her neck. ‘Yes. He’s a long-time contributor to our studies here at NTI. He has one of the sharpest minds I’ve seen in a long time.’
‘According to Mrs dos Santos, he and Gil were having some issues. Would you know anything about that?’
‘No, Inspector, I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that,’ she says, and there’s a touch of defiance in the uptilt of her chin.
‘Hmm. Thank you. In that case, could you take us to Gil’s office? We’d like have a quick look.’
Armindas sits back in her chair, twisting the ring on her thumb round and round. ‘You won’t be able to take anything.’
Isabel arches an eyebrow at that. ‘We weren’t planning on it, Ms Armindas. But rest assured, should we need anything from his office we’ll be sure to get a warrant first.’ Isabel stands and motions ahead of her. ‘Shall we?’
She wants to get into that office and get out. She needs cool air and a dark space to get control of this thing. Then she’ll have to figure out what it is about this case that has sent her stress level spiralling enough to trigger a reaction of this nature.
The blinds in Gil’s office are drawn. They block out all but slivers of pale white that cut through the room, wall to wall in perfectly even lines.
Isabel scans the wall for a light switch as Voronov strides into the room.
Armindas’ assistant hovers outside, hands clasped in front of her. She’s been put on watch duty. If the intent was to make Isabel and Voronov feel uncomfortable then Armindas is going to be disappointed.
Isabel finds the switch and flicks it on.
Voronov stops in the middle of the room and looks around. He looks over at Isabel, as if to say ‘well?’ Isabel shrugs and turns her attention to their surroundings.
The room itself is smaller than Armindas’, not as grandiose, but it’s super-sleek. It smells of air freshener and the worn scent of coffee. The entire left wall is floor-to-ceiling shelving, packed tight with books.
No seating areas. Just two chairs on the other side of Gil’s desk. A lamp hovers over the computer monitor, and when Isabel rounds the desk, there are Post-its stuck along the bottom of the screen. She ducks her head to read over the scrawled notes. Gil had a doctor’s handwriting. Which is to say, very beautiful but near illegible.
Post-its aside, Gil’s desk is neat. Everything in its place, pencils clustered together and sharpened to tidy points, black pens together, blue together. Everything has its place and even the mug that’s on the desk is washed and set upside down, gleaming under the light.
‘Tidy,’ Isabel says as she takes a closer look at the Post-its.
Voronov hums in agreement.
A few reminders that are nothing special. A phone number with what looks like an English area code, someone’s name scrawled beneath it. A neon green Post-it has a note relating to his wife; what looks like the name of a restaurant, along with a date and time a few weeks ahead. Celebratory dinner of some kind maybe. Isabel notes it down and looks at the last one.
HSL – 14.15 It’s followed by yesterday’s date and nothing else. Isabel plucks it away from the monitor and it unsticks loudly. Voronov comes to peer over her shoulder at it.
‘Yesterday?’
‘Hmm,’ Isabel says. ‘This was what we saw in his diary too, wasn’t it? What do you think?’
‘Wife didn’t mention anything. Neither did Armindas,’ Voronov says and shifts to block the assistant’s line of sight before taking the note from Isabel.
HSL. Someone’s initials? A place?
The day before, Mrs dos Santos’ depiction had been one of a happy marriage. Maybe it was happy because Gil was having additional needs met elsewhere. It happens. Or it could be something completely different. Maybe Julio Soares might know what it stands for. That would definitely be an interesting interrogation.
Voronov tucks the Post-it into his notebook. ‘Don’t think we’ll be able to look through much with the assistant watching us like a hawk,’ he mutters, glancing around. ‘And we’ll need a warrant for his computer.’
Isabel digs her thumb into her brow, pressing against the throb there. ‘Yeah. Let’s get out of here.’
The less time she has to spend in here, the better.
Chapter 13
‘Are you okay?’ Voronov asks.
Isabel glances over at him.
He’s got a thicker coat on today, the inside fleece turned out at the collar where it cradles his neck. His hands are easy on the wheel as he navigates the early morning traffic back into central Lisbon.
The rain has arrived, drops peppering the window and the roof of the car. Isabel wants to close her eyes and go to sleep. If she managed a full hour of sleep the previous night, she’d be surprised. Right now though, as the clouds open up and load down on the city, she finds herself wondering about the two strays and how they’ll fare. Neither dog had returned, or at least she hadn’t heard anything for the rest of the night. In
her hurry to get ready and leave this morning, she’d forgotten to pop her head out of the window to see if at least the food was gone.
‘I’m fine,’ Isabel says.
‘Okay. These headaches you have, are they normal?’
She cuts a look at him.
Voronov calmly shifts gears as he coasts into another lane. ‘I understand it being none of my business, but at the very least I need to know if they’re bad enough that they’ll affect you while we’re out on the job.’
Isabel huffs. ‘It’s fine. It won’t hinder anything.’
Voronov’s silence is the equivalent of telling her she’s full of shit. And if he wasn’t maybe a little bit right, then she’d rake him over the coals for it; but the truth is that although she’s used to coping with the headaches, they’ve been off-kilter lately, and the way her Gift had leaked yesterday even while under the effect of the pill worries her too.
‘What did you think of Célia Armindas?’ he asks, breaking through her thoughts.
‘I think that she’s a smart lady with a cool head. She’s going to play her cards close to her chest, which doesn’t bode well for us – but hopefully we’ll be able to find enough pieces on our own.’
‘Maybe she’ll feel differently about talking to us once we have more to go on.’
‘Yes. There were a few moments in there where I felt something . . .’ she says, ‘no thoughts or anything, but a spike when we brought up Julio Soares. These are powerful people. She was nice enough today, but she’ll turn if we start getting in her face too much. I don’t want them to start talking about lawyers. They’ll block us and then we’ll have no room to move.’
‘When you say they, are you thinking about Julio Soares too?’
‘Oh, absolutely. And getting an appointment with him isn’t going to be easy. The Chief is going to love this.’
‘Julio Soares?’ the Chief asks.
‘Yes,’ Isabel says and winces when the Chief yanks a drawer open and pulls out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. She pops one of them between her lips, fiddling with the light to get a flame going long enough for it to catch. ‘Chief . . . you’re not supposed to smoke in here any more.’
The Colours of Death Page 7