The Colours of Death

by Patricia Marques

  He inclines his head and a smile curls over the corner of his mouth that has no humour to it.

  Isabel sets her cue down and leans against it, ignoring the game for now. At their table the others are laughing, unaware of the nature of the conversation taking place just a few steps away from them. ‘Sorry to be blunt’ – she’s not really – ‘but from what I understand, I think I might be the one that should worry.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  Brave. Okay. It’s not like he’s not aware that rumours about him being dirty and framing his partner made the rounds. ‘I’m talking about the situation with your Gifted ex-partner. Sorry if I’m not too comfortable with that.’

  She doesn’t wait to see what he has to say, turns her attention back to the game at hand. It’s not until she’s cleared another two balls and missed the third that she notices he’s watching her with that smile still on his face.

  Isabel leans against the pool table again, crossing an ankle over the cue and wrapping her arms around it. ‘Something funny?’

  ‘No. I’m just surprised you had the balls to say it to my face.’

  Isabel scoffs. ‘No balls here. Your turn.’ The music in the bar changes abruptly to a headbanger and they both share a look.

  They play on in silence until Isabel takes the game, a smirk on her face as she straightens, because winning is winning and she’s not going to pretend. It’s a close enough game though.

  He tilts his head at her in acknowledgement and nods at her empty glass.

  ‘Another drink?’

  Probably not the smartest thing for her to do. The strength of the pill is dissipating. The headache has faded into more of a mellow thing. She should be taking herself home. But she doesn’t do this often and sometimes she misses it, having a simple night with a few drinks and good conversation with her colleagues.

  She follows him back to the bar. ‘So why homicide? You were in narcotics before. Change of scene or couldn’t stay in there any more?’

  He leans on the bar and nods. ‘You’re very blunt.’

  The conversation is briefly interrupted by the bartender. Voronov pays for their drinks with a thanks and slides them over to her. She murmurs a thank you.

  ‘A lot of people think they know what happened,’ he says.

  Isabel hitches herself back up on the stool. ‘Don’t they?’

  ‘People like to make up their own narrative.’

  ‘Ah,’ she watches him carefully, ‘and by people do you mean the press or your ex-colleagues?’

  He stares at the drink in his hand. ‘Depends on the perspective of the listener. You’ve already made up your mind which narrative you believe.’ He flicks a glance up at her. ‘Haven’t you?’

  Maybe. She doesn’t say that though.

  The smile he gives her isn’t as pleasant then.

  He toasts her.

  ‘Here’s to you making up your own mind.’

  Chapter 28

  The names they’d sent into the Registry had come in.

  They hadn’t stayed out too long the night before but as they crowd around Daniel where he’s set up on the PC, she has to hide a few yawns behind her hand. She’s a little resentful that Voronov turned up looking sharp-eyed, despite knocking back quite a few vodkas himself. Carla had stuck to soft drinks all night so she was fine too, but Daniel, as always, looks a little worse for wear, so that makes Isabel feel a little bit better.

  They’ve locked the door to the room; the odds of someone walking in unannounced are slim but she doesn’t want to take any chances on whatever they discover in this room leaking to the rest of the precinct.

  Someone at that function had known Isabel was working Gil’s case. And that same someone had been a telekinetic Gifted and had reached out that night to her specifically. A taunt? It didn’t matter. The action spoke of arrogance. Isabel wants to know who in that room had been capable of doing that. After receiving the list of names of everyone who had attended that night, they’d requested a vetting by the Registry and had been waiting for them to come back.

  ‘They could work on being a little faster.’ Isabel takes a bite out of her sandwich, frowning around the mouthful when tuna mayo squishes out of the sides to coat the sides of her fingers.

  Daniel looks from the sandwich to her and frowns.

  ‘Gifted genes. Sorry,’ she says.

  Daniel snorts and shakes his head, then hooks his foot around the chair next to him and yanks it out for her.

  ‘Nice of you to get some for the rest of us too,’ he says.

  Isabel takes another huge bite right in his face and then nods in the direction that Voronov had gone a while ago. ‘Sorry, he got it.’

  Daniel’s eyebrows jump up and almost hit his hairline. ‘Oh?’

  She flips him off. ‘Show me what they’ve given us?’

  He winks and grins at her like a little boy before turning back to what he’s actually supposed to be doing. ‘Okay, here’s what they sent us.’

  Voronov comes back into the room and Isabel motions for him to come over.

  Daniel goes silent, ducking his head, eyes fixed on the screen as he clicks back and forth.

  Isabel runs her eyes down the guest list on the screen, finding two of the names she’s most interested in: Julio Soares and Luisa Delgado.

  With Julio she’s not expecting any surprises, but it pays to be thorough. Now, with Luisa – well, Julio isn’t the only one who has something he’s not telling them. During their last conversation, it felt like her reaction to Isabel’s suggestion to view her memories went beyond the average person’s aversion to having someone poke around their head.

  ‘Once everyone is tested by the NTI,’ Daniel says, ‘the results are logged by the Registry nationally. This list should tell us the Gift and level of everyone who attended that night, if any. It can probably tell us a lot more, depends how much the Registry decided to share. They like keeping a tight hold on their information.’

  Understandable. The risks associated with giving people unrestricted access – even the police – would be huge. All it would take was someone with a little prejudice having a bad day.

  Isabel feels like she’s holding her breath as Daniel moves the cursor and starts scrolling down the page of names.

  They’re listed in alphabetical order by surname, and followed by the date of the testing, Gift category and classification. In the case of those who don’t have anything, they just have N/A in place.

  DELGADO, LUISA – TELECINÉTICA – 3.0 INTL

  Isabel eases away from the screen. ‘She’s Gifted.’

  Voronov rests his hand on the back of her chair and leans in to see too. ‘That’s not enough,’ he murmurs, ‘her level doesn’t have enough power to be able to control someone to the extent of the crimes committed, at least not if we base this on what Dr Alves explained.’

  ‘I know,’ Isabel says, chewing the inside of her cheek as she stares at the results in front of her. Why hadn’t Luisa volunteered the information herself? But in any case, as Voronov has pointed out, she’s a lower-level Gifted. She wouldn’t have the kind of power needed to move a whole person.

  Isabel frowns.

  They check Julio Soares’ name and, predictably, he’s a Regular.

  At her side, Voronov straightens. ‘Wait. Stop there,’ he tells Daniel, ‘scroll back up, slower this time.’

  Daniel quickly scrolls back up to the top of the list.

  When she sees it, Isabel throws out a hand for him to stop.

  ARMINDAS, CÉLIA – TELECINÉTICA – 7.0 INTL

  The same Célia Armindas who is an NTI head, and who hadn’t mentioned a word of her Gift to Isabel and Voronov when they’d spoken to her.

  Isabel stares at the screen. She sets down her half-eaten sandwich.

  Daniel gives a low whistle.

  Well. She hadn’t expected that. ‘All right,’ Isabel rubs a hand over her mouth, ‘let’s get everyone in here, I want any new updates ready to be reported on. W
e need to focus this investigation.’

  Isabel sits on the edge of the table, one leg drawn up. She’s tied her hair back from her face and is ignoring the bits that have escaped the elastic to curl at her nape. She’s rolled up the sleeves of her jumper but keeps having to adjust the collar because of the label scratching the back of her neck.

  Jacinta and Carla have joined them and been briefed on the findings in regard to Célia Armindas and Luisa Delgado.

  Isabel rubs the irritated patch of skin. ‘Okay, so the classifications took a turn we weren’t expecting, so I want us to start looking at motivation, anything that has stood out to us as not seeming right or any new evidence.’

  It’s edging into mid-morning, but they’ve turned all the lights on, the gloom from outside doing its best to spread into the room.

  Célia Armindas, currently the only head of NTI following Gil dos Santos’ death. They know that Célia and Gil got their positions within months of each other, and that both had been working there for some months before that, in the senior testing team. She has a doctorate in Neuroscience and, like Gil, also specialises in research into Gifted. No partner, no kids, has an aunt who lives in Germany but that’s about it.

  Then there’s Julio Soares. Son of a well-known anti-Gifted party leader, renowned professor and researcher at one of Portugal’s top universities, a confirmed Regular, frequent partner to the heads of NTI on projects and at odds with Gil prior to his death, over an undisclosed issue. And last call on Gil’s phone records. Clearly withholding information.

  And finally, Luisa Delgado. A strange and vague presence in this whole thing. Present at the scene of the murder, failing to mention that she knew the victim, and then there’s the speedy getaway. Gifted, which she failed to tell them too. Her overreaction to Isabel’s request to view her memories was also interesting.

  All three of them had been there at that function.

  ‘I want to come back to Luisa Delgado,’ Isabel says. ‘But let’s focus on Célia and Julio for a second. Célia conveniently forgot to tell us she’s Gifted. Ascends the NTI food chain to become one of the heads of the institution, which is . . . unusual in itself.’

  Carla’s smile is bitter-edged. ‘That’s one way of putting it, I guess.’

  ‘Why?’ Voronov asks.

  When the others look at them askance, Carla explains. ‘The NTI isn’t viewed fondly by most Gifted people. Historically, it was set up as a mode of controlling numbers, keeping tabs.’

  The NTI has always worked closely with the government and their earlier years are now locked up in classified documents, but there’s a lot of speculation about experimentation on unwilling subjects. This apparently started during the NTI’s early years, shortly after World War One, and ramped up at the start of World War Two. At the time, they wanted to find a way to identify higher-level Gifted, supposedly so they could be used on the front lines and for intelligence gathering.

  ‘Yes. They like to pretend that didn’t happen.’ Isabel gets up to go and pour herself a coffee.

  ‘Obviously,’ Carla continues, ‘a lot has changed since then. Now the NTI’s supposed main priority is to ensure the well-being and safety of Gifted people in society.’

  Isabel nods. ‘Except for the part where their systems and policies seem to cater more to reassuring non-Gifted that we’re not a threat and can be controlled,’ she mutters, swishing the coffee in the cup. ‘For someone of Célia’s level to willingly want to work for this institution is practically unheard of.’

  Isabel finds it odd that a Gifted like Armindas could take up a position of power without the press tearing into it. And a level 7 at that. These things don’t have to be disclosed to the public – but one could argue that it’s in the public interest to know that one of the heads of NTI is Gifted themselves.

  There would be riots, Isabel thinks.

  Isabel thinks about Célia’s obvious comfort in her shiny office, and her own dread walking into the testing centre. She can’t help feeling a touch of resentment. The coffee, when she finally takes a sip, is lukewarm and weak. She gives Daniel an unimpressed look. ‘Did you make it like this on purpose or something?’ She ignores the middle finger he puts up in her direction.

  ‘And then there’s Julio,’ Voronov says. ‘But we know Julio isn’t Gifted.’

  Isabel nods. ‘Gil, Célia and Julio worked together often. There could be various causes for motivation for both of them. And Julio doesn’t necessarily need to be Gifted himself. How many Gifted has he come into contact with throughout his career?’ And he comes from money, she thinks. People who come from money have ways of doing things.

  ‘Bento Soares would have a heart attack,’ she says out loud, rubbing absently at the pressure pulsing in her temples. ‘Carla, see if you can speak to someone inside NTI. I want to know what their employees think of the relationship between Gil and Célia, their impressions of both, and of Julio.’

  Voronov stands from the table, scratching idly at his neck. ‘I think we’ll have to be a bit more careful looking into Julio. I’ll see if I can speak to anyone who works with him at the university – if I need to speak to him in person at any point, I’ll make sure to have Carla or you with me.’

  Isabel nods. ‘Daniel, can we contact the Registry again? If she’s a level seven then she should have an assigned Monitor. See if you can get their name. Might come in useful at some point.’

  ‘I think they’ll want a warrant, but I’ll find out.’

  ‘Good, thanks.’ She downs the rest of her coffee down with a grimace and ignores Daniel’s eye-roll.

  ‘All right. I want to look into Gifted levels. Think we’ll need to know more about what exactly is possible. Let’s get to it.’

  Chapter 29

  God, Isabel hasn’t been in one of these since she was a child.

  Her dad used to bring her to Salão de Jogos all the time. Whereas regular cafés might have a pool table here or there, a Salão de Jogos catered exclusively to people wanting a little additional entertainment with their bica or bagaço, which meant a lot of games: pool tables, darts, maybe some pinball machines depending on the clientele.

  Dr Alves is holding the door open. She looks even more like a university student today, in her shock-pink Converse, black jeans and oversized hoodie. Her hair is piled on top of her head again and she patiently waits for Isabel to finish climbing the stairs.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Dr Alves asks.

  Isabel shakes her head. ‘No. Just haven’t been to one of these in a very long time.’ She tilts her head, curious. ‘Thanks for meeting me last minute. This isn’t what I was expecting out of tonight.’ Isabel had squeezed in a trip home for a fast shower and made it here by 8 o’clock. She really needs to stop rushing out of the house with wet hair; if Tia Simone finds out, Isabel’s getting a slap to the back of the head.

  ‘Trust me, you’ll understand much better after this,’ Dr Alves says and her dimples flash in her cheeks. She pushes the door open wider and the strong smell of coffee and – pizza? – spills out, alongside the sound of loud voices and music.

  Isabel steps inside and lets the door fall closed behind her.

  It’s a big place. The centre of it is taken up by the counter, bigger than in regular cafés as it houses more alcohol. Posters above it proclaim the pizza they sell here too, and an entire glass section shows off the sweet confections and sandwiches.

  The right side of the room is framed by large windows that let in the dying evening light and it’s filled with small round tables and wooden chairs, most of them occupied although Isabel can see one or two empty ones. The other half of the room is filled with a handful of pool tables, two pinball machines, two dartboards sections, a foosball table, and a few tables nearer the door, with painted-on chessboards on their surfaces.

  The room is mainly filled with men, some standing at the counter having a chat, a few playing draughts. The pinball machines and foosball machine are both surrounded by teenagers.

&n
bsp; ‘Come on,’ Dr Alves says and starts weaving her way towards a free table in the corner with Isabel following.

  Isabel shrugs out of her coat as she goes. She’d managed to pin half her hair up and put on a loose pale blue turtleneck sweater over her sports bra – after the day she’s had she wants comfort. Her ankle boots are worn and soft and the black skinny jeans she’s wearing are just as worn. It works.

  ‘Still not sure why we’re here,’ she says as she lays her coat on the back of her chair and sits down.

  ‘You haven’t noticed yet,’ Dr Alves says, amused, and pushes her glasses up her nose, ‘besides, if we’d done this at the office not only would we not have the benefit of you seeing this for yourself, it would also mean we would have been on the clock and not allowed to have a drink. I don’t know about your week, but I want to end mine with a beer, thanks.’

  Isabel laughs, surprised. ‘Okay, I won’t complain then. But what is it that I haven’t noticed?’

  A waitress approaches their table, pulling a notebook out of her apron.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what you want to drink and then take a good look around while I put in an order. You want some pizza?’

  Isabel’s smile slows and changes and she eases back into her chair. ‘Dr Alves, this is starting to feel a little like a date.’ Which she wouldn’t mind in the least, Isabel decides, because she really, really likes those dimples.

  As if on cue, they appear again and Dr Alves laughs. ‘Pizza or not?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Anything you don’t like?’

  Isabel shakes her head. ‘No, not fussy. And I’ll have a Super Bock, thanks,’ she says, and then twists in her seat to see what exactly Dr Alves is talking about.

  Mostly there’s just people talking, and Isabel is doubly glad she made sure to take a pill before she left the house. The room is filled with emotions, but nothing dark, at least not overwhelmingly so. There’s a calmness here that is unexpected, people relaxed and enjoying themselves, unwinding at the end of a long week. A few spikes of stress from different points in the room but nothing to make Isabel want to rush to get out of here.