The Colours of Death

  ‘Anyone have any clue what they’re all arguing about?’

  ‘No, that’s where the information stops. Sorry.’

  ‘No,’ Isabel reaches out to pat her on the arm but she’s staring at a spot on the floor, not really seeming to see it, ‘no this is still good. We know both Célia and Julio aren’t telling us everything.’ Finally, she glances back up at them both. ‘We need to get back in there and speak to her.’

  Chapter 31

  The look on Armindas’ face tells Isabel that she hadn’t expected to see them again, at least not so soon.

  She braces a hand on the desk as her secretary shows them in and pushes to her feet. Her white hair is dragged back from her face and she’s in an expensive-looking beige pencil skirt and silky blouse. It’s a testament to the good heating in this place that she can get away with wearing that in these temperatures.

  ‘Inspectors.’ She’s frowning. ‘I didn’t get a call to say you were coming. I’m afraid I don’t have time at the moment, I have a conference call scheduled in ten minutes’ time and I have to finish preparing.’

  ‘I’m afraid we might make you a little late for that, Ms Armindas.’

  Isabel didn’t think Célia’s spine could get any straighter, but now it does. Isabel can see her visibly reining in her instinctive response. The chin goes up and Célia comes as close as she can get to literally looking down her nose at them. Quite different from the welcome they’d had the first time around.

  ‘All right. But please,’ she glances at her watch, ‘make this as quick as possible.’

  This time Isabel takes the lead. ‘We did a check on the people who attended that function we saw you at on Friday. We were checking for Gifted people who might have attended. You can guess who came up.’

  Armindas gets it right away. ‘I don’t have to disclose my classification. I operate under the law and have never missed a check-in with my Monitor.’

  ‘But you were somewhat aware of the nature of Gil’s death. Why not come forward? Give full disclosure? Didn’t you say you were friends?’

  ‘Because I have done nothing wrong. And please keep it down, I like to keep my personal business separate from my work.’

  ‘Why were you and Julio Soares arguing the night of the function?’

  ‘It was a private matter.’

  ‘Yes. That’s what he said. What about Gil? With so many projects surely there were some late nights working in the office, no?’ Isabel arches a brow.

  The cool slickness that Armindas wears like a shield slips and the flush of emotion billows out, burnt orange and washing over Isabel like stinging wet sand. The skin around Armindas’ mouth goes white and her right hand curls tight where it rests on the table.

  Just as quickly as it arrived, the swell disappears. Isabel can’t help but be impressed by how quickly Armindas gets herself under control.

  ‘You can’t use your Gift without my consent. I’ll report you to your superior and you can kiss your career goodbye. So, if that’s what you’re attempting to do right now, Inspector Reis, I suggest you stop there.’

  At Isabel’s side, Voronov stirs. It’s a small movement but Isabel feels his sharpened attention as he stares Célia down.

  ‘Rest assured, Dr Armindas, my level isn’t that high, I’d need to make bodily contact to tap into your head. Besides, at your level, I’m sure the wards you were taught by your Guide are a lot more sophisticated than the average person’s. You’d feel me trying to find a way in.’

  Armindas doesn’t deny it. Jaw working, she sinks down onto the edge of her desk chair. With controlled calm, she claps her hands on top of the desk. She exhales through her nose twice and then glances back up at them.

  ‘My disagreement with Julio related to a case that Gil, Julio and I were working on together. With Gil gone, Julio wanted to take the research in a different direction that I didn’t agree with. That’s all. It’s a privately funded project, unrelated to NTI. We were talking about how to manage the project now that Gil is no longer with us.’

  And that’s what he chose to focus on the day after his colleague and family friend bashed his brains in? ‘I thought their families were close and that there was mutual respect between Gil and Julio,’ Isabel says, ‘seems pretty cold that Gil hasn’t even been buried and that’s his primary concern. No grief?’

  ‘Everyone grieves differently, Inspector.’

  ‘There wasn’t much of that going on from where I was standing on Friday night,’ Isabel says. She slides into one of the guest seats on the other side of Célia’s desk. ‘What about you? Have you been busy since Gil’s death?’

  ‘What are you implying?’ Célia spears her with a look that would have left lesser people feeling shredded to the bone.

  Isabel shrugs. ‘You’re head of NTI. So was he. Surely with him gone there’s been an increase in demand for your time, a logical assumption wouldn’t you say? Unless that makes things easier, being the only person with authority here now.’

  Célia’s eyes widen as she takes in Isabel’s meaning, as if she can’t believe the audacity. Then her laughter cracks into the silence, her head falling back with it, and the light catches on the delicate gold necklace around her neck. It stops as fast as it came, a short, non-humorous thing, and she’s openly staring at Isabel, head shaking lightly.

  ‘Inspector, in regard to my relationship with Gil, your insinuations are disrespectful to both myself and his widow. We were close colleagues, we trusted each other’s judgement and stood as a unit. Were we friends outside of that? Of course. That was a natural evolution of our partnership over the years. And no. I had no wish to control NTI on my own. As I said,’ her words come out clipped, as if each one is chased by a full stop, and her hand is clenched where it rests on the desk, ‘we stood as a unit and together we were able to reform NTI and what it stands for.’

  Isabel smothers the urge to snort at that last statement. Nothing has changed. They have a cleaner image now, that’s all. As far as Gifted are concerned, there are no positive associations with the NTI.

  Voronov comes forward. ‘Given what’s come to light, we’re going to need to know your whereabouts at the time of Gil’s death.’

  The fight seems to go out of Armindas then. She swivels the chair to face the view behind her. Isabel feels something different this time, like a restriction around her throat.

  Then Armindas ducks her head, giving it a brief shake, and it’s gone again, just like earlier. Armindas really does have excellent control. But the metallic taste it leaves behind on Isabel’s tongue has a name.

  Fear.

  ‘I’ll have my assistant email you a copy of my schedule,’ Armindas says. ‘Now, I need to ask you to leave. I’m already late for my appointment.’

  Voronov inclines his head.

  ‘Inspectors?’

  Isabel pauses at the door. The defeat had been momentary because when they turn, Armindas is giving them a vicious look.

  ‘If you have to speak to me again for whatever reason, make sure next time that you book an appointment. Or I will call my lawyer. Understood?’

  Isabel hunches her shoulders against the wind as they step out of the building. It whips at her face. ‘What we need is access to her Monitor. Which I don’t think we’re going to get.’ Isabel stops, thrown, as Voronov opens the passenger door for her, and just about squeezes in a thanks before he rounds the car to the driver’s side. She’s really not used to these kinds of gestures.

  ‘Why?’ he asks as he slides in and starts the car. Warmth starts to blast through and return the feeling to her fingers that just the short walk from the building to the car had stolen. ‘We have no evidence tying her to the incident and it’ll be covered by doctor–patient confidentiality.’

  Isabel can remember the inside of that carriage as if it were her own memory. The force with which Rodrigo had tried so desperately to hang on to Gil. A level 7 is enough to have done it, she thinks. With enough practice. Enough control. Célia is
an extremely intelligent woman and Isabel thinks she’s very capable of having honed her Gift to that level. But they’d need to be able to place her at the scene. Dr Alves had been clear that distance played a clear factor in a telekinetic’s level of control and you can’t move what you can’t see.

  ‘So what are you thinking?’

  Isabel lets her head fall back on the headrest. ‘That we don’t have enough.’

  Chapter 32

  Looking at Irina dos Santos, Isabel thinks that had she walked past her on the street she wouldn’t have recognised her. Oh, she’s still very put-together, in exquisite three-inch heels and a dress that looks like it’s worth more than Isabel’s entire wardrobe. She carries a navy wool coat in her arms and every hair on her head is in place. But the make-up can’t hide it. The slump in her shoulders and back, like they’re giving under a great weight. And her eyes, full of burst blood vessels and listless.

  ‘Irina,’ Isabel draws out a chair for her, ‘how are you?’

  Voronov closes the door behind him and rounds the table to take the seat next to Isabel’s.

  ‘Coping, Inspectors.’ Irina sets her black wide-brimmed hat on the table and the coat on her lap. ‘At least the funeral kept me busy. Do you have any updates on the case? I don’t understand what’s taking this long.’

  Isabel sits down too. The room is oppressive, Irina’s emotions filling it to the brim with grief so thick Isabel feels it like a weight on her chest. She doesn’t even have to try to reach for them; they walked into the room right alongside Irina and spilled out.

  ‘I understand this is distressing for you,’ Isabel says, ‘but it’s a little complicated. Your husband had no illnesses and as per your own words, there was nothing that would have indicated that he would take his own life. Especially not in such a manner.’

  ‘So what now? What else could it have been?’

  ‘We’re still trying to understand that. Irina, you told us that Gil was having disagreements with Julio, but could you tell us about his other relationships? I understand he enjoyed a successful run as head of the NTI, managing it alongside Célia Armindas. What was their relationship like?’

  Irina touches her fingers to the brim of her hat, flattening the material against the pockmarked table. ‘They worked well together, there’s not much else to tell. Together they worked hard to modernise NTI’s ethics. They went through some tough times together at the beginning and I believe they were also friends.’

  ‘Believe? You’re not sure?’ Voronov asks.

  ‘I wasn’t really involved in Gil’s work life that way. I attended work functions with him and of course we sometimes hosted parties at our home, but I had little meaningful interaction with his colleagues.’

  ‘Gil and Célia didn’t have contact outside of work matters?’

  ‘They did occasionally, a few dinners after work I suppose. There was the odd time where, if they happened to be working on a particular project, they would use Gil’s home study. Or sometimes they would go to Célia’s.’

  Interesting.

  ‘Before you ask,’ Irina says, a little life returning to her eyes, ‘no they weren’t having an affair.’

  ‘And Julio? Was this something that Gil did often with him as well?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes. Why are you asking me these things? What does this have to do with Gil’s death? Do they know something? How— I don’t understand.’

  ‘We’ve heard reports that recently there were disagreements happening between the three of them, that Gil may have been taking a more aggressive stance against Célia and Julio. We wanted to know if there’s anything that he may have said that could be related to it, that maybe you didn’t take notice of at the time but might seem relevant now?’

  ‘No. I’ve already told you what I know.’ Irina grips the rim of the hat in her hand, her eyes dry and wide as she looks from Isabel to Voronov. ‘I really hope that you know what you’re doing, Inspectors. I’ve lost my husband; I don’t need you poking around our lives trying to prove that he committed suicide or that he had an affair.’ She sweeps the hat off the table and stands, back ramrod straight and eyes fixed on a point above their heads.

  She tells them to contact her if they have more information and leaves the room.

  Isabel sits back and groans.

  Voronov sinks back into his chair and rolls his neck, hand rubbing at it, grimace on his face. ‘Asking a widow if her husband was having an affair with his colleague was never going to go down well.’

  No, it wasn’t. Isabel sighs. And something tells her Irina won’t be as willing to help them in the future. She’s grieving and without someone having been there with a knife or a gun, or a physical fight, this simply doesn’t feel tangible to her.

  In a way, they’re facing the same problem.

  They’re solving a crime where there has been no contact. There are no fingerprints to chase, no blood under fingernails or intoxication. They’re trying to pin down what is, essentially, a ghost.

  Church on a weekday afternoon is quiet. The space around it is empty save for a few elderly men, sitting together on a bench, canes in hand, a greying black dog at their feet. They’re watching the world go by. Slowly.

  Isabel had slipped out of the precinct for a bit; the headache had been peaking and after a catch-up with the Chief on what was happening on the Jane Doe case and bringing her up to speed on the investigation, she’d decided she may as well put what was supposed to be her lunch hour to good use and go see her brother.

  Isabel nods hello to the group of old friends as she walks past. The sun, despite its blinding presence, seems to sharpen the cold as it beats down on her. She feels the dampness beneath her arms, her cold sweat uncomfortable, and she wonders if she has anything to change into in the car.

  Sebastião sits on a bench beneath one of the trees that is still clinging to a few of its leaves. He has a sandwich in his hands and a thermos beside him. When he spots Isabel coming down the steps that lead into the little courtyard, he waves her over.

  ‘Well, this is surprising,’ he says, smiling. He takes another bite of his sandwich.

  Isabel stops to peck his cheek and drops down on the bench beside him. ‘Is this what priests do all day? Just lounge around outside, hmm?’

  He snorts. ‘Like you’d know. When’s the last time you set foot inside the church?’

  She thinks of the open casket and the way the silver had glinted on the cuffs of her dad’s shirt.

  Isabel tips her head up to the sun, stretching her arms along the back of the bench and her legs out until she feels the pull in the backs of her thighs and knees. She lets the sunlight soak the memory from her. ‘Got a short break and you’re disgustingly nearby, so I thought I’d come and say hello.’

  Sebastião lowers his sandwich, concern softening his smile and lining his forehead. ‘Is it the death at Gare do Oriente? The one with the head of NTI?’

  ‘Hmm. Me and my partner are the ones on it,’ she says. She can’t comment on the case and he knows that. Though she supposes if she were telling him in confession then maybe there’d be a loophole in there somewhere.

  ‘A partner? You? Is it going well?’

  She see-saws her hand side to side.

  ‘Is he a Regular?’

  Isabel snorts. ‘What, you think they’d let two Gifted work together unchecked on such a big case?’

  Sebastião frowns down at his sandwich before taking another bite.

  ‘It’s too cold to be sitting out here,’ she complains, and then takes out a cone filled with chestnuts, ‘but look what I brought you.’

  Sebastião chuckles and takes the cone from her. The smell of roasted chestnuts is sweet in the air and somehow manages to make the courtyard feel more welcoming, a little homier. Isabel scoots over until they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder, trying to leach off some warmth.

  ‘Rita called me. She said you haven’t returned her calls.’ He sighs. ‘You’re going to have to talk to her again.�
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  ‘Yeah,’ Isabel says, ‘I know. I don’t want to, but I will.’

  ‘What are you going to say?’

  Isabel shrugs. ‘What can I say? Anything I say will just make her cry and you know I can’t handle that. You’re better at handling her than I am.’

  He chuckles. ‘You could say I get to practise my listening and comforting skills every day here,’ he says, indicating the pretty little church with his chin.

  ‘Don’t know how you do it,’ she says.

  ‘I just have to listen. I don’t know how you do what you do, but I know you do it well.’

  ‘Not sure about that right now,’ Isabel says and then groans and drops her face into her hands. ‘Now I’m the one complaining to you.’

  Sebastião laughs and shoves at her shoulder. ‘I’m your older brother, you’re supposed to come to me for advice.’

  She peeks at him over her fingers, letting him know what she thinks of that. ‘I’m not one of your flock, you idiot. You can’t fool me with that expression. Wonder what they’d think if they knew you used to routinely terrorise me.’

  Every time their dad had taken her to see Sebastião at Tia’s house, Sebastião would spend the better part of that time scaring the shit out of her. How her heart didn’t give out she’s not sure. But then her powers had started coming in and without even knowing it at the time, she’d begun to be able to sense him getting closer, his excitement bubbling out of him in sunlight yellow. It’d been impossible for Isabel not to sense the emotions, even at that age.

  ‘Your Gift put an end to that,’ Sebastião says, recalling the same thing.

  She smirks. ‘I love how confused you got when it started happening.’

  ‘Don’t gloat, it’s not a good quality in a person.’

  ‘Sure it isn’t.’

  He picks up a roasted chestnut and peels back its case and the skin that has become dry and flaked with the roasting. She follows suit and when she pops it into her mouth it’s heaven. They’re firmly in winter now but she thinks that chestnuts always taste like autumn.