Gabriel folds his arms and shakes his head. ‘No. He doesn’t discuss any projects related to the NTI. All of those are all heavily protected by confidentiality clauses. He’d be in a world of trouble even just breathing a word about it.’
Isabel stands and nods over at Voronov. ‘Okay. If you think of anything that may help us in our investigation we’d be grateful if you’d get in touch.’
Voronov passes over a card as Gabriel stands too.
Isabel holds out her hand and Gabriel stares at her for a moment. Then he clasps it in his.
Can you hear me?
Isabel stills. It’s a small reaction and only lasts a second. And then she’s withdrawing her hand and giving him another polite smile. ‘Thank you again.’
She turns her back on him.
His eyes burn a hole in the back of her head.
Chapter 34
Isabel is standing in the kitchen, towel over her wet head. She stirs the papa de milho, watching it thicken as the wooden spoon cuts through the yellow consistency of the semolina flour. Its sweet scent fills the space. She hasn’t had this in a while but for some reason she’d woken up craving its nostalgic taste and smell. Her dad used to make it for her and her siblings for breakfast.
She’s feeling loose from her run. Her head is quiet. She hasn’t taken the pill yet and she wants to enjoy the pain-free feeling for as long as she can.
The night before hadn’t given her the results she’d wanted. And although she’d still ended up grabbing a quick beer with Voronov, both of them had been quiet, mulling over the conversation they’d had with Gabriel Bernardo.
She switches off the flame and takes her favourite bowl down from the cupboard, a pretty porcelain thing with a vine pattern running along the rim in silver and pours herself a portion. Grabbing a tea towel to cradle the hot food, she takes it to the living room and sits down cross-legged on the sofa, the heat of the papa de milho seeping through the tea towel and into the palm of her hand. She needs to remember to water the plants before she leaves and check to see if there’s any sign of her strays. She’s bought some treats to drop out of her window for them.
She turns the TV volume up and flicks through the channels before giving up and settling on the morning news.
It’s ironic that this case is making her think about her own Gift so much. Hard to avoid thinking and worrying about it when this case is firmly embedded in the Gifted world.
She’d been wondering since Dr Alves’ show-and-tell whether it would’ve made a difference if Isabel hadn’t lost her dad so soon after getting her classification.
Maybe she would have learned how to mess around with her Gift for fun as a way to learn her limits.
She’s never felt that there was anything playful about her Gift. It had been one layer of misery after the other.
She still remembers how things had been before her Gift began evolving. She’d been able to sense emotions and hear thoughts, but only if she was touching someone. Then it had started to change, emotions free-flowing around her, easy for her to grab and identify. She hadn’t been too worried.
It was when the thoughts started to float to her too that she started to become uneasy.
At first it had only been snatches of them. At the supermarket, in the café, at work. In bed.
The times when it had happened when she’d been in bed with Michael had been the worst. It left her feeling uncomfortable in her own skin, like she’d taken something against someone’s will. And there were things she hadn’t wanted to hear, that had made her feel guilty.
Things that came and went so quickly that she’d been able to ignore it. They’d steadily grown clearer though. And then, at one of Michael’s work parties, that changed.
It’s funny that she remembers it so clearly. She’d been angry that night, dealing with a hard case, working hours of overtime, and they’d argued. She hadn’t wanted to face a room full of people she didn’t know or care about on top of all of that. It was around the time that their arguments had become more frequent. Isabel had started withdrawing, physically. Hadn’t known how to address the issue.
Isabel had replied to the person as if she had heard their words out loud. She was lucky they just hadn’t realised what was happening. She’d been able to play it off as her being confused. She’d thought it was a one-off.
But it kept happening. Over and over to the point where she’d started to get paranoid, watching anyone she was speaking to intently to make sure the words were actually coming out of their mouths.
It was Sebastião who noticed. She’s so thankful for that. Had it been anyone else—
Soon after that Isabel had started taking the S3. Meditation and strengthening her wards hadn’t been enough. Michael had seen her struggling but he’d thought her Gift had been wearing her down, that the emotions were too much. She’d been happy to let him think that. He’d never realised that now she had no need to touch people, that thoughts just slipped into her mind.
The headaches hadn’t been so bad then. The suppressants had done their job, and everything stayed normal, and if sometimes she got an annoying pressure right between the eyes when she took the pill, then that was fine. She could handle that.
Until it got worse. Until a pill a day changed to two, to three, to four and the headaches became a splitting pain that she’d somehow learned to live with.
She and Michael had been done by then.
The news presenter is doing a report and she catches sight of the university on the screen. There’s a short stout woman talking to the presenter on location.
Isabel spoons a bit of papa de milho into her mouth and the soft sweet taste has her melting back into the sofa even as she tries to pay attention.
‘—students have been sent home and the university is refusing to comment on—’
From the kitchen, Isabel hears the telltale sound of her phone vibrating on the counter. Cursing, she gets to her feet and jogs the short distance, spoon dangling from her mouth and her bowl of breakfast still in her hands.
It’s the Chief.
‘Morning Chief.’
‘Reis, I need you to come in ASAP. Julio Soares has been found dead.’
Chapter 35
As Isabel and Voronov pull up to the university, there’s a hum along the line of Isabel’s mind. She glances at the watch on her wrist. It’s only been a few hours since she’s taken her S3.
Its protection is definitely starting to fade faster but she has spares on her and Voronov’s thoughts aren’t leaking into her head even in the small confines of the car, so she has a little time. Isabel knows from past experience that even when people are zoned out, there’s a constant stream of consciousness going on behind their eyes, a natural flow. They’re processing things, working them out, without even realising they are going through the day in a never-ending stream of words and images.
Unlike with the death at the station with the crushing crowd of rush-hour commuters, the university’s car park is near empty. Professor Soares had been discovered as the first classes of the day had started, but the students had already been cleared from the building.
Isabel feels in her pocket for the familiar edges of the small pillbox there and some of the tightness in her neck abates when the pads of her fingers rub over the corners. Voronov opens the door on his side and she follows suit.
Isabel can smell the rain in the air. It’s not coming down yet, but the sky is swollen with it. It’s been one of those dreary weeks.
The building looks very different from how it looked the day of the party. Maybe it’s because of the circumstances that they are returning here under. Death has a way of changing the look of things. Or maybe it’s because the car park isn’t loaded with expensive cars and suited people opening doors for them.
Julio Soares’ lab is on the third floor and the elevator is out of order.
They take the stairs in silence, both keeping to themselves.
The body is already covered up. Jacinta look
s up from the notes she’s making when they walk in. She nods over to the whiteboard.
Somehow, it feels more brutal here than it did in the train carriage. Isabel can’t quite pin down why.
The whiteboard is filled with equations. Some are in blue marker, some in black, some in the corner in green marker and a couple of things in red here and there. There seem to be bloody fingerprints on the board too. Isabel can see where they have rubbed out some of the numbers and left red stains. On the floor directly beneath it, is a small pool of blood.
‘Same thing?’ Voronov asks.
Jacinta nods and puts her pen down on top of her notebook. ‘Yes. No one trampled through the scene this time though. But from the looks of it, similar trauma to the head. Neck is broken too. From what I can see, I’d say he was thrown against the board repeatedly.’
A flash of memory takes Isabel out of the room for a moment. Rodrigo’s eyes following the helpless clash of an out-of-control commuter crashing against the door over and over again.
Isabel pushes the image away and focuses on the scene in front of her. The overhead lights are strong, washing everything in bright white light.
It’s a modern classroom and still has that shiny new feel to it. A lot of gleaming white. Most of the equipment is out of sight and blue, wheeled stools are tucked into the spaces beneath the workstations. Isabel thinks they look like an accident waiting to happen.
The ceiling is lined with water sprinklers and the door to the classroom is a heavy-duty one. Right at the back of the room is an emergency exit leading outside. Isabel walks over to peer through its small, square window.
There’s a set of old-looking emergency stairs leading down, though they’re high up enough that she can’t see down them to where they lead. Like most fire doors this one looks like it can only be opened from the inside.
‘Going to take a look at where this leads to,’ Isabel calls over her shoulder to Voronov, who’s being brought up to speed by Jacinta, ‘keep it propped open for me.’
She pushes the bar down, bracing herself in case she sets off some kind of alarm, but everything stays silent as the door gives with a rusted noise. Isabel steps onto the landing of the emergency stairs. A glance up shows her that the stairs continue all the way to the top of the building. They’re metal and it’s just the steps and the rail. The whole thing shakes as she starts down, but it’s sturdy enough that she doesn’t worry the whole thing will collapse and it doesn’t take too long to reach the bottom. The third floor isn’t all that far up.
It leads to what looks like another car park. It makes sense that this would be an assembly point – a wide area, room enough to accommodate a large section of the university. A campus this size would have more than one place to park, though Isabel thinks that the majority of the student body must travel in by public transport. Cheaper, with all the tolls on the bridges and other major roads coming into the city.
This car park is emptier than the one out front.
Isabel steps off the last step, hand trailing off the railing. She follows the corner of the building to see how far the space stretches and finds herself at the front of the building again a couple of minutes later.
Huh.
She heads back to the emergency stairs and pulls out her pillbox as she goes, sliding it open and picking up one of the tiny powder-blue pills. She pops it, grimacing as she realises too late that she has no water to wash it down with. It sticks, right against the back of her throat, and she swallows convulsively to try to get it to budge. It’s slow going and she has to use a finger to dislodge it. By some miracle it does go down, but she swears she feels the slow drag of it all the way.
Isabel tucks the box back into her pocket and climbs back up.
It’s not until she reaches the second floor that she notices Voronov waiting for her at the top, arms resting on the railing and eyes locked on her.
Isabel doesn’t do much other than nod in acknowledgement and continues on her way up. The slam of her heart against her ribcage doesn’t show anywhere on her face.
Had he seen her take it?
Relax, even if he did see, what’s the issue? You could’ve been taking anything.
Voronov stands back to allow her room to get back to the door. He holds it open for her.
‘Thanks,’ she says.
After they’ve taken a good look around, they head back out to find the dean of the university standing waiting for them. She’s a tall woman, taller even than Voronov, by an inch or so. She has blond hair, grey at her temples in a lovely way. Fine lines bracket the sides of her mouth and her skin has the papery softness that comes with age and too much sun. The skin at her throat is darker and looks rough.
‘Inspectors,’ she says, shaking their hands, grip short and firm, ‘this is a tragedy. What can we do to help? Professor Soares was one of our very best.’ Her face is calm but there’s an unusual wideness to her eyes and as soon as she stops shaking hands with them, she clasps them together. Her shoulders are rigid and she’s emitting this nervous energy that reminds Isabel of formigueiro, that feeling of itching beneath the skin. ‘What happens next?’
Soares has been taken away, the blood now the only thing left of him. Probably for the best, Isabel thinks, the dean wouldn’t be as composed right now otherwise.
‘A copy of Professor Soares’ schedule would be useful. In the meantime, could you tell us about this morning?’
‘Yes, we can provide that. I’ll see if I can get someone to send it over to you.’ She blows out a long breath and shrugs her shoulders, as if unsure where to start. ‘As for this morning, I’m not sure. Any evening sessions would take place in the lower labs – these are used for lecturing only and sometimes evening guest lectures. Professor Soares’ car was already in the car park when our cleaners got in today. They’re always the first ones in.’
‘Around what time do the cleaners start?’ Isabel asks.
‘They start at five a.m. First lectures of the day are from nine a.m. onwards.’
‘So, there wouldn’t have been any students up here?’ Voronov asks.
‘Not necessarily. It’s possible that there could have been meetings scheduled with students for before classes, or evening one-to-ones last night – some lecturers try to accommodate students as best as they can – but I wouldn’t know the specifics of that. We could check his diary but not all student–teacher appointments are logged via the student portal.’
‘Did the professor have a secretary or admin working with him?’
The dean shakes her head. ‘No, our lecturers don’t have individual administrative staff, though there is a team admin allocated to each department. Depending on the workload, maybe two. His department is supported by two admins. I believe one of them is currently on annual leave. Again, I’ll have to check that,’ she says.
Voronov nods. ‘We’ll also need the schedules of the professor’s colleagues in the department and those of any of the students who attend his courses.’
‘Of course.’
‘This section will remain closed off for the time being. We will keep you briefed on what happens next. Do you keep a log of who uses the faculty car park?’ Isabel asks.
The dean nods. ‘Yes. Security logs the comings and goings.’
‘We’ll need a copy of that too,’ Isabel says. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
Chapter 36
The Soares’ have several properties but their main place of residence is in Estoril.
They drive past mansion after mansion on a road lined with tall trees, all overlooking a generous view of the sea. Voronov cracks a window to let in air as the windows start to fog up, and Isabel catches the briny scent of the water.
She wraps her scarf a little tighter around her neck. The station Voronov has left the radio on stops the mix of old-school rock ballads to start relaying the first segment of the midday news.
‘Think they’ll be there?’ Voronov asks.
‘Hopefully someone will.’ Isabel glan
ces over at him. ‘I think it’s best if you lead once we get there,’ she says and rubs a hand over her hair, pushing it back from her face and wondering if she has a hairband stashed somewhere. ‘He knows I’m Gifted; it might be harder for us to get the information we want if I’m the one leading.’
Voronov doesn’t say anything.
Isabel knows he’s seen the propaganda; it’s kind of hard to miss. If anything, she is probably still sounding too optimistic about what’s about to happen.
‘I think we’re here,’ Voronov says and slows the car.
Isabel takes in the house that they’re parking in front of and gives a low whistle. It’s not like she’s not aware that the other half live in a different way to her, but seeing it isn’t the same thing as knowing. ‘Nice place. Think they all fit in there?’ she asks and gets out of the car.
Outside the air is crisp and Isabel wishes she’d remembered to put her jumper in the wash because she’s missing it now. Her other ones all have holes in them.
The pavements are narrow here, barely-there things running along the string of extravagant houses, and they quickly cross the road.
The Soares’ house stands out. Grand and built in a late Portuguese Gothic style, it’s set in the middle of a vast garden that is probably tended to every day given its pristine state. It sits on the downward slope of the road they’re on and the view from it must be stunning.
This is a place of serious money.
‘After you.’ Isabel motions Voronov ahead of her and, when he gives her a look, arches a brow. He starts towards the house and she falls into step with him.
Even the front door is an intimidating thing. Huge and built in dark wood, it’s outlined by an arch of light-brown stone slabs that contrast with the cream-coloured paint of the house walls.
The knocker sounds like it doesn’t belong against the backdrop lapping of the waves below.
The door opens quietly on well-oiled hinges and a small woman stands there, peering up at Voronov and looking startled. Who wouldn’t, the man is huge.
‘Yes? May I help you?’ The woman spots Isabel standing behind Voronov and relaxes. The clothes she wears are simple and reserved and her shoes are sensible. The hands she has clasped in front of her are work-worn.
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