The Colours of Death

by Patricia Marques

  And now, here, she does the same. The drag of the chair legs on the floor as she tugs it out, the hum of the electric heater, the thrum of an engine outside. Anything voiceless. She ignores the sweat gathering at the back of her neck and the small of her back.

  She can do this.

  ‘Update me,’ she says, ‘what have I missed?’

  They don’t immediately rush to fill her in and that’s fine. But when the silence edges into too long, Isabel squares her shoulders and cuts a glare at them.

  ‘Well?’

  Carla shares a look with Jacinta, briefly catches her lip with her teeth, uncertain. Then she flips open one of the case folders and tugs out an A4 page with a picture printed on it in black and white. She slides it over to Isabel.

  ‘The security footage from the internet café gave us this,’ she says.

  Isabel stares down at the image and it takes her longer than it should to actually absorb what she’s looking at.

  It’s a decent image, clear enough. It’s taken from the same side of the room as the counter, except from higher up. It catches a familiar face on their way out of the internet café.

  That’s Julio Soares.

  ‘Julio is the one who accessed and wiped Gil’s cloud?’ Isabel glances up.

  Carla’s grim expression confirms it.

  But Julio is dead now and they can’t drag him in to find out what he was doing at an internet café, accessing Gil dos Santos’ drive just a few hours after his colleague was killed.

  Before they can say any more, Isabel’s shaky control is blown to pieces as the room fills with an oppressive emotion that nails her to her seat. It comes down on her, heavy like tar, and she’s not even aware of reaching out and grabbing the edge of the table to steady herself.

  A few seconds later, one of the officers who mans the front of the precinct is rapping her knuckles on the case room door, her cheeks a blotchy red and mouth tense.

  Voronov rises from his seat. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Bento Soares is outside and insisting on speaking to you. He’s close to making a scene. I thought we might want to stop him before it gets to that point.’

  Voronov takes in Isabel’s face and she knows how she must look right now. She feels like what was left of the composure she managed to scrape together this morning has been stripped from her. ‘I’ll speak to him,’ he says.

  Isabel grits her teeth and pushes up to her feet as well. ‘I’m coming,’ she insists. She’s already coated in his emotions, won’t be able to peel them off her when they’re this strong. Not until he’s out of the fucking building.

  You’re barely fucking standing right now.

  Isabel narrows her eyes on him. ‘I’m fine.’

  His jaw tightens and he gives a short nod, as if she needs his fucking permission.

  ‘Put him in one of the interview rooms,’ Voronov says, ‘we’ll be there soon.’

  ‘Gotcha.’ The officer leaves, walking quickly.

  Voronov looks at Isabel. ‘Want me to lead?’ he asks, words sarcasm-heavy.

  Isabel makes sure her back is ramrod straight as she walks to the door, ignoring Jacinta and Carla watching in silence. ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right,’ he says, ‘let’s get this over with.’ He waits until they’re out of earshot of the case room, then steps closer to her, voice lowered. ‘You’re a stubborn arsehole. I don’t know what’s happening to you right now, but don’t let him see it.’

  ‘Goes without saying,’ she grits out.

  Bento Soares is pacing the room like a caged animal. Isabel feels it, that oppressive feeling doubling, a coiled rage that’s tangled in grief and threatening to burst out of him.

  His emotions are a dangerous combination right now and Isabel braces herself for the backlash.

  Isabel has to force herself to slow her exhale, grounds herself with the shuffle of the noise of work outside. But not the voices.

  Bento rounds on them as soon as they walk in. His handsome face is twisted in a snarl.

  ‘At least you’re here today. My son is dead and you’re taking days off?’ He’s looking straight at Isabel as he says it.

  So there’s a snitch in the precinct. Great. Probably the person who had fed Bento Soares information was the same one who had leaked hers and Voronov’s names to the press.

  Voronov steps in, raising his hands in a calming motion. ‘Mr Soares, I understand your frustration. We are following every lead we have at the moment trying to find the person responsible for this.’

  ‘Oh? And when were you going to tell me that my son had been killed by one of them?’ He cuts a look at Isabel, poison etched in every line of his face.

  Isabel doesn’t say a word, just stares back at him with as placid an expression as she can manage, nothing of what’s happening inside her right then showing on her face.

  ‘Mr Soares, I need you to calm down or we’ll have to have you removed from the premises. The PJ is an inclusive organisation that respects all individuals and we won’t tolerate that kind of rhetoric here.’ Voronov’s words are polite but there’s no mistaking the underlying steel. He’s standing taller and looking down on Soares.

  ‘You’re pathetic, that’s what you are. Maybe instead of overdoing it as sympathisers, you might actually try doing your job. Because I can’t see any of you rushing to find my son’s murderer.’ He glares at Isabel. ‘Maybe I’m not the one letting prejudices get in the way.’ He turns on his heel and walks to the door. ‘If I don’t receive any significant updates from you by the end of this week, I’m dragging both of you and the entire PJ through the mud.’ He storms out, leaving a vacuum of silence in his wake. After a few seconds, the swell of rage dissipates too.

  Isabel takes a couple of steps back until her back hits the wall. She rubs her face, aggravating the scratches there and not caring. The sharp sting helps her stay present in the room. ‘Meu Deus.’

  Voronov rolls his head on his neck and huffs out a breath.

  Daniel pokes his head in through the open door, looks at both of them and then holds out a cup of coffee to Isabel.

  ‘Thanks,’ she murmurs.

  ‘Think the whole precinct heard that,’ Daniel says.

  Voronov snorts but it’s not an amused sound.

  ‘It was going to happen eventually,’ Isabel says, grimaces as she drinks. Everything else is rushing back in now that Bento Soares isn’t engulfing everything in the building. How the hell is she going to handle this on a daily basis?

  ‘Well,’ Daniel says, ‘while you were in here getting chewed out by that prick, university logs have come through.’

  Isabel lowers her cup. ‘The car park logs for the day Julio was killed?’

  Daniel motions for them to follow.

  The columns of data are being projected onto the board in the case room and Daniel quickly shuts the door behind them.

  Isabel automatically eases back, eyes adjusting to the light. The logs are organised by date, times in and times out, names, length of stay and car registration numbers.

  Isabel rubs her fingers over her eyes. She scans the names, skimming over all the unfamiliar ones and lighting on one that is very, very familiar.

  ‘You see that, right?’ she says to Voronov.

  ‘I see it.’

  Luisa Delgado.

  Chapter 46

  Luisa had reluctantly agreed to come in the next morning.

  Isabel wakes up the next day to another message from Rita on her phone, which she doesn’t read, and to what feels like the thoughts of the entire neighbourhood drilling into her head.

  She grabs the dog food she bought as an afterthought the previous afternoon and pours some out of the window, hoping she hasn’t just doomed herself and the rest of the building to rodent visitors, then slowly starts to get ready.

  The TV, which she kept on through the night again, keeps up a steady stream of noise as she forces herself to shower and dress. She skipped her run last night and wasn’t going to make up for it t
his morning either. Her routine will have to undergo some changes as she tries to figure out what the hell to do.

  The problem is that with Luisa’s current level – a level 3 telekinetic – there is no way that she would be able to pack enough punch to control either Gil or Julio. Célia, on the other hand, was high enough on the Gifted ladder to be a possibility. Notwithstanding her solid alibis.

  But then there’s the journal. That journal hints at something bigger. It outlined a disagreement about a project that’s clearly shady, and two of the people working on said project are dead, one of whom had clearly been trying to hide something – why else would Julio be sneaking around straight after Gil’s death, going through his files?

  At least they had eyes on Célia. After their briefing with the Chief the day of Julio’s murder, Bautista had been quick to action that, agreeing that Célia might herself be in the firing line.

  Whoever the mysterious Patient 2 is, they’re flying under the radar. That person could be going around as a Regular, or a lower-level Gifted. Gil had been worried about their stability and according to Luisa’s colleague, stable isn’t really her middle name at the moment.

  And the woman is everywhere. On the same train when Gil is killed, on his phone records, at the function and now on the car park logs the day Julio is murdered. In the journal, in entries dated a year ago, Julio alludes to the subject losing their Guide; which wouldn’t mean much, except that it is around that time that Gil’s visits to Mila Ferreira begin. And around that same time, Luisa’s memory problems at work start.

  Maybe Luisa isn’t their murderer, but she’s definitely a piece of the puzzle.

  Their floor is quiet when Isabel arrives, murmuring a ‘bom dia’ to the officer on reception before heading to her desk.

  Unsurprisingly, Voronov is already seated, jacket off and sleeves rolled up. He’s got the journal open in front of him and a legal pad and a pencil in hand.

  ‘Bom dia,’ she says, dumping her stuff underneath her desk, ‘are you ever not ridiculously early?’

  ‘Just because my punctuality makes you feel threatened, Reis,’ he says, and when he glances up at her there’s an uptick of humour to his mouth. It’s quickly gone. ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘A bit,’ Isabel says.

  She doesn’t think about how a big chunk of her sleepless night was spent wondering if Voronov would go to Bautista about how he’d found Isabel that morning. About the pills.

  He’s not an idiot. He’s seen enough to raise a concern with the Chief if he wanted to.

  But he hasn’t.

  Yet.

  She checks her watch. ‘A few minutes before Luisa is due to arrive. What about the independent consultant?’ They hadn’t wanted to get Dr Alves involved at this point, not when it had become evident just how much this case would touch on Monitoring and pose a conflict of interest. The Chief had agreed to bring in an impartial Gifted specialist to witness the interview and provide some guidance after.

  ‘Already here. She’s grabbing a coffee and will be right back.’

  ‘Oh. Good. You up for a trip after this?’

  Voronov tilts his head in question.

  ‘I want to go up to Mila Ferreira’s house.’

  ‘All right.’

  They’re notified then of Luisa Delgado’s arrival. She is ready and waiting in the interview room.

  Luisa tenses when they enter. She’s in a soft, fluffy cardigan that swallows her up and her hair is pulled back from her face. The skin under her eyes has taken on that shiny green sheen that often comes with exhaustion and her shoulders are slumped.

  ‘Luisa, thank you for coming.’ Voronov reaches across the table to shake her hand.

  ‘I don’t really know what else I can help you with, Inspectors,’ she says.

  ‘We don’t want to waste your time, Luisa, so let me tell you what we know,’ Voronov says. ‘At this point we know you’re Gifted and a telekinetic. You were present on the train the morning of Gil dos Santos’ death. Your car was also logged into the university car park the evening when Julio Soares was killed. You knew both of the victims and we know you were in contact with Gil before his death.’ Voronov sighs. ‘Talk to us.’

  Luisa’s eyes are wide and she’s sitting so still that Isabel worries for a moment that she’s stopped breathing.

  ‘Luisa?’ Voronov prompts. ‘How do you explain all of this?’

  Luisa swallows. She drops her gaze to her wringing hands. She clears her throat. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘That’s not good enough,’ Voronov says, still speaking gently.

  Isabel inhales as subtly as possible. Luisa is a jumble of emotions, tangled so badly Isabel doesn’t know which thread to tug on to unravel it all. It’s not the pure punch that Isabel was subjected to in the same room as Bento Soares but it’s no less intense.

  ‘But I don’t know! This is what I’m telling you.’

  The confusion is real. Isabel can feel it lapping at her like a fog.

  ‘I’ve been— for the past year—’ Luisa stops herself, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before continuing. Her voice is thicker, like she’s holding in tears. ‘I’ve been seeing a doctor. I have-have lapses in memory. Sometimes things are just a blur and I can’t focus. They’re doing,’ she rubs at her temple, softly, her gaze going far away, ‘they’re doing tests.’

  They wait for her to go on.

  She swallows and then continues. ‘I know I was at the train station. I remember driving there. I even remember parking the car, but then everything is a haze until my boyfriend picks me up. I told you before, I don’t even remember calling him. I don’t remember it.’

  ‘What about the university?’

  ‘Yes. I drove there. Professor Soares was giving a talk that evening, so I went with Gabriel and stayed for the talk, although to be honest I didn’t understand all that much of it.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘We left.’ She doesn’t look either of them in the eye when she says it.

  ‘Did you?’

  She rubs at her temple. ‘Yes. I remembered we chatted with Professor Soares after and then we left.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘I don’t know. I-I was tired. We went home.’

  ‘Your home or his? Did he stay with you that night?’

  ‘Mine. I had work the next day. And yes. He did. We haven’t been spending much time together, so it was a chance for us to relax.’ Luisa covers her face with her hand and Isabel watches as she tries to calm herself.

  ‘Luisa, would you agree to a retesting?’ Voronov asks. ‘It would also be helpful if you agreed to release your phone records to us and, if you’re okay with it, we’d like to speak to your doctor too. That would be a great help to us.’

  Luisa drops her head into her hands and mumbles. ‘Do what you like. I just want you to leave me alone.’

  Chapter 47

  Isabel and Voronov make the two-hour drive to Coimbra, heading to the home Mila Ferreira had lived in until a year ago, when she was hospitalised.

  The open road is like balm to Isabel’s overcrowded head.

  ‘At least she agreed to a retesting,’ Voronov says.

  ‘Hmm. A little too easily,’ Isabel says. She’s got her head pressed to the car window and it’s blissfully cool against her throbbing temples. ‘Doesn’t bode well for us. Like the rest of this case.’

  ‘We’ll get there. I think Luisa is our key, here.’

  ‘Yeah, I think so too. But what we need is for Célia to start talking to us.’

  ‘You don’t think she will?’

  ‘Two of her colleagues are dead. Unless she’s involved in their murder, she’d be stupid not to.’

  ‘Maybe this road trip will be our lucky break.’

  Isabel snorts. ‘One can hope.’

  Mila Ferreira’s house is located in the Baixa and they have to park some way away from it.

  The narrow street leading up to Mila’s house is deserted. S
ome windows are open, but the blinds are down. Coimbra is well known for being a university city, and Isabel had expected more action.

  ‘It’s a bit quiet, isn’t it?’ she says as Voronov locks the car and checks his phone for the directions. When he starts walking, she falls into step with him.

  ‘Time of day, maybe?’

  It could be, seeing as it’s nearing 3 p.m. And, despite it not really being a big thing any more, some people do still like to take their sesta. ‘Maybe.’

  The houses they pass are an odd mixture of those that are old and shabby, and others that shine with fresh coats of paint and gleaming doors. It takes them about ten minutes to find the correct place, passing only a handful of people on the way and ignoring the curious glances that follow them.

  Mila Ferreira’s house is one of the more polished-looking ones. Unsurprising, if she was on an NTI salary. Her door is a bright green that has yet to start flaking with age. The squat windows either side of it have gauzy white curtains that add a whimsical touch. Not what Isabel imagined after seeing the woman’s severe face on the NTI webpage.

  Isabel and Voronov look at each other. With a shrug, Isabel knocks on the door.

  There’s no noise from inside, not that they expected it. The report had said no next of kin, so this was always going to be a shot in the dark.

  But just a few moments after they’ve knocked, the door of the house next to Mila’s opens and a stocky man with a greying beard peers out at them from beneath his cap.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he says. His eyes are narrowed on them, not really bothering to hide his suspicion.

  ‘Boa tarde,’ Isabel points at Mila’s door, ‘are you Ms Ferreira’s neighbour?’

  He scowls at her, clearly unimpressed. ‘Yes. I’ve been keeping an eye on the place while Ms Ferreira is . . . well. That’s not important. What do you want?’

  Huh. A little watchdog.

  ‘We’re with the police,’ Isabel says and shows him her ID. ‘We wanted to speak to someone who might know Ms Ferreira.’

  ‘Oh.’ The man falters. He looks at Voronov, who is waiting calmly at Isabel’s side. ‘Ms Ferreira doesn’t have any family.’