‘We’re aware,’ Isabel says and turns to face him properly, ‘but you sound like you knew her well.’
‘Well enough,’ he says. ‘I used to look after the place when she was away on business. Ever since the accident, I’ve been doing the same. My wife goes in once a week. She dusts the place a little, you know.’ The initial defensiveness is gone and now concern filters through. ‘Has something happened to Ms Ferreira? We hadn’t heard anything in a while. The wife sometimes visits her in hospital, but she hasn’t had the time lately.’
‘No,’ Isabel assures him, ‘nothing like that. What’s your name? Would you be able to let us in? So we can take a look?’
The man looks from Isabel to Voronov. ‘I’m Joaquim. I can, but you’re not allowed to go through her stuff. Can’t let you do that without a warrant.’ Smart man. Technically he doesn’t have to let them in without the warrant either, but she’s not about to point that out.
‘We’d just like to take a look around,’ she reassures him.
‘Oh. All right. Well,’ he blinks, looking lost for a moment, ‘I’ll just, uh, get the key.’ Then he disappears back into his house.
Isabel looks at Voronov, amused despite herself. ‘Looks like we’ve lucked out a little, hmm?’
Voronov just shakes his head at her and straightens again as Joaquim returns, brandishing the key.
‘Wife was in cleaning two days ago,’ he says. The door sticks a bit but then gives, leading the way into what is clearly an open-plan living and dining area.
Isabel stops just inside, feeling immediately uncomfortable.
The furniture has all been covered up under big white sheets, the TV screen is black and a small chandelier twinkles under the light spilling in through the front door.
‘We covered everything up,’ Joaquim says. He’s got his cap in his hands and is twisting it to and fro as he talks. ‘Didn’t want it getting ruined. Covered everything upstairs as well. But we didn’t touch anything else apart from that. We come in, sweep the floors and the kitchen area just to keep the dust off, air it out. Not much else to do.’
So maybe not much to find here after all.
‘How well do you know Ms Ferreira?’ Voronov says.
‘Not much. She kept to herself most of the time but came around now and then when my wife invited her over to dinner. She spent most of her time in the city. She worked with those kinds of people. You know the ones.’ He makes an expression like he’s just bitten into something foul. ‘Like the ones that caused that incident in Colombo.’
He clearly hadn’t looked at Isabel’s ID too closely then. ‘You mean Gifted.’
That makes Joaquim look even more like he’s sucked a lemon. ‘I hate that term’ – he waves it away – ‘they should just call them what they are.’
‘I see,’ Isabel says calmly. ‘Were you here when Ms Ferreira’s incident happened?’
Joaquim seems happy to move on from his dislike for Gifted. ‘No. I was away. I have a son in Serra da Estrela.’
‘Right,’ Isabel says.
‘But it was my wife that found her. No one knows what happened. Wife said she was just lying down on the floor there,’ he points at the empty spot just under the chandelier, ‘says her eyes were wide open, staring up at nothing. Said it creeped her out because she was breathing and everything but it was like no one was there.’
‘Is your wife around?’ Voronov asks.
‘She’s helping out at the chapel today.’
‘Did your wife say anything else about that day? Did she see anyone around?’
‘Not that she said. She did say that she didn’t feel comfortable being inside the house. She tried to wait with Ms Ferreira until the emergency services arrived but she said she couldn’t do it. It took a month or so before she’d even come inside to help sort the place out, and even then I had to come in with her.’
‘I see. Thank you, Joaquim, you’ve been very helpful,’ Isabel says and both she and Voronov step back out of the house. She understands a bit of where Joaquim’s wife was coming from. Being inside the house hadn’t felt pleasant at all.
She sighs as they walk a little way away. ‘Let’s see who else might know something. And then I think we owe ourselves a treat.’
Voronov acquiesces easily enough, but Isabel doesn’t miss the way he watches Joaquim locking up the house with distaste clear in his expression.
The Hospital de Santa Luz is about a half-hour drive from Célia’s house. A building that has seen better days. It’s a large facility though and, thankfully, they find their way to reception easily enough.
The person at the front desk is quick to inform them that visiting hours are now over, but picks up the phone to contact the department they need without fuss when Voronov shows her his badge. Isabel thinks to herself that the smile he gives the woman definitely goes a long way towards making her more agreeable. She’s starting to think it’s his superpower.
About twenty minutes later they’re being led through the corridors by Mila Ferreira’s doctor.
Isabel’s nose tickles from the strong smell of antibacterial sanitiser. The floors are spotless and although the walls could use a lick of paint, it’s a hub of clean and quiet efficiency.
For Isabel though it’s a little more than that.
The hospital is a quieter place and walking through its corridors makes her feel as if she’s wading into rapidly cooling water. The thoughts that butt up against her flimsy walls are feeble, nothing but faded, bruised yellows.
‘This is Ms Ferreira’s room,’ the doctor says. They’re at the end of a long and brightly lit hallway on the second floor and Mila’s room is one of the last two.
Isabel looks around the open door and at the woman lying prone on the bed. She leaves Voronov speaking to the doctor and slips inside.
Hospital blankets always leave her wondering if the patients are warm enough. They look so flimsy. The room is bare of any cards or flowers. There isn’t one personal thing in sight as she does a sweep of the room. It’s sad.
She turns her attention to the woman on the bed instead.
The cropped grey hair that looked so sharp in Mila’s professional headshot falls limply away from her face. Her face is gaunt and the lines even more pronounced. Although she’s clearly unconscious, there’s a tenseness to her face, like someone trapped in a bad dream.
Isabel stops at the edge of the bed.
For a second she’s thrown back to her Jane Doe. Standing over her and wondering if she would be able to hear her.
Except Mila Ferreira isn’t dead. In fact, she’s doing everything except waking up.
Curious, Isabel lowers her walls. She doesn’t plan on doing anything, just wants to see if there’s anything, even the slightest whisper.
The noises around her fade away as she waits and listens, but not a word slips into the temporary silence in her head.
Then a stretch, like fingers stretching through rubber—
A hand lands on her shoulder. She jumps.
‘Isabel?’
‘Shit,’ she hisses, pressing a hand to her chest and glaring up at Voronov.
He looks startled. ‘Okay?’
‘Yeah, yes,’ she shrugs his hand away, ‘fine. Sorry.’ She glances back at Mila but she’s lying as still as when Isabel walked into the room. The doctor has left but there’s a nurse at the door who seems to be waiting for them. ‘All done?’ she asks.
Voronov looks at Mila and then back at Isabel and nods, turning to leave. ‘Yes.’
Isabel falls into step with him. ‘And?’
‘The doctor says Gil dos Santos and a neighbour are the only ones who usually visit. No next of kin to speak of. Been looked at by multiple specialists and none of them have a clue. Brain function is fine, she’s breathing on her own, no need for life support. They can’t figure out why she’s not coming out of it. There’s no reason for her to still be under.’
Isabel runs her fingers through her hair. ‘Great, just what we nee
d. Something else that doesn’t make sense.’
But as they leave she can’t shake the feeling that there is something in that room, just beneath the surface.
Chapter 48
They end up at Isabel’s place. Isabel is carrying the boxes of pizza and Voronov has the bottles of wine.
Isabel flicks on the light as she walks in, toeing off her shoes and then nudging them out of the way of the door.
‘Make yourself comfortable.’
‘Thanks,’ Voronov says behind her. She hears the door close but she’s already ducking into the kitchen, turning those lights on too as she goes.
She opens up a window to let in some air. The light from inside spills out onto the dark slope her apartment looks over. The smell of oncoming rain fills the room and she breathes it in, letting it soothe her nerves. Having someone else inside her home helps her tune out all the other noise she doesn’t want to hear. It’s a pleasant surprise.
Setting the boxes of pizza on the counter, Isabel pulls out napkins and glasses, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge.
‘No space in here,’ she says to Voronov, who is unpacking the wine on the counter. ‘You take the pizza into the living room; I’ll bring the rest.’
When they are both settled on the floor of the living room, Isabel pours them each a glass and grabs herself a slice of pizza. The smell of onions, tomato and cheese makes her mouth water. She settles with her back to the wall and takes a bite, closing her eyes in pleasure at the first proper food she’s had all day.
‘You want the TV on?’
Voronov shakes his head. ‘This is fine,’ he says. He peels a slice off the cardboard box and Isabel focuses on the cheese stretching and stretching until it snaps loose.
They eat in silence for a while, the exhaustion of the last couple of days sweeping over them both. But it’s not like it was the last time they shared a meal. There is no tension or defensiveness, just two tired colleagues grateful to be off their feet and out of the station for a small amount of time with pizza and alcohol at their fingertips.
Isabel takes a sip of her wine and once that first swallow has gone down, she tilts her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. The food settles warm in her stomach.
‘I think Mila is the Guide Julio mentions in the journal,’ she says. ‘The timeline adds up.’
Voronov finishes his slice and reaches for his wine. He makes himself comfortable on the sofa. ‘Could be.’
She drinks a little more. ‘And Gil’s visiting her, arguing with his colleagues over this project.’ She thinks it over. ‘That they’ve taken pains to keep under wraps.’ She glances at Voronov. ‘Do you think . . .’ She rubs her thumb over the lip of her glass, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
‘What?’
‘Luisa. She doesn’t fit into this any other way. What if Luisa is the subject?’
Voronov sets his glass down, considering. ‘Yes, okay. That would explain some things – why Gil would’ve reached out to her. But the journal describes the subject as unstable and dangerous.’
‘She could be dangerous. Isn’t that what we’re trying to prove?’
‘Except she’s been tested. She’s a level three, her classification was actually assessed.’
‘Right. Right.’ Isabel’s wine just about covers the bottom of the glass. She’s surprised at how fast she’s drunk it.
What Voronov is saying makes sense.
Except he’s sitting next to someone who proves that the tests aren’t foolproof.
‘Should you be drinking?’
Isabel looks over at him. ‘What?’ She looks back at her glass of wine, which she was actually about to top up. ‘I thought you wanted a drink?’
‘I’m asking you if it’ll clash with your pills.’
Isabel sets down her glass and hunches forward, rubbing a hand over her face with a groan. ‘You’re an arsehole,’ she says, gives a bitter laugh. ‘Is that why you came over here? Trying to catch me out?’ Well, she thinks, guess what, they’re useless to me now so good luck trying to catch me popping one.
He shrugs a shoulder, leans forward and tops up her glass. ‘Not entirely. Though I was hoping you’d feel more comfortable talking here.’ He sits back. ‘I just need to know it’s not something that you’d have to do time for. But if you want to tell me what they’re for, I’m not going to say no.’
She stares at him with narrowed eyes, then smooths her features into something a bit more agreeable and nods, toasting him in thanks for topping her up. ‘Sure, Voronov. If you tell me what really happened with your partner and why you’ve been branded an anti-Gifted arsehole.’
He smirks, though it doesn’t hold any kind of mirth, not any more than her laugh did.
‘Call me Aleks.’
Chapter 49
The pizza and the wine help.
Isabel sits beneath the window, her back to the wall, radiator close by and a blanket over her legs. She’s got one of the boxes of pizza open on her lap and her glass beside her. She’s settled in for this.
Voronov is on the sofa, sitting cross-legged. It’s the most casual she’s seen him, with his shoes off and socked feet, top buttons of his charcoal-grey top undone. The colour does insane things for his eyes. Not that she’ll ever tell him. He has his own box of pizza on his lap. She’d taken one look at the pineapple and judged him on the spot.
‘So?’ Isabel asks.
He gives her a look. ‘I’m supposed to be going first?’
She shrugs. ‘House rules. Come on. Don’t leave me hanging here, Aleks.’
Voronov takes a bite of pizza, reeling in the stringy cheese and taking another gulp of beer before continuing. ‘I’m surprised,’ he says.
‘About what?’
‘I didn’t expect you to be so calm about this.’
‘What did you expect?’ she asks.
He finishes off the slice and plucks a paper napkin from the stash that was included with the pizzas. He speaks like he’s considering his words. ‘You’re guarded. All the time.’ He meets her eyes. ‘It makes sense. I thought having someone with my history as your backup wouldn’t sit well with you.’
Isabel savours another slice. ‘At first, it did. When I realised who you were. But the Chief wouldn’t have put you with me if she’d thought you’d framed your partner.’ The taste of cheese and tomato so perfectly put together blisses her out. ‘I have to give you the benefit of the doubt. But I’m not going to pretend I didn’t look you up. Because I did.’
He acknowledges that with a nod of his head. ‘Fair enough.’ He’s silent for a moment and finishes the rest of his wine. Starts on another slice. The sound of the TV next door filters in, muffled by the wall. He gets up and she hears him filling a glass with water.
‘The newspapers covered everything,’ he says, sitting back down. ‘I did rat him out.’
Isabel sets her slice down and pulls her knees to her chest, sets her chin on top of them.
Voronov downs the water and then plucks his wine glass back up. ‘The rumours weren’t wrong. Seles was good at what he did. Better than most. Which is probably why it rankled even more. We worked narcotics.’
He sighs and brushes his hair back from his face, eyes going unfocused. ‘In recent years there’s been a rise in a drug slipping into the black market, marketed as creating a “Gifted effect”,’ he says, giving her a telling look. ‘I’m sure you can guess what it does. We’d been on it for about a year. Got close, but never found the source. They’re smart about it. Operate mostly online, use the dark web; shut down storefronts and they pop up again the next day. It’s hard to trace as is, even harder when they’re constantly moving it around.’ He scratches at his chin. ‘We managed to find someone. Took us three months to find this guy. He was the one receiving and distributing. Gifted.’
‘What happened?’
Voronov grins, sharp and mean. ‘We nailed him. Had him eating out of the palm of our hands.’
Isabel blinks. ‘You g
ot him?’
‘Yeah.’ His smile fades away with that, taking on a bitter edge. ‘But somewhere along the line Seles turned. We knew that just taking the distributor down wouldn’t stop anything. It would slow things down for a while but eventually someone new would crop up somewhere. We knew it’d be more difficult to pin down the second time around.’ He reaches for the bottle of wine and starts picking at the label with his thumbnail. ‘Our leads started falling through, but it wasn’t because we were given the wrong information. They were being warned ahead of time and clearing out before we got there.’
‘Oh shit,’ she says.
‘It was Seles. I am – was – friends with his wife. We grew up together actually. She came to me for advice. Said the case was taking too much out of him. That not being able to spend all that much time at home was depressing him, that he was refusing to see a therapist about all the shit we were seeing.’
He shakes his head as if still disbelieving.
‘It wasn’t true.’
‘Partially. He wasn’t lying about the toll it was taking on him. But I was working the case with him. Sure, it was tough, but there was no reason for him not to be going home. As for the therapist’ – he shrugs – ‘we’d seen a lot worse. Not that we couldn’t have done with a trip to the head doctor. But I couldn’t fault him for that. It’s not something any of us willingly do unless we’re being pushed to do it by the boss.’
Isabel can’t argue with that.
‘I thought he was cheating on her.’ He laughs. ‘Which pissed me off. She’s a sweet woman. It would’ve pissed me off even if she wasn’t. It wouldn’t be the first time someone cheated on their spouse.’
Yeah. Isabel’s heard it all. The thing is, people don’t realise how much gossip actually goes on in a police station. All the dirty secrets that aren’t really secrets because someone always talks to someone, who talks to someone else. And the truth is they all spend more time at work than they do at home. People get carried away. Things happen. And then continue to happen.
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