The Colours of Death

by Patricia Marques

  ‘Upon first contact, Inspector Reis failed to identify herself as a Gifted officer.’

  Isabel freezes. She drops her face into her hands. Her mouth goes dry as dread spreads down her chest, heavy and sickly.

  Voronov is silent for a moment and then swears under his breath.

  ‘I don’t even know what to say to you both.’

  Isabel focuses, focuses hard on building her walls high because she can’t be bombarded with anything right now. She really can’t. She seals those walls tightly around herself and keeps breathing.

  ‘This doesn’t make sense,’ Voronov says, ‘that woman had no issues with us. We’ve been keeping her posted every step of the way.’ He’s slamming the side of his hand into his other palm as he’s talking, anger so obvious that if Isabel wasn’t dealing with her own temper, she would’ve been surprised at hearing him so blatantly emotional.

  The Chief sighs and leans back in her chair, eyes turning up to the ceiling. ‘No. She didn’t. But Bento Soares does.’

  Isabel closes her eyes. Foda-se.

  ‘How?’ Voronov bites out.

  ‘His lawyer is the one who called and made the complaint on Mrs dos Santos’ behalf. He’s wanted Isabel off the case since this all started.’

  And, Isabel thinks, he’s found a way to do it in the most damaging way possible.

  ‘But you can’t—’

  ‘Voronov. Believe you me; I understand. Especially when we have two dead bodies and nothing to show for it. I want to tell that bastard to fuck off as much as you do. But this crosses over into issues of consent. And we have to be hopeful that he doesn’t convince her to take this further. Isabel.’

  Isabel drops her hand and looks at her boss.

  ‘I’m working on it. I want you on this case. I don’t intend to let this arsehole dictate how we work here. But you’re going to have to give me a little time. For now, I have to suspend you.’

  Isabel shakes her head. Can’t even open her mouth to speak right now. She’s been stripped of her words.

  She yanks her badge off and slaps it down on the desk before standing.

  ‘Thanks, Chief.’ There’s nothing else she can say. The Chief’s hands are tied.

  ‘Isabel,’ the Chief calls, stopping her before she can get through the door, ‘take it easy for now. Go home and stay calm. I’ll handle this.’

  ‘Yes, Chief.’

  She doesn’t look at anyone as she picks up her shit and leaves.

  Chapter 54

  THEN

  Isabel is twelve the year her father dies.

  Her dad’s funeral happens on a sunny day. The sky is a stretch of clean blue and the sun is a weight of brightness. The winter cold is fierce and sinks into Isabel’s bones like needles.

  Sebastião stands beside her, his arm around her shoulders, steadying her, protecting her. Her mother and sister stand on his other side.

  Isabel’s eyes are fixed on the casket, on her dad’s perfectly still form lying there. Every time she looks at his face, she feels like she’s losing air. It’s too peaceful.

  He looks empty.

  They’d told her he would look like he was sleeping, but her dad has never slept like this. His mouth was always a little open, little snores escaping his chest rising and falling. He wouldn’t have lain there like this, in the cold, dressed in a suit.

  Isabel has never seen him in a suit before. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t think he’d like it either.

  Her mum had gone with Tia Simone to pick it out.

  Tia Simone had picked his tie, white and green diagonal stripes that matched the football team he’d been crazy about all of his life. Isabel likes that part of it.

  Isabel thinks of the way her mother hasn’t looked at her once yet. Sebastião had been the one to knock on Isabel’s door that morning to wake her.

  Sebastião had been crying the night before. She knew he’d cried again. His eyes are still red from it now. It’s worse for Sebastião. Now he has no mum and no dad. Isabel holds him tighter.

  But she thinks about how her mum leaves the room every time Isabel walks in. Maybe Sebastião isn’t the only one without a mum and dad now.

  Isabel’s eyelashes feel heavy, sticking together, wet from her tears as she looks over at her sister and mum.

  Rita stands there in her pea coat, hand tightly held by their mum, her large doe eyes made bigger as she stares at the coffin like she doesn’t understand what it is. She’s only nine. Maybe she doesn’t understand what’s happening like Isabel does. She tries not to, but Isabel feels envious in that moment, because she can see how tightly her mum is holding on to her sister.

  ‘Isabel,’ Sebastião says quietly. The priest’s voice is strong and steady as he gives a final sermon. Sebastião turns Isabel so she’s no longer looking at her mum and sister. ‘Don’t look, okay? Just stay here with me, okay?’

  He blocks her vision and his face blurs in front of her.

  ‘Okay,’ Isabel chokes out and tears spill over her cheeks. She wipes her face on Sebastião’s coat, the wool soft.

  The worst of it all is that she can feel them.

  All of these people and their emotions the colour of deep, dark wounds, forcing their way into her mind when she just wants to be alone.

  In the middle of them all she can feel her mother the most. Her mother’s presence used to be a glow of affection. It had made Isabel feel happy, safe, comforted. Now it doesn’t give Isabel any of those things.

  It’s like an absence of self; so hollow and empty, as empty as her mum’s expressions whenever she looks at her.

  The same way she’s been looking at Isabel since she went for testing at NTI and came back classified as a Gifted.

  But her father had been there.

  He’d been there, cupping Isabel’s cheeks in his hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead, smiling at her, telling her it would be fine. She’s just special. She’s a Gift. That’s why they call people like her Gifted, because they’re a Gift.

  But now he’s left her.

  Isabel’s mouth feels sore from trying to bite back her sobs, her bottom lip trembling under the press of her teeth. She doesn’t want her mum to hear. She doesn’t want to make everything worse. She has to keep it in, trap it all in her chest where it sits heavy and choking, making it feel like she can’t breathe.

  Sebastião brushes his hand down her hair and murmurs that it’ll be okay and he’s there, and Isabel prays that he won’t be taken away from her too.

  Isabel can’t hear what the priest is saying any more, stopped listening a long time ago. She pulls away from her brother. The cold is even worse now on her damp cheeks and she wipes at them with the sleeve of her coat.

  Only when she’s stopped sniffling and her eyes are smarting does she look at her mum and sister again, even though Sebastião has told her not to.

  Isabel freezes, her breath trapping in her throat.

  Her mum is looking right at her. The hate in those eyes is so visceral that Isabel would’ve stumbled back if it weren’t for Sebastião’s arm around her.

  It’s instinctive, is what Isabel will realise when she’s older, the way her mind throws up a block. Self-protection. Because in that one moment, Isabel knows she doesn’t want to feel a single thing that her mother is feeling right now.

  Isabel doesn’t want to know for certain what she’s known since the moment her father brought her back from the NTI with her results in his hand.

  Chapter 55

  Isabel has only been home an hour when her door buzzer goes off. She comes out of the bathroom still squeezing her hair with the towel. The dogs peer out from their new-found spot. She’s surprised that neither of them bark.

  Rain batters the windows and the sky outside is heavy with clouds, the grey muting any daylight trying to break through.

  The buzzer goes again and she just sighs. The anger that had spurred her when she’d walked out of the station has left her and she feels like her strings have been cut, t
he strength sucked out of her marrow.

  She leaves damp footprints on the floor as she walks over to the intercom. She’s regretting not pulling her slippers out from wherever the dogs have hidden them. The borrowed heat from the shower is already disappearing.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s me,’ Voronov says, over the sound of rain pouring down outside.

  She presses the buttons to unlock the gate and main door without replying and goes into her bedroom to put something on. She’s finished dragging on an old jumper and trousers and is slipping a thick pair of socks onto her feet when she hears his knock.

  The dogs do bark this time and it makes her smile a little. Even the little white one is showing a bit of spirit, which is good. Isabel’s been keeping an eye on her like the vet had told her to and she’d been worried that she wasn’t showing enough interest in her surroundings. Looks like that is changing.

  Isabel opens the door, staring at the mess of water that Voronov leaves on the landing as he comes inside uninvited. She pulls the towel from her head to mop up the rain.

  ‘What are you doing here? You should be down at the station,’ she calls after him. ‘Or do you think the case can afford to lose two of its main investigators?’ She finishes mopping up and walks back inside.

  Voronov is standing in her living room looking down at the two dogs sniffing at his feet as if he’d forgotten that they lived with her now. Clearly they remember him, because they’re wagging their tails, entire bodies wriggling with it. He squats down and starts rubbing his hands over them, sending them into a frenzy of excitement. Isabel leaves him to it and goes to put the towel in the washing basket.

  He’s taken off his coat and shoes and is sitting on her sofa when she returns. His dark hair is wet and sticks to his face, dripping onto the floor as he continues to stroke the two dogs that don’t want to leave him alone.

  ‘You thought I’d told the Chief about you,’ he says.

  Isabel shifts awkwardly. ‘Yeah.’

  He jerks his chin down and she can’t see his face. ‘I told you I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So, you don’t trust me.’

  ‘I do. It’s just in that moment . . . sorry. I didn’t know what else it could be. All I knew was that it was something bad, and that was the only thing I could think of. And you’re the only one I’ve told.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I’m— look. Sorry.’ She pushes her hair back from her face. ‘For the record, I’m not worrying about you going over my head every time I turn my back. I panicked and thought stupid things.’ She throws her hands up in the air. ‘Does it even matter right now?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looks up at her and she gets that feeling again, like they’re cutting through flesh and bone to see into her core. ‘It does matter. I told you I wouldn’t do that, and I won’t.’ He heaves a sigh and turns his face away from her, then stands. ‘I understand where you’re coming from though. So.’ He walks over to where she’s standing, and she tilts her head back to look up at him. He leans on the wall next to her, body facing hers. ‘Are you okay?’

  Isabel tightens her arms around herself, ducks her head. She can’t quite meet his eyes like this.

  ‘No,’ she says, eyes fixed on the top button of his sweater. ‘I’m pissed off, I’m tired, I’m frustrated. I’m sick of what I am being used against me. I’m tired of having to watch my back every time I open my mouth and someone decides to misinterpret what I say or accuse me of violating people’s privacy.’ She laughs. ‘The irony is, a level five can’t even do what Irina and Soares’ lawyer are basically implying I did. I mean I could.’ She glances up at him. ‘I spoke to Michael.’

  Isabel has her walls up, but the change is so strong that it bleeds through. Voronov had walked in here angry. A little angry with her, mostly angry at the situation. But now it’s like everything frosts over.

  Isabel licks her lips. ‘I’ve asked him for a retesting. An actual one.’

  He frowns. ‘Is that a good idea?’

  ‘I need to know what’s going on up here.’ She taps her head. ‘I can’t protect myself against what I don’t understand and the S3 are useless to me now. Things that would’ve been held back by the pill and my training are bleeding through.’ It scares the crap out of her.

  He breathes out and that frost disappears. ‘Jacinta’s going to be filling in as case lead until you come back,’ he murmurs.

  ‘I know. She messaged me already,’ she says. ‘She’s good at what she does.’ She’ll keep the case on track. ‘You guys need to keep an eye on Célia. So far she’s managed to keep to herself but we need her to start talking.’

  The look he gives her is a curious one. ‘I thought you’d be angrier.’

  ‘You mean like you are?’

  He turns his face away at that.

  ‘I am angry. So angry I could choke on it. But,’ she laughs then, ‘I’m also tired as fuck. You know? I’m really tired right now, Aleks.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You have to go back.’

  ‘I know,’ he murmurs. ‘But a little longer won’t hurt.’

  Chapter 56

  Just looking at the house makes Isabel feel queasy.

  She leans her head back on the headrest and forces herself to keep looking at it, reminds herself that she’s not sixteen any more. She doesn’t have to look over her shoulder as she closes the door behind her, the morning dew making her shiver as she squeezes her eyes shut and prays and prays for her mum not to wake up.

  Even with that, it takes Isabel a while to convince herself to get out of the car and walk up the pathway to the house.

  It’s a beautiful home. It always was. It’s a home that Isabel’s dad worked hard for. It’s all on one floor, sprawling out with its sloped roof and neat windows, neatly trimmed grass all along the front and plants in terracotta pots, still looking green and vibrant despite winter.

  Isabel closes the gate behind her and walks to the door.

  She’d spent the rest of yesterday licking her wounds and staring at her living room ceiling, trying to bury the helplessness threatening to paralyse her. So this morning she’d found some balls and decided to tackle a problem that she could still take care of.

  Maybe it makes her a coward, but she’d called ahead to make sure her mum wouldn’t be there. She doesn’t want to see her. Doesn’t want to see her mum ever again if she can help it. It doesn’t matter that Sebastião thinks her mother will come around some day. It’s no longer a question of her mother coming around. It’s a case of Isabel knowing she’ll never be able to forgive her mother for everything she’s put Isabel through. For going as far as putting a dent in Isabel’s relationship with Rita too.

  The door opens and Rita stands there. She looks like she’s just rolled out of bed, face soft with sleep and hair in a hasty bun that is slowly sagging to the side and threatening to fall out of the hairband.

  ‘Hey,’ Rita says and her voice is a bit croaky. She steps forward, giving Isabel a brief hug and kissing her on the cheeks. ‘Sorry, I kind of lay back down and fell asleep again before I knew it.’

  ‘You look tired,’ Isabel says, steps in and closes the door. Her nerves spike as she does so. The sound of that door closing at her back makes her hands itch to yank it back open.

  Meu Deus.

  It even smells the same inside. Like lemongrass tea and wood polish.

  ‘Isabel?’

  Isabel jumps and looks at Rita, who is watching her with puckered eyebrows.

  ‘Sorry, just got a bit distracted.’

  ‘Okay. Want something to drink?’

  ‘Sure,’ Isabel says and follows her in through the house and into the kitchen.

  It’s warmer here and Isabel pulls off her scarf, forcing herself to sit down at the table and relax her muscles.

  ‘Are you off today?’ Rita asks. ‘You want tea?’

  ‘Yeah, thank you.’ Isabel shrugs out of her coat. ‘And no. I’m not off rig
ht now.’ She braces herself. ‘I’ve been suspended.’

  Rita jerks round to look at her, mouth dropping open. ‘You? For what?’

  Isabel waves it away. ‘It doesn’t matter. Well. It matters, my Chief is dealing with it. I have to leave it in her hands for a while and hope that it gets resolved quickly.’

  Rita hovers there, worry lining her features. She looks ridiculous standing there like that, a tuft of lemongrass in one hand and a pot filled with water in the other.

  ‘You want to maybe put the lemongrass in the water and put it on the stove?’ Isabel asks, amused.

  ‘Oh. Right.’ Rita quickly gets everything ready and then goes to grab a huge Tupperware box that’s filled to the brim with familiar rounded biscuits that Isabel knows crumble on the tongue and taste like cinnamon. Her mum used to make them every Sunday, enough to last the week. They always had some for tea.

  Isabel shakes her head when Rita offers her some. ‘No thank you. I’m having to be more careful with the sugar intake,’ she says, and at Rita’s incredulous look she taps the side of her own head. ‘I’ve been a bit more sensitive lately. Or should I say my Gift has been a little more sensitive lately. I’m trying to get it to calm down. It means I have to watch what I eat a bit.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rita seals the box back up and sets it on the table before tucking her hands between her knees. ‘Um, Sebastião mentioned you get a lot of headaches.’

  ‘I do,’ Isabel says as Rita shifts in her seat, her discomfort obvious. It must be sinking in, how little Rita knows about her. And knowing her sister, Isabel can imagine the guilt. The problem with Rita is that she always feels the guilt; she knows when something she’s doing is wrong. She’ll feel bad about it. But there’s a timer on it and it never runs for very long.

  Rita’s got a talent for burying things that upset her and not thinking about them again. That’s partly their mother’s education and partly growing up in a house where siding with Isabel meant their mother’s bad temper would extend to her too.

  ‘But it’s getting a lot better. Anyway, sorry to just come by out of the blue. I know you probably have things to do, but, well, I had a couple of things I wanted to say.’