Soul Fire (25 page)

‘You know, don’t you?’

I turn round slowly. Zoe’s dark clothing makes her look even smaller.

‘I know what, Zoe?

‘That I am
la Fée Verte
.’

Even though I believed Lewis, it feels different to hear Zoe say it – like it’s the first big step forward I’ve made in all the time since I found Meggie on the Beach and
realised what I must do.

‘We guessed.’

‘You and your
boyfriend
?’

‘He’s not my—’ I look at her and realise her eyes are wild with . . . what? Amusement? Or terror.

‘That’s what everyone else thinks, though, isn’t it? But I’m more observant than that. I notice things, like the fact that you two seem to be on some kind of mission. So
how did you guess?’

‘I thought
la Fée Verte
might be you, but Lewis confirmed it.’ I wonder if I should go further. ‘I know what you’re trying to do, Zoe, and I admire you for
it.’

‘Then why interfere?’ She doesn’t sound hostile, just curious.

‘Because I think the same as you – that Tim didn’t kill my sister – and that knowledge is risky. But so is all this secrecy. Shouldn’t you go to the
police?’

‘Like Tim did, you mean?’

‘What?’

A family with twin girls run into us, laughing, and the mother smiles in apology.

‘Yes. Tim went to the police. They didn’t believe him. They thought it was some attempt on his part to distract them from his own guilt. Next thing, he’s “committed
suicide”.’

‘You think the police were
involved
?’

‘No. No. They’re just too incompetent to look any deeper than following some kind of ABC children’s manual of detective work that tells them to a) find an obvious suspect, b)
tell the media even if you don’t have the evidence, and c) hound him relentlessly.’

‘Where
should
they be looking, Zoe?’

‘I don’t want to get you involved, Alice. You don’t need to be tainted by this too.’

‘I told you before. I want to help. I
need
to help.’

She stares at the ground. I wait.

Finally, she looks at me again. ‘Well, If I were the police, I’d start with those photographs. The police said they were proof of nothing, but that’s not how I see
them.’

‘Proof of . . . nothing?’ I think it through. ‘But the killer took them, surely?’

‘That’s why I think Tim died. He found them.’

‘And gave them to you?’

‘No. Not exactly. You see, I’d set up the site before he died, because I was so angry. But it was never intended to feature
anything
like those pictures. They only arrived
after he died. He’d told me that if anything happened to him, I should look in this locker at college: a spare one. It belonged to a fresher who left. So I did, and I found memory sticks
– a dozen of them.’

‘With the photos on them?’

‘Those. Plus
thousands
of others. Most of them mean nothing, as far as I know. It took me hours to realise the one of the wine glass was significant. I think Tim jumbled them up, so
that if anyone but me found them, they’d think there was nothing to see. I’ve been going through them since he died, but I’m not even sure I know what I’m seeing – or
looking for.’

‘Or who took them?’

She closes her eyes. ‘It has to be someone here, doesn’t it, Alice? Someone here
with
us
.’ She’s whispering now.

‘You don’t know?’

‘Someone who was close to her, Alice. It has to be. If you saw the pictures . . .’

‘I could look at them, Zoe. I could come with you, now. There might be things I spot that you haven’t. We can skip the fiesta. I can tell you don’t care about it anymore than I
do—’

‘No! Don’t you see? If we’re not there, whoever it is will know. He’ll know. Or she will.’

I stare at her. ‘You think it has to be Sahara or Ade, don’t you?’

‘Alice, I—’ Her eyes widen, as though she’s seen a ghost.

‘So this is where you’re both hiding!’

It’s Sahara. Ade, Cara and Lewis are right behind her. ‘Honestly,’ she says, ‘those dark clothes of yours are
very
effective camouflage on a night like
this.’

Zoe seems to back away, into the shadows. I reach for her hand, and stop her.

‘We were just admiring the yachts,’ I say. Weren’t we, Zoe?’ I squeeze her hand, then let go. ‘After the fire run,’ I whisper.

She nods, then marches ahead, forging a route through the crowd.

Lewis falls back with me. ‘So?’

‘So you were right. After the fiesta, I’m going back to her flat. There are more photographs, thousands of them. The answer’s there, Lewis. I know it is.’

‘But what do they show?’ I’m about to answer when I feel my phone buzz. Gabe? I reach into my pocket and take the phone out:
He’s here. Alone. You
don’t have to come, but I promised I would let you know.

It’s half past eight. It couldn’t be worse timing, but I can’t let Gabe confront Javier’s father alone. I owe him – and Javier – more than that.

If I go now, I could still make it back for the fiesta – if I run.

‘Alice? Are you coming?’

‘Of course. Of course I am. But I just need a few minutes alone, to think. Tonight – well, it’s pretty intense, Lewis.’

‘Let me come with you.’

I smile. ‘Alone, Professor. That means on my own, even without you. But I’ll join you as soon as I’m done.’

‘Don’t get lost, Ali.’ He squeezes my arm. ‘I’ll text you to tell you where we are. Apparently tonight is unmissable.’

Now, Javier’s street is deserted. This is how it must have been the night he died.

No old women, no children.

No
Gabe.

‘Gabe? Are you here?’

But I feel like I’m the only person left in the middle of a warzone, where everyone else has fled. The coming fireworks could be an approaching army.

I go up to the front door that Rosa disappeared through earlier. There are no names, though, just a panel of silver buzzers with flat numbers next to them. The top one is
Atico
, which
even I realise must mean
attic
.

Has Gabe gone in ahead of me?

I’ve got his number now on my phone, but, of course, when I try to call I get that Spanish message again and then a disconnection tone. So I text him instead:
I’m here. Come and find me before you do anything.

But
will
he? I saw how angry he was when he found out that Javier’s father was back. And anger makes people do crazy things, especially on a night like tonight when the city is
alive with fire and explosions. Gabe may think he has nothing to lose.

In this street, the TVs and radios are silenced. All I can hear is a scaredy-cat dog, whining whenever a firework goes off in the distance.

‘Gabe, where are you?’ I shout louder this time.

Something smashes onto the pavement, just a couple of metres away. A firework?

I get closer. It’s not a firework, it’s a doll. At least, it
was
. Now it’s a pile of pink plastic limbs, and a porcelain head with a fixed smile on a half-smashed
face.

I look up and see two figures, close to one another, on the roof.

‘Gabe?’

It’s definitely Javier’s building. I run backwards, dodging bins and uneven paving slabs. I still can’t see the men clearly. But now I’m tuning out the sounds of the
fireworks and trying to focus, because I think I can hear raised voices. A furious argument.

The bench where we sat just a few hours ago might give me a better view. I clamber onto it.

Two men are squaring up to each other, shadowy against the gunpowder-red night sky. Gabe is one of them, I’m certain. We recognised Javier’s sister from her slightly arrogant walk,
but Gabe gives himself away with his surfer-boy movements.

The other figure is shorter, stockier. The voices are getting louder but they’re speaking Spanish, or Catalan. I can’t understand the words, but the threatening tone is frighteningly
clear.

‘G ABE!’

They start to fight. They’re getting closer to the low stone wall that borders the roof. It’s no higher than their knees.

I think of what happened to the doll. And of what happened to Javier.

I can’t let it happen again. Yet there’s no one around to help me. I cry out, ‘Gabe, STOP!’

It’s impossible to tell who is attacking who. But if Javier’s father could murder his son without a second thought, then killing a stranger would surely be easier still. The sounds
aren’t words anymore, but screams and grunts and cries.

Is this history repeating itself?

No, it’s even worse than that. Because if the worst happens, it will be
my
fault. I brought Gabe here. I am responsible.

‘Gabe, he’s not worth it!’ I’m shouting so loud my throat hurts, but I’m nowhere near loud enough to be heard above the firecrackers exploding across the city.

And all the while, they’re getting closer to the edge.

I jump off the bench, race back towards the front door. I should have done this sooner. I smash my fist against the wood, and press all the buzzers with my left hand in case
someone
is
still in the building who could call for help.

And then the front door bursts open.

I fall into the hallway.

‘Alice!’

It’s Gabe.

I struggle to get up, my hands slipping on the tiled floor.

‘Come on,’ Gabe says, grabbing my arm. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘What did you do to Javier’s father? Did you hurt him?’

Gabe shakes his head, but his face is grim. ‘No, though he bloody deserved it.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Far enough away that I won’t be tempted to smash his face in. But close enough for me to watch him leave.’

We’re both shaking as we stumble back round to the bench. When I look up at the rooftop this time, all I can see is the silhouette of the wall against the sky. It’s
as if nothing happened.

Gabe’s panting. ‘Jesus, Alice . . . I never knew evil had a
smell
. The guy looked normal from a distance, but when I got close to him it was stronger than body odour.

‘How did you get in?’

‘The mum went out with the girls, all dressed up for the
Correfoc
. J’s Mum looked upset, and Rosa was telling her that they’d have a good time, that Papa would have
calmed down by the time they got back. He’d been there the whole time.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I sneaked in after some neighbours left. When I got up to J’s old flat, right at the top, the old man was smoking on the terrace. He was too drunk to even look surprised that this
stranger had appeared from nowhere. I told him my name but obviously it meant nothing to him.’

In the distance I hear drumming, but the fireworks have stopped – almost as if out of respect for Javier.

‘The old guy was swearing, and then he turned to face me. Alice, it was like seeing this hideously warped version of J. And then I looked down.
Such
a long way down. I’d
planned to be absolutely calm, but seeing the distance J fell, it made me angrier than I’ve ever felt in my life.’

‘No one could blame you for feeling that way, Gabe.’

‘I punched him, Alice. Hard. I mean, I never punch
anyone
but I did this time. There was a crunch. His nose going, I think. And then he started fighting back. For a drunk, he was
doing pretty well. At that moment, I don’t think I cared if I fell, so long as I made sure I took him with me.

‘That’s when I heard my name. You were calling me from down here. I think it’s probably all that stopped me killing him.’ He sounds ashamed of himself.

‘No. You didn’t kill him because you’re a good person.’

He sighs. ‘Maybe. But it brought me to my senses enough to do what I’d planned. I told him I knew how Javier died. He mumbled something back about not knowing a Javier. And when I
said, “Your son, remember?” he shook his head. “I don’t have a son,” he kept saying, “I have daughters. And a slut of a wife, but no son”.

‘It was so hard to stay calm but I knew J would have wanted me to put his sisters and mum first. So I spelled it out, in words a drunk can understand. Described J. How he looked. What he
loved. His dreams.

‘I saw the change in the guy’s face. He
knew
I knew. And then I repeated the story J told you: about exactly how he died, and why.

‘Finally, he got it. I told him that he had to pack. Tonight. Leave for good. Be gone before the family were back. That if he didn’t, I’d be watching and waiting, and that if
he was very lucky it would be the police that came after him. And if he wasn’t, then it’d be me.’

‘And he believed you?’

‘Hell, Alice,
I
believed me. I reckon he realised that I was willing to die myself, to avenge J. And when you started banging on the door, I said that next time it would be the
Mossos
. The police. Told him he had ten minutes to get his things and go.’

‘Ten minutes.’ I check the time on my phone. Lewis has texted me, asking where I am. ‘So J’s father should be leaving about now.’

‘You don’t have to wait with me.’

‘I think I do.’

A minute passes. Two. Will he go – or will Gabe have to carry out his threat?

Then the door to J’s building opens. We both hold our breath.

‘It’s him,’ Gabe whispers, and reaches for my hand.

The man is dressed in jeans and a hooded top. He has a black holdall on his shoulder, and carries a couple of large carrier bags in his other hand.

Maybe it’s because I know what he’s done, but there is something ugly about him, the way he scuttles out of the door like a cockroach.

He looks around him but doesn’t notice us. With his head covered, I can’t see any likeness to J. He pulls the door shut with a violent slam, and the noise seems to reverberate around
the deserted neighbourhood, louder than any firecracker I’ve heard.

Finally the man looks up at the building, and the roof. I wonder if there’s any regret about what he’s done.

But then he lifts his head and I see the rage in his face before he spits against his own front door, and then swaggers down the street towards the city.