The Burning Woman

Book 0: Inspector Reis

by Patricia Marques

Genres: Occult & Supernatural; Supernatural suspense

Synopsis

A local woman is found in a children's playground, tied up and burned to death. Her clothes are neatly folded and laid at the base of a nearby tree. Her body, charred and still smoking, is on display for all to see.

One town over, another victim is discovered in the scorched remains of a brutal fire, her clothes having been laid out just beyond the reach of the vicious flames.

Isabel Reis is called back to her post in the PolÍcia Judiciária hunt the serial killer and extinguish the red-hot city of Lisbon, or will she too get caught up in the smoke of the fire burning so close to home . . .

The blood-tingling final instalment in the critically acclaimed Inspector Reis series propels us back to Portugal, right into the path of a serial killer.

Release date: May 22, 2025

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 384

Sample

1

It’s 4.50 a.m. on Wednesday morning and the air is thick with heat as Isabel opens the door, trying to make as little sound as possible to avoid waking her brother.

She’d landed in Lisbon late from her US trip and stayed at her brother’s. By the time they’d finished talking and gone to sleep, it had been edging closer to two in the morning.

Isabel turns with a rueful smile at the sound of her dogs walking over, the clack of their nails and gentle snuffles preceding them. The slower, low wag of their tails gives away their drowsiness. She crouches down to run her hand over their soft coats.

‘Sorry,’ she says, keeping her voice as low as possible, ‘I know I just got home. I won’t take so long again, hmm?’

The lights come on behind her and she winces at the sudden brightness.

Sighing, she looks up at her brother who is standing there in a T-shirt and shorts, covering a yawn behind his hand.

‘Sorry, mano,’ she sighs, giving the dogs one last pat and standing, ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’

Sebastião rubs at his eyes and shakes his head. ‘Work?’

‘Yeah. Chief wants me at a crime scene.’

‘Thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.’

‘I know.’

He falls silent, a seriousness falling over his face. Eventually he nods, scratching absently at the scruff on his chin.

‘Will you be all right?’ he asks.

‘Of course.’ She steps up to give him a hug before pecking his cheek. ‘I don’t want you to worry, hmm?’

He smiles back but she can tell his heart isn’t in it. ‘Make sure you don’t forget them, then. The pills.’

She pats his cheek. ‘I’ve got them. Get back to sleep. I’ll call you later.’

‘Okay. Be safe.’

She nods and hurries to the door, the dogs, Tigre and Branca, trying to sniff their way after her but listening to Sebastião when he calls out to them.

The sky is still that sinking blue of night, no clouds, all stars.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she steps down on to the thin strip of pavement before heading across the narrow cobbled street to her partner, Inspector Aleksandr Voronov’s, car. The headlights are on, two bright spotlights on the far end of the street that catch the curling tail of a cat as it disappears into a small alley.

The street is quiet at this time of night; just the sound of chirping birds, her steps and the running of the car engine.

Not too long ago, even in the quietest of nights, there would have been sounds that would be heard by her and no one else.

As a Gifted individual, and one with a telepathic affinity, Isabel’s world had rarely ever been one of complete silence. It wasn’t the same for all Gifted. In fact, she suspected this was something that those with a telekinetic affinity never had to concern themselves with. Then again, she didn’t think lower-level telepathic Gifted had to concern themselves with it either. For her, there had always been stray thoughts spilling from alert minds or floating into the air around her from those dreaming.

It had only been in the last couple of months that she had finally learned what total silence is like. Now, there were no thoughts crowding around her, no dreams or nightmares seeping out into the early morning for her to block off. Not unless she chose to reach for them.

It’s still new, and she wonders how long it’ll take for her to stop feeling caught off-guard by the silence.

Her hair is still wet, and she feels rivulets of water slipping down her neck and sinking into the back of her top.

She peers through the windshield as she rounds the front of the car and sees Voronov dipping his head to peer back out at her.

Isabel opens the passenger door, and the steady drone of the radio news station spills out for the few seconds it takes her to slide into the passenger seat. She pulls the door shut, sealing them inside. The blast of cold air-con is instantly soothing over the heated skin of her neck and arms though she knows from experience that the relief won’t last long before it becomes too much. She hates air-con, for the most part.

Throwing her bag into the footwell, she settles in her seat with a heavy sigh, head resting back. She turns her head without lifting it and looks at him in the shadowed interior.

It feels like she hasn’t seen him in too long.

Towards the end of last year, she and Voronov had been called in to assist with a case at the Portuguese embassy in London. The case involved the US military and a renowned expert on research into the deterioration of the brain in Gifted individuals like Isabel, those born with a telekinetic or telepathic affinity. It wasn’t Isabel’s first involvement in a case that directly affected people like her but its tragic end had left an impression on her.

It hadn’t been the only thing. During that entire case, she’d been dealing with an additional complication.

Gabriel Bernardo, a perpetrator from Isabel’s first-ever case with Voronov and like her a Gifted person, had escaped from prison. He had developed a fixation on her, infiltrating her life. Her mind. He had made it personal: he touched her family. It compromised her, left her unsure of her ability to remain in her job. Thankfully, when she’d spoken to the chief, Bautista had pushed for her to take extended leave instead of resigning. It coincided well with the trial in America related to the London case.

Both Isabel and Voronov, alongside the two British detectives they had worked with then, went to America to testify. But an opportunity had opened there for her; she had ended up staying longer than intended with the research team and made some useful contacts elsewhere too. A trip that was supposed to last a month at most had stretched into two, then three.

Despite speaking on the phone almost every night, she and Voronov haven’t seen each other in two months. It has been disconcerting to say the least after being used to seeing him almost every day. It also makes for a less-than-ideal start to the newer, romantic, aspect of their relationship. She thinks they’ve managed okay though.

He’s watching her too, quiet, waiting, hands on his lap and looking as much as she is.

When Isabel lifts her hand to card her fingers through his hair, his mouth curves a little and when her hand slides to his cheek, he leans his face into it. The gesture warms her.

‘You need a haircut,’ she says.

He huffs out a quiet laugh. Then, twisting in his seat and with one arm resting on the wheel, he leans over and kisses her. Nothing more than a lingering peck, and Isabel holds him there a little longer. She’s missed this. He smells good.

When he eases back, he seems a little more relaxed. ‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hi,’ she says right back.

Then he’s focusing on the rearview mirror and reversing the car.

Isabel buckles in. She wants to close her eyes and doze for a little longer but she enjoys looking at him so she ignores the sting of fatigue and does just that.

‘Did you tell Sebastião you were leaving?’ Voronov asks.

She shakes her head. ‘Yeah, I tried not to but ended up waking him when I was leaving. Wasn’t expecting that the chief would be calling me the day before I’m due back,’ she says, tone wry.

Right as the skin on her arms is starting to pebble, Voronov turns down the air-con because of course he does. He’s always like this. Always in tune with the people around him. If she didn’t know any better, she’d wonder if he was Gifted too.

Voronov tilts his head in acknowledgement. ‘That’s the chief. Did you manage to get any sleep?’

‘I managed a few hours on the plane,’ she offers, sighing. ‘Does that count?’

He gives her a look and then pulls the car out.

‘I didn’t think so either.’

2

By the time they reach the municipality in the district of Setúbal, the sky is inching out of the deep blue of night and turning pink around the edges.

It’s a little after 5.30 a.m. when they drive over the small river bridge, past the large human-sized red letters that spell out MOITA, the stand they’re mounted on welcoming visitors in a black cursive and embellished with a red flower painted in such a way that the start of the word bem-vindos cuts into one of the petals.

The streets here are small and winding, weaving through old buildings, with their shopfronts on the ground-floor levels and old apartments above those. Washing lines run along the upper floors like unique banners, broken only by the odd sealed windows or gutted insides of long-abandoned buildings.

Most of the shops are closed, though illuminated window displays cast their brightness out on to uneven cobblestones and the lights are on inside the small cafés and eateries they pass, places of business getting ready for their day, some already open to catch the earliest of customers – mostly people wanting to sneak in a quick bica before hurrying to catch the bus to work.

They drive past the town centre, with its benches and fountain, before finding themselves back by the riverside.

Here there are three large car parks, side by side, most of them with small alleys leading into the town centre and surrounded by low two-storey buildings that eventually give way to a newer section of town. A semicircular block of flats, painted in seashell pink and probably only a couple of years old, overlooks the river and its newness stands in sharp contrast to the white church beside it, only half its height. Its whole ground floor is dedicated entirely to commercial and community spaces; a strip of road and recreational grounds running alongside the length of it separate it from the riverside.

The moment they turn into that road, the crime scene comes into their line of sight.

Bright yellow crime-scene tapes are cutting off a chunk of the road. The tapes are secured from the river’s fence to the lampposts on the same side of the road as the block of apartments.

Within the taped-off space, a fire engine is parked on the road directly in front of the building. Next to it is a familiar van with the logo for the forensic department of the Polícia Judiciária on its white surface. It belongs to Jacinta Cacho, their lead forensic investigator, a long-time colleague and friend. Isabel also spots two of Jacinta’s people decked out in full protective gear on the rec strip, stepping carefully, the spotlight of their torches moving slowly over the ground.

The smell of smoke seeps into the car as they approach the crime scene, and a column of smoke rises into the air, not as prominent as it had probably been a little while ago but not entirely dissipated either. It hovers over a misshapen wooden zip line beam that is clearly a part of the children’s playground section of the rec area. Isabel can just about make out something else that looks odd but it’s still not bright enough for her to see that clearly from a distance.

What she doesn’t miss is the small group of people gathered by a pavement bench. A couple of uniformed police officers are with them. She leans closer to the car window and peers up at the building. There are quite a few windows with the lights on inside. There are even more that remain dark. Those are probably the people who don’t feel comfortable being as blatant about seeing what’s going on as the others. She’d bet good money that everyone with a window facing the river has at least looked out to watch a slice of the action.

The headlights from Voronov’s car light on Jacinta’s familiar figure. She’s got her protective gear shoved down to her waist; her white vest exposed. Her hair is pulled back into a large, neat bun that must have felt annoying in the hood of the suit. She’s holding a clipboard in her hand and speaking to an older man standing next to her with a dog at his feet. Isabel doesn’t recognise him.

A team of firefighters in their gear, six of them clustered together by the fire engine, are packing up, their moves practised. One of them is already out of their gear and she wonders how long they’ve been at the scene.

Voronov eases the car to a stop a small distance away from the taped-off section of road.

The smell of smoke intensifies as soon as they step out of the car, and the artificial coolness of the air-con is instantly replaced by the thick packing of heat on her skin. The car shakes with the force of Voronov shutting the door on his side.

‘One second,’ Isabel calls out and grabs her bag, quickly unzipping it. The bottle rattles when she makes contact with it. The cold, hard, round plastic fits perfectly into the cup of her hand as she pulls it out.

It’s a plain white pill bottle. Her name is printed on the label, just above the instructions, in neat black, block letters: reis, isabel.

She unscrews the top, spills two pills into the palm of her hand. They’re minuscule, easily lost if dropped, and dwarfed by her fingers. She pops them on to her tongue and washes them down with the bottle of water she’d thrown into her bag as well.

Isabel fishes her ID out and shoves it into the back pocket of her jeans before following suit.

Voronov is looking at her, head tilted as if in question, and there’s a small furrow between his eyebrows.

She gives a short shake of her head. ‘Don’t worry,’ she says, ‘I’m good.’ It’s also not a conversation for right now, though it’s something that she will have to take the time to explain, later.

‘All right,’ Voronov says, and they start to walk towards Jacinta.

She’s still in the same spot talking to that man Isabel doesn’t recognise.

‘Daniel and Carla on their way?’ Isabel asks as they approach Jacinta.

Daniel Verde and Carla Muniz are both inspectors from the Anjos precinct, the same as Isabel and Voronov. Like Isabel and Voronov, they’d been paired together a few years back when it had become mandatory for Gifted individuals in the police to work with a designated Regular partner. They’ve all worked on more than one case together, and Daniel goes a long way back with both Isabel and Jacinta, all three of them having joined the force around the same time.

‘They shouldn’t be too far behind us,’ Voronov says.

There’s a breeze here but it brings no relief. She can hear the sound of the rippling river and the distant rhythmic song of grasshoppers hiding in the tall grass covering a large spread of land further down along the river. Gnats flit around in the beam of the streetlights.

Jacinta notices their approach and gives them a short nod of acknowledgement. She says a few more words to the man and gestures for him to wait.

Approaching them, she gives a tired-looking smile. ‘I had a feeling the chief would be dragging you in early for this one. Well, it’s good to have you back.’ She looks in the direction of the children’s zip line, indicating it with her chin. ‘It’s a gruesome one. Come on.’

As they walk closer, the details of the crime scene sharpen.

Jacinta is right. It is gruesome.

Up close, what Isabel hadn’t been able to see clearly from the car is stark in its horror.

Arms stretched up above their head, the victim had been tied to the children’s zip line beam and set alight. The surrounding space is splattered with patches of white where the foam extinguishers were used.

It’s impossible to make out any features but the expression on the deceased’s face is unmistakable.

The surface of the skin looks sticky and charred, no way to tell what the colour had previously been. Isabel can make out the areas where the eyes would be, the slight roundedness there, and the slope and peak of a nose.

The mouth is the clearest thing; it’s stretched in an unnatural way, wide and showing teeth. The shape of their skull is clearly delineated, if any hair had been present it had burned off long ago.

Isabel can see all the places on their throat and chest, along their shoulders and arms, on their thighs, where the skin has split to reveal the tissue beneath.

Her eyes feel dry and sensitive and she’s not sure if it’s from the lingering smoke in the air or from the effort of forcing herself not to look away from the body in front of her.

That expression on their face, one of unspeakable agony, tells Isabel that this person was conscious when they started to burn.

Despite the severe disfigurement of the body, it’s clearly that of a naked female.

Up close, the smell of the smoke is different. It becomes something more akin to charcoal, and there’s another layer to it – a pork-like scent that makes Isabel want to stop breathing. She’s experienced worse. But it’s the knowledge of what she’s smelling.

‘She was burned alive?’ Voronov asks.

‘I’ll be able to tell more after I get her on my table,’ Jacinta says. ‘We’ve already photographed the body.’ Jacinta points at her team members who are crouching now, torches carefully held as they set an L-shaped ruler down by something Isabel can’t make out, placing a numbered marker next to it and snapping a picture. ‘We’re cataloguing the rest; it took us a little longer to gain access to the scene.’

‘Fire investigator?’ Isabel asks.

‘Yes. He’s a grouchy arsehole but he was fast. Here, I’ll introduce you before you start doing your thing.’

She guides them over to the firefighting team who have joined the man they’d seen her talking to earlier, all of them near the destroyed beam. The dog is still quietly at his feet, tail gently sweeping the ground in contained excitement.

They stop speaking at their approach, the group spreading out to look them over. The team is made up of four men and two women. Their faces have a sticky sheen that comes from having been up close and personal with extreme heat and there are traces of soot on their skin. Most have just pushed their overalls down to their waist. One of the team who is out of uniform, not the person Jacinta had been speaking with, is standing a little way from the group, phone pressed to his ear, talking in hushed but agitated tones.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Jacinta says, ‘these are Inspectors Reis and Voronov. And this is Fire Investigator Cardoso and Setúbal’s team three fire squad who were called to attend today.’

Cardoso is a thin but sturdy-looking older man, maybe early sixties, the stubble on his cheeks and chin mostly white and grey, bristly. His hair colour looks like a steel-grey in the limited lighting and is combed back. He has an unlit cigarette between his lips. He’s in a neat pale-blue short-sleeved button shirt, the top two buttons undone to show a small glimpse of the white vest beneath. They’re tucked into his belted grey trousers and his shoes, though smart, are creased and worn. A thick gold watch adorns the wrist of his left hand, in which he holds the lead of a very happy-looking dog that isn’t looking anywhere but at the man’s face.

It’s a big dog with a liver-and-white coat, sitting upright, nose pointed right up.

‘Station dog?’ Isabel asks, as Cardoso eyes them both up, eyes squinted and a severely unimpressed look on his face.

Cardoso harrumphs and extends a hand to Voronov first to shake. ‘Arson dog.’ He holds out his hand to Isabel. ‘His name is Kuma.’

Isabel glances down at his outstretched hand for no more than a split second, nothing anyone who isn’t watching for it would notice, and then she reaches out and takes it, giving his hand a strong shake. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches both Voronov’s and Jacinta’s double take. There will be time for explanations later. It feels almost surreal – she’s spent so much of her life bracing against any kind of skin contact, always poised to counteract the barrage of people’s thoughts and emotions as a result of her Gift.

The man who’s also out of uniform finishes his call and joins them too. His expression is tired but more welcoming than Cardoso’s. He reaches his hand out to shake theirs. There’s a tattoo of a flower on the back of it. His hair is shaved close to his head and his beard is neatly trimmed.

‘Sorry,’ he says, phone still in hand. ‘I had an urgent call.’

‘This is Captain Horta,’ Jacinta says, gesturing to the newcomer, ‘he heads this team.’

Isabel shakes his hand, notes the extra whiteness to his fingers squeezing around the phone, and an exhausted fatigue peeling off him. ‘Inspector Reis,’ she says, and steps back so Voronov can introduce himself too.

She turns back to Cardoso.

‘Did Kuma find anything?’ At the sound of his name, the dog flicks a look at her before immediately going back to stare at Cardoso. When Horta crouches down beside them though, the dog ditches Cardoso in a heartbeat, losing all sense of composure and leaping at him to lick at his face and making the team crack reluctant tired smiles.

Cardoso makes that grunting sound again. ‘Confirmed an accelerant was used. The point of origin was here.’ He points down at the blue rubber ground-covering material at the base of the vertical beam. Isabel follows the direction of Cardoso’s finger and can just about make out the way the soot black spreads outwards from where the victim’s feet touch down, some of it partially covered by the white foam.

The rubber around the beam is charred where it’s burned, with sharp lines between it and the rest of the surface. It’s easy to spot where forensics have already taken samples, small squares methodically cut. Surprisingly, the beam hasn’t burned completely, and the worst parts are where the victim is in direct contact with it.

Isabel glances at him in question. ‘Did they pour accelerant around her?’ She can’t think of any other reason for the difference in the intensity of the burns on the beam.

Cardoso plucks the cigarette from his lips and tucks it behind his ear, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Her feet.’

The feet?

‘And it travelled all the way up. Without forensic testing, I can’t confirm right away but I’m pretty sure. By the smell and the severity of the burns.’ He circles to the back and Isabel and Voronov follow. He flicks his finger up, indicating the length of the beam. ‘You can see where the accelerant was also present on the beam. Accidental, probably. It’s in better shape than she is.’

Jacinta steps in. ‘We’ll be working together with Investigator Cardoso to properly determine the cause of the fire. We’re almost done documenting. Cardoso has already had a word with the witness.’ She looks in the direction of the small crowd Isabel had glimpsed on arrival. They’re still there, gathered and flanked by police.

Sitting on one of the benches that look out at the river and slightly behind the bulk of the fire engine are a young woman and a girl. They seem oddly apart from the small group. Despite the heat, the young woman is wrapped up in a robe and the girl has an emergency blanket over her shoulders. A uniformed officer stands nearby.

The sky is beginning to lighten at a faster pace, the blue turning purple now, and with it, out of place given the scene in front of them, comes birdsong.

The young woman is wrapping her arm around the girl and bringing her closer, rubbing her shoulder and pressing her chin to the girl’s head, murmuring.

Up close, the young woman is younger than Isabel had first thought. Isabel would put her at sixteen, maybe seventeen. Her face has a vulnerability that hadn’t been noticeable from far away. Her long blond hair is pulled back from her face in a messy ponytail and she has big, round eyes. She’s cradling the girl in her arms and trying her best to look calm but it’s there in how wide her eyes are and the not-quite-normal breathing. She’s wearing flip-flops and her robe is skewed like she’d pulled it on in a hurry.

The little girl clings to her waist, head tucked under the older girl’s chin and chest – but her eyes, so similar to the older girl’s, are staring in the direction of the recreational area. They have a spooked glaze to them. Her hair is a slightly darker blond, thick and tucked into a plait that is starting to come undone, the rest of it completely dishevelled on the top of her head as if she had just now rolled out of bed. She looks like she’s around eight years of age.

‘Hi,’ Isabel says, stopping in front of them, ‘I’m Inspector Reis and this is Inspector Voronov. How are you both feeling?’ she asks.

The older girl visibly swallows and hugs the other one a little tighter. ‘We’re tired,’ she says, her voice deeper than Isabel expected. ‘My sister has school, and we haven’t really got any rest. When can we head back inside?’

Isabel squats down so she’s at eye level with them. ‘I understand and we’ll get you home as soon as we can.’ She gives them both a reassuring nod. ‘Can you tell me your names?’

‘I’m Savana,’ she says, ‘and this is Sara.’ She pulls the younger girl even closer, her protectiveness instinctive.

‘Thank you. I know you’ve already spoken with Fire Investigator Cardoso. Investigator Cardoso’s job and ours are a little different so we’d like to ask you some questions too. Please be a little patient with us, okay?’ Isabel looks from one of them to the other. ‘Do you mind me asking where your parents are?’

Both girls are out here in the early hours of the morning and none of the other adults present seem to be with them.

‘Our mother is at work,’ Savana says. ‘She works night shifts at a hotel in Lisbon. She’ll be home in a few hours.’

Isabel nods. ‘Was it just you and Sara at home tonight?’

‘Yes,’ Savana says, ‘it’s like that most days.’

‘Okay. Has anyone called your mum yet?’

Savana shakes her head.

‘Do you mind giving me her number? I think it would be a good idea to have her come home early. Inspector Voronov here will help us call her.’

Savana looks between Isabel and Voronov. She looks uncomfortable and reluctant as if she doesn’t want to disturb her mother.

It’s a look Isabel recognises. Trepidation.

Inwardly, Isabel nips the thought in the bud. The last thing she needs to be doing here is projecting.

‘Savana,’ Isabel says gently, ‘something very serious has happened here tonight and i. . .