Soul Fire

There’s a ninety-nine per cent chance it’ll work, at least until after the fiesta – until we’ve had a chance
to talk to Zoe.’
    ‘You still think it’s her?’
    ‘Alice, I know it’s her. After the conversation we had last night about la Feé Verte , someone searched for information about me for hours and hours. And she
wasn’t quite as careful as she is when she’s coding her site. I tracked the searches down to an area off the Ramblas called Raval. That’s where Zoe lives. It’s too much of a
coincidence.’
    I nod. I knew it already, really. ‘But where would she have got the photos from?’
    ‘Or who?’ Lewis says as he sits down at the computer. The bin’s full of Coke cans. This is a real home from home. I wonder if he’s slept at all since he’s been
here, and how much time he’s spent at the conference he’s supposed to have come here for.
    ‘Lewis, do you see now? Why I’ve got doubts about Tim being the one who killed Meggie?’ I ask.
    He doesn’t look at me. ‘It could still have been Tim who took those photos, couldn’t it?’
    ‘But he was going out with her. Why would he need to photograph her lips on a glass?’
    ‘If he did murder her, Alice, then I don’t suppose he’d have been worried about a bit of illicit photography.’
    ‘Lewis, you don’t really believe he killed her, do you?’
    He smiles wearily. ‘Look, I’m not saying your hunch about Tim is wrong. Zoe’s reached the same conclusions, after all. She’s trying to warn people. But she’s afraid
to come out with it openly. And with good reason, I guess, when you think that we’re dealing with someone who might have killed two people, now.’
    ‘She’ll realise, if you take the site down. She’ll know it’s you.’
    ‘I know. But I can time it for when we’re at the fiesta. Give us a chance to talk to her. She might want to talk, you know, Alice.’
    ‘I’ve tried, but—’
    ‘Try again. You’ll probably get further than me.’
    ‘Why?’
    He shrugs. ‘I don’t think she’s keen on strangers, do you? But I’ll tell you what I see when I look at that site, apart from the dodgy graphics. I see fear, but also a
desperation to confide in someone. To share her suspicions.’
    I nod, even though I can’t help wondering why she can’t just go and tell the police directly. I wonder if they’re still watching the site – or if the detectives have
already forgotten about my sister’s case now that the murder team’s been disbanded?
    ‘Shall I see you later, then?’ Lewis asks pointedly.
    ‘You want me to go now?’
    ‘I am supposed to be working. Net working. God knows this hotel room is costing me enough, so I should at least make an effort to do something productive other than stalk Zoe
on Burning Truths.’
    ‘Oh. Only I was wondering if I could use your laptop – just for a few minutes. There are a few emails I want to send.’ And another conversation to be had with a dead boy who
just a few hundred metres from here .
    He frowns. ‘Oh, Alice. For once I’m saying no. You’re not running a FTSE 100 company. I’m sure they can wait. Why don’t you go to the beach and eye up the boys or
something, like a normal teenage girl?’
    I look through the window, down to the shore, and then to the city beyond. Firecracker flashes light up streets and squares. I can’t hear anything, but it’s definitely getting wilder
out there.
    The line between normal and out of control seems to be at its narrowest in this city.
    The hostel is a shock after the luxury of Lewis’s hotel. Our room smells of Cara and Sahara’s competing perfumes, and there’s an oily layer of sand on the
floor that sticks to my feet as I get changed.
    I keep checking my phone, but Gabe hasn’t been in touch. I hope he doesn’t break his promise to wait till I’m there before he goes near Javier’s father.
    ‘I’ve had such a lovely afternoon,’ says Sahara. ‘The Picasso museum is incredible. I could spend a week there.’
    Is she lying? I thought she was going to spend the afternoon back at the hostel, away from the crowds. ‘You went on your own?’ I ask her.
    She nods. ‘Adrian’s the perfect boyfriend in almost every way, but he doesn’t have much patience for art, do you?’ And she reaches out to stroke his neck.
    ‘I have tried,’ he says, ‘but I’m a cultural pleb.’
    ‘Anyway, I’d rather have the chance to go at my own pace. I literally studied some of the paintings for