I hashtag it #Lisbon #BritishWomanMissing #missingperson #help, and then I hesitate. Am I being overly dramatic? But for crying out loud – if I can’t be dramatic now when can I be? Maybe someone has seen her? Maybe by some stroke of luck the tweet will go viral and someone will have seen something or know something and can help me solve this … whatever this is. Is it a kidnapping, an accident, a murder, a hoax?
Detective Reza invites me into her office where the other detective, Nunes, is waiting, perched on the arm of a chair. This time they seem to take my report much more seriously, which is a relief. They listen and Reza makes notes as I explain about Joaquim and Emanuel and how I tracked them down. She seems somewhat annoyed at this, as though I’ve gone ahead and trodden on their toes, but what toes? I want to ask them – they weren’t doing anything to track Kate down, so she can hardly blame me.
Nunes interrupts me. ‘Are these the men you told Detective Reza about earlier today?’ he asks, his accent so thick I struggle a little to understand.
I nod. ‘Yes, that’s right. We, I mean, I managed to find them.’ Damn, I wanted to keep Konstandin out of it. I shouldn’t have slipped up like that.
‘How?’ Reza asks. She glances at Nunes.
‘I found their social media accounts and arranged a meeting,’ I say, skipping over the Konstandin part of it all. ‘Joaquim admitted they stole Kate’s bag.’
At that Detective Nunes cocks his head. ‘He admitted this?’ he asks, eyebrows raised.
I nod. ‘Yes. He said they stole her bag, her phone and wallet and everything that was inside the bag.’ I pick Kate’s Birkin bag up off the floor and put it on Reza’s desk. ‘Here it is.’
She takes it in, then looks up at me, frowning. ‘And how do you happen to have it?’
‘They gave it to me.’
She frowns. ‘Let me get this clear. They stole the bag and then they gave it back?’
I nod. ‘Uh-huh.’ In my head I picture Konstandin punching Joaquim in the face but I keep quiet. ‘They took the money from her wallet and her credit cards but I got the bag. And her phone. They’d sold it to a pawnshop.’
Nunes looks to Reza, frowning. He doesn’t recognise the word and she translates it for him.
He looks at me. ‘You went to a case de penhores?’ he asks, surprised.
Reza’s fingertips stroke the leather strap of the bag. ‘This is a genuine Hermès?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘They’re expensive aren’t they?’
I nod again. ‘I think about fifteen thousand pounds. I’m not sure.’
‘But these men who you say stole it—’
‘They did steal it,’ I splutter.
Her eyebrow rises almost imperceptibly. Does she not believe me?
‘You say these men were escorts – prostitutes – and your friend hired them?’
I nod, starting to get frustrated at having to repeat myself. It’s not that hard to understand. ‘Yes.’
‘How did you find out that they were escorts?’ she asks.
I swallow. ‘I um, went back to the bar where we met them and the barman there told me.’
‘The name of the bar?’ Nunes asks.
I turn to him. ‘The Blue Speakeasy. It’s in Baixa,’ I add, naming the nightlife area of the city.
He nods. Between Reza’s scepticism and Nunes’s scorn I can feel my frustration starting to grow again. ‘I’ve given you their names,’ I say, my voice rising. ‘You can find them and interview them if you don’t believe me. They say they don’t know what happened to Kate but maybe they’re lying.’
She nods. ‘If they exist, we’ll find them and bring them in for questioning,’ she says.
‘What do you mean if they exist? Of course they exist! I’m not lying!’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ she says calmly, but what else could she have meant?
‘You shouldn’t have done all this alone,’ Nunes adds. ‘It’s not good. You should have left it to us.’
I blink at him, astonished. They weren’t doing anything!
‘I had to do something,’ I protest. ‘No one was taking it seriously.’ I glare at them both, trying to make my point.
‘My colleague tried to find these men, based on the information you gave me this morning,’ Reza says, nodding at Nunes. ‘But he didn’t have any luck.’
I bet he tried really hard, I think to myself, scouring him with a look.
I turn back to Reza who I think is more amenable to my story, rather than Nunes who seems disbelieving, as well as too lazy to actually do his job. ‘Now I’ve proved something must have happened to her!’ I say, almost shouting. ‘She can’t have got very far without her wallet or her passport or her phone! I said something was wrong but no one believed me.’ I shoot another look at Nunes and then hold up the bag. ‘This is proof.’ Isn’t it?
Even as I say it though doubt niggles at me, an itch I try to ignore. What if Toby was right and Kate is fucking with us. Is it some type of game? Should I tell the police my concerns – but then, if I do, they might not bother to investigate at all and we’ll be back to square one.
I’m keeping so much from them and I sense that they know it. It’s making me look suspicious. I’m not a natural liar. I honestly don’t know how criminals do it.
‘OK,’ Reza sighs, making to stand up. ‘We will interview the men.’
I nod. Finally. Some progress. I wonder about the promise I made to Joaquim not to involve the cops but dismiss the worry instantly. He deserves to be arrested for what he did. My only concern is that Joaquim will tell them about Konstandin beating him up to get the truth and though they won’t be able to identify him they will want to know why I withheld that information. If they do find out about it I’ll just tell them he was an Uber driver and that I don’t know his name. I won’t betray him after all he’s done for me.
‘What about CCTV?’ I ask Reza, thinking about the street outside our apartment. ‘Security cameras. Can you check those?’
‘Lisbon isn’t London,’ Nunes answers patronisingly. ‘We don’t have CCTV cameras everywhere.’
Reza interrupts, shooting him a look that tells him to dial it back. ‘We’ll ask around the neighbourhood to see if anyone remembers seeing her,’ she assures me.
I nod, biting my lip with frustration.
‘Please don’t leave the country,’ Reza says as she opens the door for me to leave. ‘Or go anywhere without alerting us first.’
‘I don’t have any intention of leaving,’ I say. ‘Not without Kate.’
Chapter Eighteen
Trudging up the stairs to the apartment, I have to suppress the flicker of hope that Kate might be waiting for me; sitting on the sofa legs tucked under her, glass of wine in hand and a crazy tale of adventure to regale me with. Every time my hopes get dashed it’s like a drop of water hitting an already sputtering flame so I try not to let them rise, otherwise the hope will soon be completely extinguished.
The thought that something terrible has happened to Kate won’t leave my head, and with the rise in my anxiety, the level of doubt that was seeded by Toby falls. Kate would never do this. I simply can’t believe it. But I do have so many questions that remain unanswered. Why did she hire escorts and why did she want me to think I’d slept with one of them? And why did Toby make it sound like he was the one who broke up with Kate, not the other way around? He said something about her doing this so he’d take her back, but she never in a million years said anything of the sort to me. She was glad to be rid of him, or so she made it seem.
I try to remember Kate’s mood – she seemed happy on Friday night. She told me she loved me. But there was also that unhappy look on her face when we were lying on the bed, earlier in the evening, before we went out. It was brief and I thought I was mistaken but maybe I wasn’t. What was going on with her? I have so many questions and so few answers. It’s like drowning in quicksand.
It’s only one-thirty in the afternoon but it feels much later, probably be
cause I’ve done so much already today. I’m exhausted and want nothing more than to crawl into bed, burrow under the covers and cry myself to sleep. Actually, I do want something more than that – I want to be heading to the airport with Kate to catch our flight home. I want to be walking up my garden path and opening my front door and seeing Rob and Marlow and falling gratefully into their arms and then onto the sofa in front of the telly with a ready meal from M&S and a bottle of wine, while Marlow sleeps upstairs.
What will I tell Rob? What’s he going to do tomorrow with Marlow? He’ll have to take her to Denise, the child minder, but she might not be available on such short notice. How will he manage on his own? God, I hadn’t thought at all about that. How can I stay here when I have a child at home who needs me? Anger bursts inside me like a geyser – erupting with force before vanishing almost immediately, sucked back down inside the void. I’m too tired to be angry, and far too worried. Nothing matters. Only finding Kate.
When I reach the door to the apartment I pause, my hand freezing halfway to the lock. Someone’s inside. I can hear a woman’s voice. I shove the key in the lock and throw open the door, hysteria and joy bursting out of me.
‘Kate?’ I shout, running inside. She doesn’t answer. I rush into the living room but she’s not there. And neither is she in the kitchen. I pause, wondering if I imagined it. But I swear I heard a voice … ‘Kate?’ I shout again, running into her room.
A woman is on her knees tossing things into the suitcase. She has brown hair tied in a ponytail and hope blazes for an instant but then she turns around and it fizzles out. It isn’t Kate. It’s a stranger.
‘Who the hell are you?’ I shout, my heart pounding. ‘And what the hell are you doing?’
The woman who isn’t Kate rips earbuds out of her ears and scowls at me. ‘I’m packing up your things,’ she huffs.
‘What?’ I shout, crossing towards her and grabbing clothes out of her hands. Those are Kate’s things. ‘You can’t do that!’ I yell. ‘Stop it. How the hell did you even get in here?’
She stands up, hands on hips. She’s about thirty, taller and bigger than me, with muscly forearms and a solid frame, but I’m so angry that I raise my hands and am about to shove her away from Kate’s things when she says, ‘You were meant to be out of here by twelve o’clock. There are other guests arriving.’
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper. I step back from the confrontation, dropping my arms to my sides. ‘I’d forgotten.’
‘I’ve been calling.’
I spin around at the sound of a man’s voice. It’s Sebastian. He’s standing in the doorway to the bedroom, vibrating with anger. ‘You did not answer.’
‘I didn’t get a call,’ I explain.
‘I called the number on the booking,’ he huffs.
‘That’s Kate’s number. I didn’t make the booking. And she’s still missing. She doesn’t have her phone with her.’
‘That is not my problem,’ he says. ‘We have new guests arriving in two hours and Rita needs to clean and remake the beds.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I forgot we were meant to be leaving today. I’ve been at the police station filing a missing person’s report.’
I cast a glance around Kate’s room, half her clothes are still lying on the chair where I piled them yesterday and the other half have been dumped unceremoniously inside her suitcase. Rita, the cleaner, has moved over to the bin and is picking it up. I watch her nose wrinkle as she spots the used condoms inside.
‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ Sebastian says, still mealy-mouthed, his nostrils flaring. ‘But I need you to vacate the property. I will have to charge you extra for the overstay and inconvenience.’
Is he kidding me? But what can I do? ‘Fine,’ I say with a weary sigh. ‘I’ll pack my things. Just give me half an hour and I’ll be gone.’ I look at Rita. ‘And leave Kate’s things. I’ll pack them.’
Rita shrugs, already moving on to strip the beds, gingerly, as if she suspects they’re contaminated.
I hurriedly pack the rest of Kate’s clothes and shoes and then rush into the bathroom where I’m surprised to see all her toiletries already zipped into her multiple washbags. What if Rita found Kate’s stash of drugs? I gather up the toiletry bags and drop them in the suitcase.
As I zip it up I hear Sebastian talking to Rita in Portuguese and look up to find them both heads bent, studying the carpet. Oh dear. They’ve discovered the stain. Sebastian is irritated, crouching down to rub at it with his fingers. ‘What is this?’ he asks tersely, looking at me.
‘Um, wine,’ I say, hedging. ‘I’m sorry.’
He mutters something and before I am made to feel any more like a naughty schoolgirl I rush out of the room. I hurry into my room, half-expecting to see Rita has packed my things too, but luckily she’s not made it this far. I drag my bag from inside the wardrobe and start to toss my things inside. Thankfully, I didn’t bring much so it doesn’t take long. I gather my things from the bathroom, pausing for a moment to catch my breath in front of the mirror. Don’t cry, I tell myself. Don’t you dare bloody cry.
But what am I meant to do? I’ll have to find a hotel. And what about the cost? And how long will I need to book it for? Reza said not to leave the country. What am I going to do? I pull my phone out and call Rob. He’ll know what to do. But the call goes straight to voicemail again. Half-sobbing, I leave a message, asking him to call me back as soon as possible. As I hang up I catch sight of movement in the mirror and let out a startled scream.
Sebastian is standing right behind me, blocking the bathroom door with his lean frame. How long has he been lurking there?
‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ he says, his eyes skittering from me to the washbag in my hand, to the floor, then back to my face, which is wet with tears. ‘And don’t worry about the wine stain. Rita says she can get it out.’
I nod and then step towards him hoping he’ll move out the way so I can get to my bag and finish packing but he doesn’t move. ‘I need to finish packing,’ I say, holding up my washbag to show him and gesturing at my suitcase behind him.
‘I have a spare room. If you would like to stay with me for a night, it’s OK.’
‘Oh,’ I say, surprised by his offer. A moment ago he looked ready to physically throw me out onto the street. Why the change of tune? Then I realise it’s probably less about him having a sudden burst of human kindness and more about the extra income he’ll earn by renting his spare room to me. I don’t much fancy staying with him but it would mean I wouldn’t have to deal with the hassle of searching online for a hotel and booking somewhere. And it also means that if Kate does show up I’ll be the first to know about it. She doesn’t have her phone or her bag so it would make sense that the first thing she’d do would be to come here trying to find me.
‘OK,’ I say, hesitantly. ‘That would be helpful. Thank you.’
‘Good, good,’ he says, finally moving aside to let me out of the bathroom.
I drop my washbag into my carry-on and zip it up.
‘Can I help you carry your bag downstairs?’ Sebastian asks, hovering at my shoulder.
‘I can manage,’ I tell him.
He nods, his gaze darting around the room, his eyes like two flies unable to settle on anything. ‘I’ll bring your friend’s suitcase down.’
‘Thanks,’ I tell him and watch him scuttle off.
That was weird. My gut feels very iffy about him but I set my misgivings aside. A thought niggles at me: what if he’s done something to Kate? God, I’m going mad. I can’t look at anyone anymore without wondering if they know something or if they’re involved somehow in Kate’s disappearance. Even the old man in the corner shop downstairs came under suspicion when I bought some water from him ten minutes ago and showed him the picture of Kate. His bored shrug seemed to suggest he knew something and wasn’t telling me, or perhaps he just couldn’t understand the question. My judgement feels off and that’s unsettling. I’ve always been so good at readin
g people but now I feel like I can’t trust myself or my instincts. Everything’s off kilter.
But when I think about Sebastian doing something to Kate it makes me almost laugh. Kate would have socked him one if he’d tried anything. A puff of wind would knock him over he’s so slight. He must weigh less than me and Kate’s no pushover. I’ve seen her get physical a few times with men who got too handsy. One time in a club a man groped me and she kneed him in the balls so hard he fell over and couldn’t get up for five minutes, and another time when a man grabbed her crotch on a bus in Italy she laid into him with her handbag, swinging it like a baseball bat until he leaped off the bus crying.
There’s no scenario I can imagine that would see Sebastian gaining the upper hand over her. At the door to Sebastian’s apartment I pause, once again wondering if this is a smart move. What if the weak exterior belies his real personality? What if he’s actually a serial killer? What if he’s a rapist? What if he’s killed Kate?
Sebastian ushers me inside with a nervous smile, though not nearly as nervous as my own, and I don’t put up a fight.
His apartment has a similar layout to our apartment upstairs, though the living room is smaller and because there’s no roof terrace or French doors to let in the sunlight, it feels darker.
The living room is almost identically furnished with a few more nods to the fact someone lives in it, books and magazines on the coffee table, more art on the walls – movie posters mainly of old movies including one of The Birds and another of Vertigo.
‘You like Hitchcock?’ I ask, nodding at the posters on the wall.
‘Oh yes,’ he says, smiling. He shows me his giant flat screen on the wall of the living room and beneath it an array of DVDs, which I try to feign interest in.
‘Here,’ he says, ‘your room is this way.’ He leads me to the second bedroom – identical to the room Kate stayed in upstairs, decorated in similar white tones. It’s slightly discombobulating.
‘Thank you,’ I say, wheeling my bag to the bed. ‘Let me know how I should pay you.’
The Weekend Away Page 14
