‘Your friend had multiple substances in her blood,’ Nunes tells me, in a slightly gloating way. ‘She tested positive for cocaine, ecstasy and even ketamine.’
I frown at that. Ketamine? The horse tranquilliser?
‘And you? Did you take drugs also?’
‘I have a baby,’ I reply, as though that answers it.
Nunes shrugs. ‘So?’
‘I didn’t take any drugs,’ I tell him, angrily.
Nunes flips through some pages in his notebook. ‘You told me you had taken drugs.’
‘I didn’t!’ I shoot back. ‘I told you I thought I had been drugged. There’s a huge difference.’
‘Did your friend give you drugs without you knowing?’ Reza asks, shooting Nunes a look that is telling him to play it more gently.
I bite my lips shut. Yes, I think she did. And now, knowing what I know about her and Rob, I’m fairly certain she did. When Reza mentioned ketamine it did get me thinking. I’ve never taken it, but I know from reading an article in the paper about date rape that with a high enough dose it can knock a person out and give them memory loss. Is that what happened to me? Did Kate slip Ketamine in my drink? But why?
‘Your friend, where did she get the drugs from?’ Reza presses.
‘She brought them with her,’ I admit.
‘On the plane?’ she asks.
I nod. ‘Yes. She had the cocaine in a little silver pillbox in her bag. I saw it. She hid it in her bag.’
‘You didn’t tell us she had taken drugs when you gave your statement,’ Nunes says accusingly.
I look between them, starting to wonder if I should ask for a lawyer. But won’t that make me look guilty or like I have something to hide? And I don’t even know if this is a proper interview. Aren’t I here to help go over my statement? Reza’s not exactly the good cop to Nunes’s bad, but at least she seems neutral, whereas Nunes seems like he wants to lock me up right now and throw away the key. He totally thinks I killed her.
‘We’ll need you to give us the drugs so we can test them against what was in her system,’ Reza says.
I nod.
‘We interviewed your landlord,’ Nunes says next.
Sebastian? That news surprises me.
‘He says that there was a lot of noise in the apartment on Friday night, early Saturday morning. What sounded like an argument. A loud one.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ I answer as coolly as I can. ‘I wasn’t arguing with anyone. I was passed out remember? I’m sure Joaquim and Emanuel can both confirm it. Joaquim is the one who put me to bed.’
Reza nods. ‘Yes, he said that. But they also say that you and Kate had an argument earlier in the evening.’
‘No, we didn’t,’ I shoot back.
‘Outside the club, you two didn’t get into a fight?’
I shake my head. ‘No. I mean … didn’t want them coming back with us. But it wasn’t an argument.’
‘Kate ignored you though. She brought them back anyway despite you not wanting them to come.’
I press my lips together.
‘You must have been angry,’ Reza goes on. ‘You’re a married woman and your friend is inviting strange men back to the apartment for sex. Encouraging you to sleep with one of them too, even though you’re married. Strange behaviour isn’t it? Why would she do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit, beginning to feel mounting apprehension with where this conversation is going. ‘But it wasn’t an argument,’ I protest. But it was, wasn’t it?
‘The bouncer at the Blue Speakeasy says he saw you grab her arm. He says you were angry with her.’
‘That’s not true,’ I answer, flustered. The truth is my memory is still patchy and I don’t remember very much at all about the night. But I don’t remember fighting with her, not exactly.
Bitch! I push the memory away, bury it down deep.
‘You said you found her handbag and her phone,’ Reza goes on.
I nod. Shit. I’m going to have to hand the phone over. They’ll find the text messages between Kate and Rob, all the evidence of the affair. That’ll only add fuel to the fire. If I’m not a suspect already, then I most certainly will be if they find out my husband was shagging her. What better motive would there be to kill her? The scorned wife offs the best friend who was sleeping with her husband. The headlines write themselves.
The safest thing to do is wipe the phone clean before I give it to them. It’s tampering with evidence though, which is dangerous and possibly very stupid, but what choice do I have? Fuck. My foot is jangling up and down with nerves. I force myself to stay calm.
‘Do you have the phone on you?’ Reza asks.
‘Huh?’ I startle. The phone burns like a glowing coal in my pocket. ‘No,’ I tell Reza with as straight a face as I can muster. ‘It’s at the apartment.’
Can she tell I’m lying? I don’t think I’m a very convincing liar – not like Rob and Kate, the bastards. It’s hard to lie well, I discover as I struggle to hold Reza’s gaze and my face starts to heat up like I’ve got a fever.
‘We’ll send someone with you to pick it up.’
‘OK,’ I murmur, wondering when I’ll find a moment to delete all the messages and if that will even matter as won’t they be able to get her phone records?
‘You need to also surrender your passport.’ It’s Nunes telling me, complete with a smug smile.
‘Why? Am I a suspect?’ I ask, alarmed.
‘We need to make sure you stay here in Portugal until the inquiry is concluded,’ is all Nunes will offer by way of reply.
My stomach drops away. That’s not really an answer and only goes to confirm that they really think I might have done this – killed my best friend. ‘How long is that going to take?’ I manage to ask.
Reza shrugs. ‘As long as it takes.’
‘But I have a baby,’ I argue. ‘I can’t stay here. I need to get home.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Reza says, implacable as a stone wall. She stands, pushing back her chair. ‘My colleague will take you back home.’
Home, I think to myself. It’s not home. Home is England. Home is Marlow. And I just want to get back there to her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The whole ride back to the apartment I have to force the hysteria and panic down, strangle it before it strangles me. How is this happening? How am I under suspicion? I think of all the lies I’ve told – about the drugs, about the phone, about Konstandin – I’m hardly a model witness. Maybe it’s not too late to admit about the phone – but no, I can’t. Not now. If they find out about the affair it will only seal the deal in their eyes that I’m guilty. But they’re going to find out. I know they will, eventually.
How can I prove it wasn’t me who killed her? Nunes doesn’t seem to be interested in finding out the real story or looking for the real killer. And I don’t think Reza is on the fence about it either, despite her more inscrutable face. They both think it’s me so why bother looking elsewhere? But I’m not going down for this. I refuse to.
What if they arrest me though? What if I get sent to jail? What about Marlow? Oh my God … Marlow. I start to shake so hard my teeth chatter. What if I go to jail? I don’t even know how things work over here in a foreign country. My breathing becomes shallow and ragged, my lungs not able to draw in enough oxygen. My head is full of pins and needles.
Stop it, I silently shout at myself. Focus, goddamn it! Getting hysterical isn’t going to help. If you’re going to get out of this you need to figure it out for yourself. Make a list. Take control. Don’t let your anxiety overwhelm you. Not now. Deep breath. And another.
What really happened to Kate? That’s what I need to find out. And fast.
My hand itches to reach into the bag and wipe Kate’s phone before I have to hand it over. I don’t know how I’ll stall the policeman at the apartment long enough. I need to do it now; it’s my only chance. Then, as soon as I’m alone, I need to call Rob and have it out with him. No, I think to myself
. Scratch that. I need to call Toby first and find out from him what he knows before I confront Rob. I need to arm myself with whatever facts I can dig up.
I glance at Nunes. I made sure to sit diagonally away from him when I got in the back, to make it harder for him to spy on me in the rear-view mirror. Now, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I pull out Kate’s phone. He won’t know whose phone it is, I tell myself. I just need to be bold and act like it’s mine.
The screen still hasn’t locked, thank goodness, so I quickly scroll to Kate’s call list. There are dozens of calls from Rob. Anger flares as I count them. The shithead. How long the two of them lied to me. But there’s no time for anger right now. I notice the little red icon over the voicemail. There are two voicemails Kate never listened to that were left on Friday night. I press play on the first one, which was sent while we were at dinner, and press the phone to my ear.
‘Kate, it’s me.’ Rob’s voice jolts me. ‘Listen,’ he says, ‘I hope you were joking. Please don’t tell her. You promised.’ And now his voice breaks a little and he sobs, pathetically. ‘Please, call me back.’ He hangs up.
I swallow drily, whatever’s left of my heart breaking into pieces. I remember Kate frantically texting in the back of the Uber. That must have been to Rob. Then, at dinner, ignoring a call and letting it go to voicemail. That was Rob too.
I remember as well how she finally took the call and how I watched her pacing outside, having an argument with someone. It was Rob she was on the phone with. He was terrified Kate was going to tell me about the affair and he was calling to beg her not to. Had she really been planning on it or had she threatened it in the heat of the moment? Maybe he’d broken up with her. On the plane she’d seemed subdued and at the apartment before we went out she did seem like she’d been crying – but was it guilt making her emotional? Or was she building up the nerve to tell me? Is that what Friday night was about? One last wild night together before she told me and our friendship was blown to smithereens?
Holding back tears I press the next message. It’s Rob again, an earlier message, from Friday morning. ‘Kate, call me back, please. I know you’re at the airport with Orla but I just want to make sure you’re not going to tell her or anything stupid. Call me when you land. Please. Let’s talk. Call me back. I’m sorry.’
Sorry? Sorry! I’ll give him fucking sorry. How dare he apologise to her?! What about me?
There’s another saved message from Rob, left about four months ago. I stab the button to listen to it, sadness turning to rage. I want to throw the phone out the window, scream and cry and let this beast of a howl out of its cage, but in the back seat of the police car I can’t do anything except keep a demurely blank face, which is something of a struggle.
‘Kate, I’m sorry about the other day,’ Rob says. ‘It was a mistake. OK, not a mistake – sorry, wrong word.’ What’s he talking about? What mistake? ‘I know I said it was over. But I mean it this time. We can’t do that again. I’m sorry.’
I take that in, trying to understand its meaning. Obviously they must have broken up when I got pregnant and then I presume they met up and had sex again when Marlow was a few months old – that must be the mistake he regrets. I wonder, though, if things continued on after that? It seems like they must have.
My stomach cinches tight and I grit my teeth so hard my jaw hurts. Hate is a black liquid pulsing through my veins, soaking into every fibre and cell of my being, drowning out everything else. I could kill both of them right now – strangle them, crush them, pummel them to death with my bare hands – that’s how angry I am. And it feels way better than being sad. When I think of Kate lying dead in the mortuary I feel glad.
‘We’re here,’ Nunes says, interrupting my very violent imaginings.
I look out the window to see we’re outside the apartment already. There are other voicemails from Rob that Kate hasn’t deleted and I want to listen to them but now I don’t have time. Nunes is getting out the car and I need to wipe the phone before I hand it over. Damn. This might be my only chance to do it. Quickly, I scroll to settings, then to reset. A dialogue box pops up to ask if I’m sure. Nunes opens the door. I hit yes. The screen turns blank and I slip the phone into my pocket.
I stumble from the car, following Nunes in a daze, floating somewhere outside of my body, my brain busy, struggling to process all this new information while also trying to manage simple things like getting me to walk straight and not collapse right there on the ground and start screaming.
Sebastian opens the door to his apartment, his gaze hungry and curious as we step inside. I can see he’s dying to know what’s happening and I almost lash out at him as I pass, remembering how he gave Reza a statement and told her he heard arguing in the apartment on Friday night. It’s his fault they’re looking at me as a suspect. He’s responsible for hammering a nail into my coffin.
‘Where’s the phone?’ Nunes asks, when we reach the bedroom.
I walk towards Kate’s Birkin bag lying on the bed, slipping my hand into my pocket. I’ll need to make it look like I’m pulling the phone out of her bag. I keep my back to Nunes and slide my hand inside the bag, turning around and pulling it out, hoping I managed to fake it convincingly.
Nunes takes the phone with a frown and slips it into an evidence bag. ‘And your passport,’ he says.
I take a deep breath, trying to hold myself steady. Handing it over feels like giving an executioner the rope to hang me with. I’ll be stuck here now, at their whim. I think of Marlow and when I’ll see her again. Nunes pries the passport out of my hand.
‘You need to stay here. If you move we need your new address.’
‘You’ve got my passport; it’s not like I can leave the country,’ I tell him.
Nunes nods at that, no smile. Once he leaves I collapse down onto the bed. Shit. Shit. Shit. I bury my head in a pillow and let out the rage that’s been building, stuffing the pillow into my mouth to mute the scream.
‘Are you OK?’
I lift my head to see Sebastian standing in the doorway.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ he asks.
I nod, just to make him leave. Once he’s gone I roll off the bed and crawl towards Kate’s suitcase, which Sebastian must have wheeled into the room earlier. I remember seeing something in there. At the time it didn’t register – not properly. In a fury I toss everything out of the bag, piece by damn piece, until I find her bag of underwear. All those bits of black lace and dental floss thongs. Did she wear them for Rob? Did it turn him on? Probably more than my granny pants.
I yank out the bra I’m looking for. I remember noticing it the other day but not putting the pieces together at the time, but now I look closely I see it’s the exact same one Rob got me for Valentine’s Day from Agent Provocateur. Only this one is red. Nude for his wife, red for his lover. There are even the crotchless knickers to go with it. I bet Kate found a lot more use for them than I ever did.
I rip both apart, shredding the thin lace. If it’s possible I might very well vomit with rage. Staggering to my feet I start to pace. I’m so angry; angry with Kate for her betrayal; angry with Kate for being dead; angry with Kate for not being able to answer any of the questions I have churning around my head. No. I tell myself, as I pace back and forth, hot tears falling down my face, I’m not going to give in to upset and anger. I need to stay focused. The walls are closing in and I need to fight back before it’s too late. There’s no time to dwell on the betrayal.
If Kate brought me here to Lisbon for a reason I need to know why.
It was me who suggested the trip, though, the weekend away – or was it her? No, she was the one who brought it up and I went along with it. Rob didn’t seem too keen now I look back, wondering if it was too soon to leave Marlow, but he couldn’t protest too much or it would have looked suspicious.
I search through my bag for my phone and dial Toby.
‘You knew,’ I say as soon as he answers. ‘You knew about the affair.’
He takes a deep breath in. ‘Yes,’ he answers.
I sink down onto the bed. ‘How long have you known for?’ I ask.
‘How did you find out?’ he replies.
‘Her phone. There were messages.’
‘I tried to warn you.’
‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’ I ask, thinking of his obscure comments about Kate being a liar and that I shouldn’t trust her.
He sighs. ‘I didn’t feel like it was my place to. She ruined our marriage. I didn’t want her ruining yours too.’
‘How long was it going on for – do you know?’
‘A couple of years I think, on and off. I could never get a straight answer.’
‘Is that why you’re getting the divorce? Or was she lying about you cheating on her?’
‘No,’ he sighs. ‘I cheated too. I’ll admit it. But only after I found out about her and Rob. It felt justified.’
I nod to myself. ‘How did it start? Do you know?’
Toby snorts under his breath and my irritation cranks up. I already feel like enough of an idiot without him making me feel even more ignorant. ‘She’s been in love with Rob for years. I knew it when I married her but I stupidly convinced myself she was over him.’
My throat closes so tight I can’t breathe. Years? ‘What do you mean?’ I stammer. What on earth is he talking about?
‘Didn’t she introduce you to Rob?’ Toby asks. ‘They were old friends.’
‘Yes,’ I say, but I didn’t know that Kate ever had feelings for Rob. She never once told me about them, or ever acted like she liked him in that way. I always thought she considered him a bit dull or, at least, far too normal for her tastes. And why didn’t she tell me she liked him before Rob and I got together if that was the case? I felt like an idiot before but now I feel like the world’s biggest fool that I never knew my best friend was in love with my husband.
‘She hated you for nabbing him,’ Toby says. ‘I think she thought she was in with a shot, then you two got together.’
The Weekend Away Page 20
