The Weekend Away

by Sarah Alderson

  I leap out of bed. What in God’s name …?

  Next thing I know I’m leaning over the toilet throwing up what I ate for dinner. When I’m done I lean back on my haunches. Jittery and sweating, I stare at the crumpled condom wrapper on the side by the sink and retch again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sunday

  I don’t sleep. Or at least I sleep fitfully, barely grazing the surface of dreams. My imagination keeps fetching up hideous images of what’s happened to Kate. I see her lying dead in a coffin. I see her trapped in an underground cave. I see her tied up in an attic or a basement. I basically see her in a million different scenarios taken from every movie, book, true crime podcast or news report I’ve ever read that has made me shudder about the violence and horror and evil in the world. And when I’m not thinking about awful things like that I’m thinking of myself lying unconscious in this bed being raped. I’ve tried to tell myself that it didn’t happen, it can’t be true, because I would know, surely? But a seed of worry has been planted and it keeps on growing.

  At three in the morning I give up on sleep and get up and make some coffee, stupidly forgetting and washing up the glass with the powdery substance in the bottom. There goes whatever evidence that might have been.

  I check the details for the British embassy online and find the number of the British newspaper in Lisbon too. I make a plan to call both once they open. I need to do more than just go to the police, I decide. I worry the police aren’t going to do anything – not after the lackadaisical response yesterday – so I need a back-up plan. I also need help. Maybe Rob can ask his mum to look after Marlow and he can come over here to be with me. I need to tell him everything about that night but I can’t do it over the phone. I need to do it face to face. And I just need him here. He’d know what to do.

  As soon as it’s six o’clock and the sun has risen I call him. He’s asleep but picks up straightaway.

  ‘Can you come?’ I ask, barely holding back tears.

  ‘To Lisbon?’ he answers, blearily, his dark hair sticking up all over the place. ‘I’ve got work tomorrow,’ he says. ‘And you’re meant to be coming home tonight.’

  Damn. He’s right. It’s Sunday. ‘But I can’t come home. Not without Kate,’ I say. ‘I have to find her.’

  ‘Are you still going to the police?’ he asks, yawning.

  ‘Of course,’ I snap, tiredly. ‘She’s been missing for over a day. I’m really worried, Rob.’ The sob bursts out of me, everything too much. ‘Something’s wrong. I can just tell.’

  He doesn’t answer. I watch him sit up and rub his eyes. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ he says. I wonder if I should tell him now about the escorts, about the drugs, about my fears about what happened to me, but before I can decide I hear Marlow in the background starting to cry. Rob sighs. ‘The boss is awake,’ he says. ‘I need to go.’

  ‘OK,’ I say. Shit. I can’t keep putting it off.

  ‘Call me when you’ve been to the police. Let me know what they say.’

  I nod. When I hang up there’s a message from Konstandin asking me what time I want to go to the police station. I text him back to say as soon as it opens at eight.

  There’s something comforting about not doing all this alone. It’s why I wanted Rob here. ‘Konstandin is my stand-in,’ I mumble, then half-laugh. It’s the kind of joke that Kate would make.

  In the thirty minutes before Konstandin arrives I jump in the shower and drink more coffee – trying to wake up my sluggish mind. As I grab my phone from the side I remember to check Joaquim and Emanuel’s Instagram to see if they’ve posted anything since last night, something that might either reveal where they are, or by some miracle show them hanging out with Kate, but neither one has posted since yesterday.

  By eight o’clock we’re parked outside the police station. Konstandin asks if I want him to come in with me but I say no. It feels weird, like they might wonder or ask questions about our relationship and question who Konstandin is, and I don’t know how to explain it so I tell him he doesn’t need to wait for me but he shrugs me off and pulls out his cigarette packet. I stare at it longingly for a moment and he offers me one. I shake my head and walk inside.

  The detective I spoke to yesterday, Nunes, isn’t in so I end up telling the whole story to another person, an older woman, also a detective. The sign on her desk says Reza. She’s about my age I’m guessing, though possibly younger – it’s hard to tell. She isn’t wearing any make-up, except for a bright red slash of lipstick that only seems to emphasise how thin her lips are, and her hair is pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Overall the effect is severe. She isn’t wearing a uniform but an ill-fitting black suit.

  Now I watch, frustrated, as she carefully and slowly fills in the missing person form. When she’s done she tells me she’ll circulate the information to all the hospitals and every police officer in the city so they know to keep an eye out for her.

  ‘That’s it?’ I ask her when she puts down her pen.

  ‘Was your friend depressed or having suicidal thoughts?’

  ‘What?’ I say, aghast. ‘No, of course not. She was totally fine.’ Why is she asking me that? ‘What about the men who came back with us to the apartment?’ I press, frustrated. ‘Don’t you want to interview them? I gave you their names. You could call them.’

  ‘We’ll look into it,’ she says, her English fluent.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I ask, frustrated. Why isn’t she taking this seriously? It’s a missing person!

  I wonder if I should mention the fact Joaquim and Emanuel are escorts. The thing is I’m not sure prostitution is legal in Portugal and I’m pretty certain that solicitation isn’t. It’s the same reason I don’t mention the drugs either. I know as soon as I do the police will make an assumption about Kate. It looks bad on paper and it might make them less inclined to prioritise her case. I know how these things work. But I’ll be lying if I also keep it to myself, as I don’t want them to search the apartment and find her stash of coke. I should have flushed it down the toilet. I don’t repeat my concerns either about potentially having been drugged and raped. There’s no way I can prove any of it and the detective yesterday seemed so dismissive it puts me off telling this woman. I feel like all I am is a nuisance to them.

  ‘I said we will look into it,’ she replies calmly.

  I’m not sure I believe her.

  ‘Your colleague, Detective Nunes, he told me yesterday he would check the hospitals. Do you know if he did?’

  She frowns and taps at the computer. ‘You spoke to Detective Nunes?’

  I nod. ‘Yes.’

  Reza scans the computer. ‘But you didn’t file a report with him?’

  ‘He said I needed to wait twenty-four hours to file a missing person’s report.’

  She nods.

  ‘But do you know if he called the hospitals?’ I press.

  ‘I’ll find out,’ she says.

  Reza stands up and I wonder if she’s going to do that right then but no, she ushers me to the door, a sign that she’s done with me.

  ‘But …’ I stammer as I get to my feet. ‘Something’s happened to her.’

  ‘How do you know?’ she asks, staring at me as though I know something that I’m not revealing. I struggle to look innocent. ‘Did you have a fight before she disappeared? Is there something you aren’t telling me?’

  My cheeks flame. I shake my head.

  She narrows her eyes at me. My pulse speeds up and a cold sweat breaks out all over my body. At the same time a memory that’s as sharp as a blade slices through my mind. Kate screaming ‘bitch!’

  It hits me with the force of flying shrapnel, almost knocking me backwards. I can’t picture it. I can only hear her voice screaming it at me. When though? And why can’t I see it?

  The detective is still staring at me, suspicious.

  ‘I just know something’s happened,’ I say, my voice shaking. ‘She isn’t the kind of person to disappear like t
his. Not unless something really bad has happened.’

  Reza sighs. ‘Do you know how many people go missing each year?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Ten thousand people. Just in Europe.’

  ‘Wow,’ I mumble. How is that possible? Where do they all go?

  ‘And eight hundred thousand children go missing every year. Total.’

  My jaw drops open. That’s a truly astonishing number. ‘I had no idea,’ I mumble.

  She points at a board behind me on the wall of the waiting area. One side is covered in missing posters. I walk over to it. There are dozens and dozens of posters. I scan all the faces – mostly teenagers and young women. Where are they all? Where do they go? Are they dead? Are they runaways? Have they been trafficked? How can this many people just vanish into thin air?

  Reza comes up behind me. She reaches past and tacks up another poster. I glance at it. The photo I emailed five minutes ago of Kate fills half the page and her name is printed underneath, along with her height and a description. A lump rises up my throat as I stare at Kate’s smiling face. It’s so surreal.

  ‘Is that all you’re going to do?’ I ask.

  The woman looks at me, not unkindly, but a little wearily. ‘We will circulate her description. It’s all we can do. You said she has her phone and bag with her. Probably her passport also. She possibly has left the country by now, rented a car or left by train. She could be anywhere in Europe. If she tries to leave, the country border police will know. They’ll tell us. And if we hear anything we will let you know. Likewise, let us know if you find her.’

  If. If. ‘But she left all her things,’ I protest. ‘Her suitcase. Her clothes. Why would she leave her stuff?’

  ‘OK,’ she says, ‘I’ll look into those two men.’

  ‘Good,’ I say, feeling a rush of relief. ‘Please call me if you find anything out.’

  She nods but I’m uncertain if she’s saying this to get me to go away or if she really is going to take it seriously and look into Kate’s disappearance.

  Shaken, I head outside to find Konstandin still smoking. ‘I need a cigarette,’ I say to him.

  Wordlessly he hands me one and lights it for me.

  ‘They aren’t doing anything,’ I tell him, taking a huge inhalation of smoke. Instantly my head spins and I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Konstandin asks.

  ‘They just added her picture to a wall,’ I say. ‘But there are dozens, hundreds of missing people. They treated me like I was making a big drama. As though she’s decided to run away from her life, as though her going missing isn’t a big deal.’ I’m pacing up and down, drawing on the cigarette as though it’s feeding me life.

  ‘It isn’t a big deal for them,’ Konstandin says. ‘They won’t care unless there’s a body.’

  ‘What?’ I say, almost dropping my cigarette.

  He shrugs, his expression cool. ‘She’s an adult. There’s no evidence she’s been hurt. She wasn’t depressed or mentally ill. Unless the police have an actual crime to investigate they won’t look for her.’

  I shake my head, refusing to believe it. ‘How?’ I splutter. ‘How can they not care?’

  Konstandin shrugs again. ‘Come,’ he says. ‘We have an appointment.’

  ‘What? Where?’ I ask him.

  ‘Emanuel called back. I’m meeting him for coffee in forty minutes’ time.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Joaquim and Emanuel walk in, dressed casually, both wearing sunglasses, and my breath catches in my chest as though someone is twisting a corkscrew into the gap between my ribs. Seeing them in the flesh brings memories swimming to the surface: Joaquim putting me to bed, sliding off my shoes, his fingers brushing the back of my neck. As though I can feel the ghost of his hand still pressing there, a shiver runs down my spine. I thought I’d managed to convince myself that nothing happened between us but seeing him brings all the doubt and anxiety flooding back.

  They don’t notice me when they walk in as I’m lurking at a corner table, holding the menu up to obscure my face. I peek over the top of it and watch Konstandin stand and wave them over. They shake hands with him, both of them smiling and chatty, trying to impress someone they assume is a potential new client.

  Konstandin told them he wanted a website to promote a wholesale import business selling olives and olive oil. They must be really desperate to get their design business off the ground if they fell for it and are showing up so eager.

  Konstandin and I figured that if we waited until they sat down we’d have a better chance of them not bolting. Not that we know what their reaction will be when they see me and realise they’ve been duped.

  As I stand up I notice my legs are wobbly. I walk over and stop behind Joaquim’s chair where, unsure how to go about it, I start by clearing my throat. ‘Hi,’ I hear myself say.

  Joaquim turns with a smile on his face that quickly vanishes the moment he recognises me. His eyes widen with alarm and he says something under his breath, maybe a curse word. I glance across the table at Emanuel who takes a slightly longer beat to recognise me but then his mouth falls open too. They glance across the table at each other and then before I can get another word out they’re both on their feet and sprinting for the door, shoving a waiter out the way in their haste to reach it.

  Konstandin jumps up a split second later and runs after them, but I’m frozen in astonishment, unable to move as all three of them race out the door and onto the street, leaving behind a café full of bewildered, gasping customers. Some start looking my way and their curious looks spur me finally into action. I dash for the door, heart thumping hard. They ran! That means they must know something or they’ve done something. That’s not what innocent people would do.

  When I emerge onto the street I catch sight of Konstandin turning the corner up ahead. I run after him. We’re in a quiet, leafy neighbourhood, deliberately having chosen a place to meet where if they did see me and run they wouldn’t be able to vanish into crowds. Turns out it was a good idea. When I turn the corner Konstandin is darting across the road, jumping the tram lines embedded in the street, and chasing after Joaquim, who has bolted into a park. Emanuel must have taken off in another direction and Konstandin has chosen to stick with Joaquim. I run after them across the road, almost getting taken out by a passing tram, and run into the park behind them.

  It’s similar to one of the parks in squares in London; a cross-hatch of paved paths, wrought-iron railings and benches sitting among patches and triangles of green. I see Konstandin up ahead closing in on Joaquim, who has disappeared behind a shed-like structure close to a fountain. Most people are too lost in their phones to notice us running by.

  Behind the shed I pull up short. Konstandin is on top of Joaquim, pinning him to the ground. Joaquim’s face is squashed into the dirt and Konstandin has his knee pressed firmly into the middle of his back while his hand grips Joaquim’s collar. Joaquim struggles like a fish out of water, squirming and trying to buck Konstandin off him, but Konstandin isn’t letting go. Joaquim only stills when he looks up and sees me.

  ‘You remember her, then?’ Konstandin says to him.

  Joaquim grunts a response.

  ‘We need you to answer a few questions,’ Konstandin says to him, then looks at me.

  ‘I think we should call the police,’ I pant, out of breath from running and sweating rivers.

  ‘Don’t call the police!’ Joaquim shouts hoarsely and I notice there’s blood on his chin from where he’s struck gravel or something sharp.

  ‘We don’t need the police,’ Konstandin says to me. ‘Ask him about your friend.’ He glowers at me and I realise that calling the police could get Konstandin into trouble. Joaquim could accuse him of attacking him and he wouldn’t be far off.

  Joaquim starts to struggle again, shouting something in Portuguese, and I look around, worried that someone will hear, but behind the shed we’re relatively sheltered by bushes. Still, we don’t h
ave much time. Someone could easily come upon us, think we’re mugging him, and call the police.

  ‘Where’s Kate?’ I demand.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Joaquim says. He looks genuinely confused by the question and it surprises me.

  ‘Why did you run then?’ Konstandin asks, shaking him by the scruff of his neck.

  Joaquim doesn’t answer.

  ‘What did you do to her?’ I hear myself ask, thinking of the maybe bloodstain on the floor of her room.

  Joaquim struggles to turn his head to look at me, with his cheek still pressed hard to the ground. ‘Nothing,’ he says through gritted teeth, his indignation shining through.

  ‘Then why is she missing?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know!’

  ‘Why did I find blood in her room then?’ I ask. ‘And a broken glass?’

  ‘She knocked over a glass of wine!’

  Is he telling the truth?

  ‘What happened that night?’ I ask. ‘I passed out. I don’t remember anything. I woke up and Kate was gone. You’re the last people who saw her.’

  His expression alters, his indignation giving way to puzzlement. He frowns and shakes his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he croaks. ‘We left. I swear to God I don’t know where she is!’

  Konstandin’s knuckles are white where he’s gripping Joaquim by the collar, almost strangling him. He looks at me and I nod. He eases his grip.

  ‘Don’t try to run again,’ he warns and then says something in husky Portuguese that makes Joaquim turn pale and stare at him with unchecked fear. I wonder if it’s something about kidneys and rectums but this time I’m grateful because we can’t have him disappearing on us, not now.

  I take a deep breath and turn to Joaquim who is now sitting up, dusting off his trousers with a scowl. Konstandin hovers over him, one hand on his collar still, keeping him in place.