why it’s so important we find the truth about Kate. I don’t think the police care about the truth, you see. They just want to be able to say they have caught someone and put them in jail.’
I nod. He’s right. That’s been my feeling for a while now. Reza and Nunes weren’t interested in finding Kate and now they’re not interested in finding who killed her. They just want to tick it off their to-do list and look like they did their jobs.
Konstandin pulls down a dark street and parks. I glance out the window. ‘Where are we?’ I ask.
‘The taxi company.’
‘What taxi company?’ I ask.
‘There are only two big taxi companies in Lisbon. This is the biggest. We start here.’ He gets out the car and I follow after him. The office is in a side street close to the railway station and even though it’s later in the evening there are still lots of people milling around. I’m nervous and check my reflection in the window of the car, seeing my cheek is swollen with a purple line across it from the book that Sebastian hit me with. There’s nothing I can do about it so I dart after Konstandin who is already walking towards the taxi office.
Inside there’s a man sitting behind a desk reading a newspaper. I can’t follow the conversation that Konstandin has with him but whatever Konstandin says works. I don’t think he threatened him, as the man smiles at me, then looks at his computer screen and starts fiddling with the mouse as though looking something up. After a minute he glances over at Konstandin and says something to him.
Konstandin nods, grateful, and I make out the word ‘obrigado’ several times. Thank you. Then he takes me by the elbow and leads me a few steps away from the desk to a row of plastic chairs by the window.
‘I told him that you lost a valuable ring inside a taxi last week,’ he says in a murmur. ‘It belonged to your dead mother and you are desperate to get it back. I gave him the address of the apartment you stayed in. They record all the rides their drivers make. Each time they pick up a passenger the driver has to call in with the address. He found a driver who picked up at the corner of Paraiso just after three in the morning on Saturday. That’s just around the corner from your place.’
I stare at Konstandin in amazement. ‘You think it might have been Kate that he picked up?’
Konstandin shrugs. ‘The driver’s coming here now. We can ask him.’
I drop down into one of the plastic chairs, exhaustion overwhelming me. Konstandin sits down beside me. Ten minutes pass before the door pings and a man enters. He has a beer gut hanging over his belt and a shirt, undone to the chest, revealing a religious medallion lying in a nest of grey chest hair. He seems defensive from the moment he walks in, barrelling over to us, scowling, chest thrust forwards. No doubt he thinks he’s been summoned by someone accusing him of stealing jewellery.
Immediately he starts talking to Konstandin, waving his arms about and shouting. I assume he’s denying everything and it takes a while for Konstandin to find a break in the stream of anger and cut in. I can’t follow any of the conversation, but after a few seconds Konstandin turns to me. ‘Show him a picture of Kate,’ he says.
I pull out my phone and scroll to my camera roll and pull up the first photo of her I find – the one of us that we took at the airport, both of us grinning in anticipation of the upcoming trip. The taxi driver looks at the photo and then at me and finally at Konstandin. His anger has faded. His shoulders slump. ‘Is girl on news,’ he says in broken English.
I nod, standing up straighter, my hopes rising even though I try to keep a lid on them. ‘Yes, do you recognise her? Did you pick her up on Friday night?’
The man has started fumbling with the medallion around his neck, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. He looks like the textbook definition of the word shifty. ‘You know something,’ I say. ‘Did you pick her up?’ My hopes rise and I try to keep a lid on them.
The man glances at me, then quickly away. Definitely shifty.
Konstandin takes a small step towards him, getting