work. He’s admitted he offered to give Kate a ride home after he took her report about the theft of her bag. But he only admitted it after they confronted him with evidence. Until then he was denying it.’
‘How do they know he was lying?’ I ask.
‘A traffic camera caught his car on camera, close to the docks on the night Kate died. They have an image of Nunes driving the car and Kate in the passenger seat.’
My vision swims and even though I’m lying down I feel faint.
‘His shift was ending when she came in to report her bag stolen, and so he offered her a ride home. She said yes because she didn’t have the cash for a taxi. He says he drove her to the dockside, near to your apartment. It’s quiet at night. And he admits that he propositioned her …’ Konstandin tails off.
I can fill in the gaps on my own. Nunes made a pass at Kate. He suggested she repay his favour with one of her own.
‘When Kate realised what he wanted she got out the car,’ I say, picturing it in vivid detail. ‘He followed her and they got in a fight.’
Konstandin nods. ‘That’s what the police believe.’
I close my eyes and keep on imagining it: Nunes making the request. Kate threatening to report him and getting out of the car. Nunes seeing his career hanging in the balance. If she reports him, maybe this time he will be prosecuted, so he chases after her. He catches up to her and lunges for her. She hits him. He raises his hand and hits her back, the same way he hit me, across the throat. She stumbles, arms windmilling. Her head smashes into the dockside and then she disappears under the surface of the water.
I open my eyes.
‘Under interrogation Nunes admitted they got in a fight and that Kate stormed off,’ Konstandin says. ‘He claims that he didn’t kill her though.’
‘But he said he made a mistake. He admitted it to me!’
‘He says he meant the mistake was propositioning her.’
My mouth gapes open. ‘What?
Konstandin gives a one-shouldered shrug. ‘He says he doesn’t know how she ended up in the water or how she drowned, or even how she hit her head. He says that he left her and drove off.’
I stare at Konstandin for a long time, trying to picture it, struggling to revise the images in my head of how it all played out. How did Kate fall in the water then? Was it an accident after all?
‘Nunes is lying,’ Konstandin says. ‘He’s facing a murder charge. He knows that if he has any chance with a jury he has to seed doubt. And there’s no way of confirming he killed her or if it was even deliberate. For all we know it might have been manslaughter.’
‘So he’ll get away with it?’ I ask, starting to tremble all over.
Konstandin shakes his head. ‘Even if he does he’ll still go to jail for trying to kill you.’
I nod, though I’m barely concentrating anymore. For a moment, it felt as though the truth was lit up bright as the sun, but now a shadow has passed in front of it and everything is murky once more, shrouded in mystery. We don’t know what happened. And we probably never will.
I glance at the window. It’s still dark outside and when I turn my head a fraction I see a clock on the wall in the corridor outside. Konstandin turns his head to see where I’m looking. ‘It’s four in the morning,’ he says.
I reach my hand across the starched sheet and Konstandin slips his rough, warm palm into mine. I squeeze and he squeezes back.
We stay like that for I don’t know how long, until I fall asleep at least, and I think even while I sleep, because when I wake up hours later and the sun is streaming into the room, he’s still there, and he’s still holding my hand.
Chapter Forty-One
Two Weeks Later
I choose a bright purple scarf because I don’t want to wear black and, even though it’s hot and not scarf weather, I need something to hide the gruesome yellowy-green bruise on my throat. I’ve been told by the doctor the bruise will fade, just as the hoarseness in my throat did. Not enough to give a eulogy though. At least, that’s the excuse I gave Kate’s mother when she asked if I would.