Once, when I was about five, my mum lost me in the supermarket and I remember that mounting feeling of hysterical panic swirling inside me, like I was trapped in a gigantic nightmare maze that I’d never escape from. That’s how I’m starting to feel now. The thought of going home to the apartment and waiting for Kate to show up is impossible to wrap my head around. It’s getting late, almost eight, and the light is fading fast. I shiver. I should have brought a cardigan or a jacket with me but I was in too much of a hurry when I left.
I start to walk, not sure where I am or where I’m heading, but wanting to feel as if I’m moving towards something – hopefully an answer. I think through what the policeman said. He gave me his card when I left and I pull it out of my pocket, surprised to see he’s a detective.
Was Nunes right about Kate going with the men to buy drugs? I didn’t get a look at her pillbox but from the amount of white powder Kate tipped on her hand in the back of the Uber I assume she had quite a lot on her. Enough to last all night though? I have no idea. But she does have her handbag with her, which reassures me a little.
The best thing I can do is go back to the bar and see if I can find the men – they could be regulars. Someone might know them at least and I could find out their names. Then I could track them down and find out what happened last night after I passed out. But the problem is I don’t remember the name of the bar. I spent ages on my phone earlier, scouring a map online, trying to figure out where we were last night – but all I remember is an alley and a blue light, which isn’t very helpful.
It hits me then that the Uber driver who drove us there from the restaurant would know the name of the place. And I was the one who called the service using the app on my phone. Triumphant that I’ve finally figured something out, I unlock my phone and scroll to the Uber app, pulling up the last trip and the name of the driver. Konstandin. His picture fills the little oval in the corner.
I message him via the app – asking him to call me urgently. I follow it up with a promise of cash as I know he might not have any other incentive to contact me, and then I wait.
He calls back within minutes and I quickly explain I need to go back to the bar he took us to the other night. There’s a pause on the end of the line.
‘Do you remember?’ I ask. ‘It was me and my friend. You picked us up around eleven forty-five last night.’
‘I remember you,’ he says, his voice gruff. It sounds like perhaps I woke him up.
‘I just need the name of the place you took us to,’ I say. ‘That’s all.’
He clears his throat. ‘The Blue Speakeasy,’ he says.
That’s it! ‘Thank you,’ I say. At last, something to work on!
‘Do you need a ride there?’ Konstandin asks.
‘Um …’ I hesitate.
‘Where are you?’ he presses.
‘I’m not far from the police station in the centre of town.’
‘I’ll be there in five minutes.’
I don’t have time to argue before he hangs up. I stare at my phone as I head back towards the police station. Is it weird that he’s offered to take me there? But no, he’s probably just hanging about town trying to pick up passing tourist trade. And if he doesn’t book it via the app he doesn’t have to pay commission. I try to remember him from last night but my memory refuses to offer much up other than a fuzzy recollection of talking to him about Ireland. Oh God … and Kate doing drugs in the back of his Uber.
Five minutes later Konstandin pulls up in his black Volkswagen Passat and I hesitate again, uncertain whether to get in the back or the front. It feels weird to get in the back but weirder still to get in the front. In the end it feels wiser to sit behind him.
‘Hi,’ I say, glancing at the door lock. My imagination keeps leaping to dark places involving kidnap and rape and murder. Like