by a hangover, a lack of food and a general sense of hopelessness and despair. If I’m going to find Kate I need to pull myself out of this funk and get focused.
I need to find these two men – Joaquim and Emanuel. They must know where Kate is. Maybe she’s even with them right now, on a massive drug-fuelled bender having sex. It’s possible, I suppose. I try to imagine it, just because that image is a lot better than the other ones lining up for preview. If she is with them, I don’t even think I’ll be angry. I’ll just sob with relief.
The restaurant Konstandin leads me into is Turkish. I surmise it from the pictures of pita bread, hummus and kebabs on the menu. The sight of the kebabs makes me immediately think of Kate and our early morning, giggle-filled walks back from whatever nightclub we’d been to that night, inevitably detouring past the kebab shop on our way home, where we’d wait in a line of other tired, drunk revellers to order our shish kebabs and where Kate would flirt with the guy carving the meat until he gave us extra chips.
I don’t order kebabs today, I order falafel and Konstandin orders in what I assume is Turkish, talking to the waiter, who I think is also the owner. He’s an older gentleman who seems deferential to Konstandin, taking both his hands in his own when we entered and kissing him on both cheeks. He waits on us with keen interest and lots of smiles in my direction and I wonder what Konstandin is telling him but focus on pulling out the scrap of paper and pencil from my bag so I can start to formulate a plan. I stare at their names – Joaquim and Emanuel. How could I have forgotten? Now I know their names, I remember them introducing themselves. ‘How will we find them?’ I mutter.
‘Eat first, then we think,’ Konstandin says.
I set the pencil down. ‘Why are you helping me?’ I ask.
Konstandin stares at me for a beat. ‘Because you need help,’ he answers finally.
I frown. He holds my gaze with his even, steady expression. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, and fine lines are etched around them like sunrays.
‘Did you really threaten those people at the bar?’ I ask seriously. ‘Or were you joking? Be honest.’
He pauses again. ‘I threatened them.’
I’m shocked even though I half-guessed it. ‘Why?’ I ask.
He shrugs again. ‘I want to solve the mystery.’
‘Why? She’s not your friend.’ He’s a stranger. Why does he care about Kate going missing?
‘She was in my car,’ he says.
It seems like an odd reason and I’m about to press him on it further when the waiter appears with hummus and warm pita. Before he’s even walked away I’m tearing off the bread and dunking it in the garlicky dip, then shoving it in my mouth. It’s so good I swallow it whole and reach for more. Konstandin smiles, pushing the hummus closer. We eat for a few minutes in silence.
I study him as he eats, his gaze fixed on the food, the frown line rigid between his eyebrows. Am I being stupid? His reasoning seems off. It doesn’t stack up. Strangers don’t just help people like this. Is Konstandin really someone I can trust? What if my previous thought is right and he’s involved somehow in Kate’s disappearance? I stare at him. What if he’s done something to her? He was looking at her funny in the car. I’ve read about killers – about how they like to return to the scene of the crime, ingratiate themselves with the cops – they get off on it, and they like to have one ear to the ground to find out where suspicions lie.
But what am I thinking? We’re not talking about a killing. Kate’s alive. She can’t be dead. I shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts.
But she has disappeared, the voice in my head points out. And you don’t know where she is.
Konstandin looks up just then and catches me staring.
‘You said you were from Kosovo,’ I say, deciding to see if I can eke out a little more information on his background. ‘You left in the war?’
‘Yes,’ he answers, a little gruffly, possibly suspiciously too.
‘Was it … bad?’ I ask, kicking myself for how stupid I sound. It was a bloody war, not a holiday. ‘I mean,’ I add hastily. ‘Of course it was, otherwise you wouldn’t have left.’