them answers and Konstandin rattles off something in Portuguese, then hangs up.
‘What just happened?’ I ask.
‘I left a voicemail for them. Told them I wanted a website designed. Asked them to call me back.’
‘Right,’ I say.
‘When they do we’ll arrange a time to meet them and we’ll ask them about your friend.’
‘What if they don’t know what happened to her?’ I whisper. We’ll be back to square one.
‘We have to start somewhere.’
‘Maybe I should go back to the police and give them their names,’ I say, looking at Konstandin for his thoughts.
Konstandin purses his lips. He doesn’t say anything but I can tell just from his expression that he’s not a fan of the police, which gives me pause. I ponder my options. The policeman, Nunes, certainly didn’t seem too interested before when I mentioned Joaquim and Emanuel to him. And the police won’t do anything tonight, no matter what new information I bring them. It makes sense to try and find out what I can before I go back there.
‘What are their full names?’ I ask, pointing at the website open on Konstandin’s phone. ‘Does it say?’
Konstandin shows me their names on the contact page. Emanuel Silvas and Joaquim Ruis.
‘They must have social media.’ I pull out my own phone and type the names into my phone.
I’m not wrong. I find Joaquim’s feed first, in a matter of seconds. It’s a shrine to narcissism. The entire feed is made up of professional headshots, selfies of him in Aviator sunglasses in various locations and pictures of him in his underwear, showing off his biceps and six-pack.
I glance at his most recent photograph. It’s an image of him grinning to camera, wearing sunglasses and holding a glass of champagne. I click on it to see when it was posted. ‘This was taken three hours ago,’ I say, showing Konstandin.
‘They were together.’ Konstandin shows me his own phone. He’s found Emanuel’s Instagram. We set them side by side and compare. Emanuel has posted a picture of him with Joaquim. It’s also from around three hours ago. They’re on a rooftop somewhere. It looks like a bar and behind them I can make out the castle and the jumbled red rooftops of Alfama with the river in the background. Konstandin scrolls along to the next photo in the series. It’s Joaquim with his arm around a woman. They’re both smiling at the camera.
‘Is that Kate?’ Konstandin asks.
I grab the phone, my heart leaping as quickly as it sinks down in my chest. ‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. But who is she? She looks to be late twenties, dark-haired, tanned, attractive. From the intimacy of the photo I wonder if it’s Joaquim’s girlfriend? Or is it a client?
‘He’s tagged the name of the bar,’ Konstandin says, pointing out the name. La Giaconda.
‘Do you think they’re still there?’ I ask.
Konstandin checks the time. ‘Maybe. It’s a twenty-minute drive from here. Let’s go and find out.’
He’s already on his feet, pulling a battered wallet out of his back pocket and throwing money down on the table before I can reach inside my bag and get my purse.
‘Please,’ I argue, ‘let me pay.’
He shoots me a look that teeters on the verge of being a scowl. ‘No,’ he says simply.
I want to argue some more with him but the owner of the restaurant comes over and offers a deferential goodbye to us. Konstandin is patient at first but then, after the owner doesn’t appear to be letting go, extricates his hands from the man’s grasp and ushers me quickly to the door.
‘Thank you,’ I say to the owner over my shoulder.
‘See you again.’ The owner waves.
As we head out onto the street, I glance at Konstandin out of the corner of my eye. He’s lighting a cigarette while scanning the street.
‘You’re certainly popular,’ I say, nodding my head back towards the restaurant.
Konstandin, who is drawing a lungful of smoke, stops to look at me sideways. ‘We have a history,’ he says, nodding at the restaurant owner, still standing in the door waving at us. He stalks off towards his car and I hurry after him wondering what that means.
‘What kind of history?’ I ask, curious.
Konstandin opens the car door for me. ‘I helped him with something a few years ago. He tries to repay me every time I see him.’ Konstandin shuts the door before I can ask any more questions.
As he walks around to the driver’s side, I scan the inside of the car for