has been sold into sex trafficking. I almost laugh at this one too. It sounds like the plot of a Liam Neeson movie. And anyway, aren’t sex trafficking victims always teenage girls? Or at least women who are vulnerable? Kate’s as vulnerable as a lioness.
Kate has had an accident, been hit on the head and is in a coma somewhere. I’ve called the hospital though. No one has reported her injured.
Kate went out to buy more drugs and either a) is passed out somewhere b) overdosed and needs help c) got into some trouble with a drug deal gone wrong. I don’t like to dig too deep into what c might look like as I only have movies to go on.
Kate decided she didn’t want to be friends with me and has gone home. Did I say something to her that I don’t remember? Did I upset her? Maybe in my drugged, drunken state the truth came out and I told her how I really felt about her becoming a mother. Shit. What if that’s it? What if she’s just gone to another hotel, or gone back to England? But why would she leave her bags and all her things?
Kate went for brunch or went shopping because I was asleep and then met some guy and went home with him. It’s a possibility and I choose to focus on that rather than the other possibilities on the list.
What to do next? I underline this and then wait, pen hovering over paper, for inspiration to strike. I already know that I’m going to the police station in the morning to speak to Detective Nunes. There’s not much I can do until then. I could contact people Kate knows, people back in England, to see if they’ve heard from her, I suppose. If I did piss her off without my knowledge, maybe she has left me to it and maybe one of them might have been in touch with her.
I log into Facebook and check my messages in case I’ve missed something from Kate but I haven’t, and I check her Facebook page too to see if she’s posted anything. She hasn’t posted anything since the picture we took of the two of us just before boarding the plane on Friday. We’re smiling, both so unsuspecting of what is just up ahead. I quickly turn back to my own page and spend twenty minutes trying to write a post that walks the line between sounding an alarm and not setting off a panic.
Hi everyone. I’m in Lisbon with Kate but haven’t seen or heard from her since last night. I’ve been trying to get in touch with her to find out where she is but I think she might be out of juice on her phone. If anyone’s had any contact with her today could you let me know. Thanks!
I post it on her page and my own. It’s probably pointless. How will anyone in London know where she is? But it’s something proactive at least. It’s only then it occurs to me that I should call Toby. They might be exes but they’re not yet divorced. I don’t have his number but I do have his email, so I fire off a quick message to him, asking him if he’s heard from Kate today and to please call me as soon as he can.
Then, in the spirit of keeping busy, I walk into Kate’s room, deciding to go through her things. I didn’t want to invade her privacy before but now that seems stupid. What if there’s a valuable clue I’ve missed? For a minute I stand in the doorway of her room and take in the scene, trying to imagine what went on in here, but I’m not a detective and I don’t know what on earth I’m looking for.
I start by picking up all her clothes and piling them on the chair, going through pockets and shaking them out. I’m not sure what I’m looking for but it seems like it’s something I should be doing. One time I took a team from work to an escape room and it reminds me of that. The clues were hidden in places, sometimes right in front of our faces, but we had to search the room thoroughly to find the clue that would take us to the next clue and then the next. I feel like I’m doing that now, finding one clue that will lead me to the next and