they assume is a potential new client.
Konstandin told them he wanted a website to promote a wholesale import business selling olives and olive oil. They must be really desperate to get their design business off the ground if they fell for it and are showing up so eager.
Konstandin and I figured that if we waited until they sat down we’d have a better chance of them not bolting. Not that we know what their reaction will be when they see me and realise they’ve been duped.
As I stand up I notice my legs are wobbly. I walk over and stop behind Joaquim’s chair where, unsure how to go about it, I start by clearing my throat. ‘Hi,’ I hear myself say.
Joaquim turns with a smile on his face that quickly vanishes the moment he recognises me. His eyes widen with alarm and he says something under his breath, maybe a curse word. I glance across the table at Emanuel who takes a slightly longer beat to recognise me but then his mouth falls open too. They glance across the table at each other and then before I can get another word out they’re both on their feet and sprinting for the door, shoving a waiter out the way in their haste to reach it.
Konstandin jumps up a split second later and runs after them, but I’m frozen in astonishment, unable to move as all three of them race out the door and onto the street, leaving behind a café full of bewildered, gasping customers. Some start looking my way and their curious looks spur me finally into action. I dash for the door, heart thumping hard. They ran! That means they must know something or they’ve done something. That’s not what innocent people would do.
When I emerge onto the street I catch sight of Konstandin turning the corner up ahead. I run after him. We’re in a quiet, leafy neighbourhood, deliberately having chosen a place to meet where if they did see me and run they wouldn’t be able to vanish into crowds. Turns out it was a good idea. When I turn the corner Konstandin is darting across the road, jumping the tram lines embedded in the street, and chasing after Joaquim, who has bolted into a park. Emanuel must have taken off in another direction and Konstandin has chosen to stick with Joaquim. I run after them across the road, almost getting taken out by a passing tram, and run into the park behind them.
It’s similar to one of the parks in squares in London; a cross-hatch of paved paths, wrought-iron railings and benches sitting among patches and triangles of green. I see Konstandin up ahead closing in on Joaquim, who has disappeared behind a shed-like structure close to a fountain. Most people are too lost in their phones to notice us running by.
Behind the shed I pull up short. Konstandin is on top of Joaquim, pinning him to the ground. Joaquim’s face is squashed into the dirt and Konstandin has his knee pressed firmly into the middle of his back while his hand grips Joaquim’s collar. Joaquim struggles like a fish out of water, squirming and trying to buck Konstandin off him, but Konstandin isn’t letting go. Joaquim only stills when he looks up and sees me.
‘You remember her, then?’ Konstandin says to him.
Joaquim grunts a response.
‘We need you to answer a few questions,’ Konstandin says to him, then looks at me.
‘I think we should call the police,’ I pant, out of breath from running and sweating rivers.
‘Don’t call the police!’ Joaquim shouts hoarsely and I notice there’s blood on his chin from where he’s struck gravel or something sharp.
‘We don’t need the police,’ Konstandin says to me. ‘Ask him about your friend.’ He glowers at me and I realise that calling the police could get Konstandin into trouble. Joaquim could accuse him of attacking him and he wouldn’t be far off.
Joaquim starts to struggle again, shouting something in Portuguese, and I look around, worried that someone will hear, but behind the shed we’re relatively sheltered by bushes. Still, we don’t have much time. Someone could easily come upon us, think we’re mugging him, and call the police.
‘Where’s Kate?’ I demand.
‘I don’t know,’ Joaquim says. He looks genuinely confused by the question and it surprises me.
‘Why did you run then?’ Konstandin asks, shaking him by the scruff of his neck.
Joaquim doesn’t answer.
‘What did you do to her?’ I hear myself ask, thinking of the maybe bloodstain on