man in Portuguese and the man answers with a few words accompanied by a shrug, his friendly smile fading.
Konstandin looks at me. ‘The man doesn’t know what we’re talking about but perhaps if you describe the phone it might jolt his memory.’
‘It’s an iPhone and the case was a pale pink. Two men brought it here yesterday. You gave them five hundred euro for it.’
The man studies me. Was that a flicker of recognition in his eyes?
‘It was stolen,’ I tell him.
‘Nothing stolen here,’ he grunts in heavily accented English.
‘It’s my friend’s phone,’ I say to the man. ‘She’s missing. We think she’s in serious trouble.’ I let the words sink in. ‘We just want her phone back. If you let us have it I won’t call the police.’
The man scowls at me, indignant at the suggestion he might be fencing a stolen phone, then looks at Konstandin who gives him a pleasant enough smile in return.
‘I told you I no have it,’ he says.
Damn. What if he’s sold it? Or what if Joaquim was lying and they didn’t bring it here? I look at Konstandin, not sure what to do next. Perhaps we should give up or let the police handle it. It’s just her phone after all. It’s not going to give us the answer to where Kate is, but Konstandin has other ideas. He leans forward, so his nose is almost touching the bulletproof divider and says something to the man in Portuguese. He could be asking about the weather from the tone of it but I watch the man’s expression.
He inches back away from the glass, fear darkening his expression. It’s a fascinating transformation and I wonder yet again what magical, dark powers of persuasion Konstandin has. The man is standing behind bulletproof glass after all. It’s not like Konstandin can threaten him with violence.
He mutters something then disappears. Konstandin turns and smiles at me, totally casual in his manner. ‘His memory has been jogged.’
‘What did you say to him?’ I ask but the man is back. And in his hand is Kate’s phone. ‘That’s it!’ I cry excitedly. ‘That’s her phone.’
‘I no know it stolen,’ the man mumbles, making to slide it through the hatch to me before stopping himself. ‘No police, yes? It was mistake.’
I glower at him. There’s no way he didn’t know this phone was stolen, but I decide that getting the phone back is more important than arguing with him so I nod. He slides the phone through the hatch and I grab for it. It’s a connection, however faint, to Kate. I press the home button but the phone’s out of juice and won’t turn on.
Konstandin and the man speak some more in Portuguese.
‘I asked him if he wiped it,’ Konstandin says. ‘He says no. Not yet.’
‘Good,’ I say, worrying that it might not matter anyway if we don’t have the password to access it.
‘Let’s go,’ Konstandin says, slipping his hand under my elbow and moving me towards the door.
‘What did you say to him?’ I ask as we walk to the car. ‘Before? When you were talking in Portuguese?’
‘Nothing much,’ Konstandin replies breezily.
‘Did it involve the removal of body parts and their injection into small orifices?’
Konstandin smiles and opens the car door for me, but he doesn’t answer.
‘The police station?’ Konstandin asks me once he’s sitting behind the wheel.
I nod. ‘Yes. Thanks.’
I root in my bag for my cash card, because I want to stop at an ATM on the way to get more cash. I’m going to insist on paying Konstandin for all this driving, but I come across a fifty-euro note. How did that get there? I look at Konstandin. Did he slip it back in my purse when I wasn’t looking?
Fine if that’s how he wants to play it. I’ll just hide it better next time.
‘Charge it,’ Konstandin says.
‘Huh?’ I ask.
He nods at Kate’s phone, which I’m still holding, and then at his charger cable.
I quickly plug the phone in and wait for it to power up. As I do my own phone buzzes in my bag and I pull it out, the familiar flame of hope igniting inside me before quickly fizzling out when I see it isn’t Kate – of course it isn’t Kate, I’ve got her bloody phone on my lap – but Toby.
‘Hi,’ I say, answering.
‘Orla,’ he replies, quite formally.
‘You got my message?’ I ask.
‘Yes, she’s still AWOL then,’ he answers, seeming narked. I can picture him rolling his eyes on the