suitcase in front of the bedroom door and lay a rolled-up towel along the floor in front of the bathroom door as a bit of a buffer before stripping naked.
As I wait for the hot water to come through, I try to pummel my thoughts into some kind of order. Kate, what the hell were you up to? Because clear as day, she was up to something and whether or not it’s related to her disappearance I don’t know, but I also don’t think it can be a coincidence. As Konstandin said, figuring out why she might have wanted to drug me and set me up to sleep with, or think I’d slept with, an escort may be the key to all this.
If only I could get into her phone I could find out who it was that called on Friday night. I wonder if I should have given the phone to the police but they didn’t ask for it, another thing that makes me wonder about how good they are.
The police probably have ways to crack open phones. But then I recall reading in the paper last year about a spree shooter in the US. The FBI weren’t able to access his iPhone and Apple refused to help, citing privacy laws, so perhaps it’s a dead end, though surely they could get hold of her phone records and those would contain some information, at least about who she was on the phone to on Friday night.
The shower doesn’t do much to wake me up. I’m too exhausted for that, despite the nap I just took. Wrapped in a towel I walk out into the bedroom and find my phone ringing on the bed. Lunging for it I see that it’s Konstandin. I answer it. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi,’ he says. ‘I was just calling to see if there was any news.’
‘No,’ I say, feeling cold droplets of water snaking down my spine from my wet hair. ‘Nothing. The police tried to find Joaquim and Emanuel but didn’t have any luck.’
‘They probably left town for a few days to avoid them.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ I muse, chewing on my thumb. ‘I didn’t tell the police about you, in case you were wondering.’
There’s a silence on the end of the phone before he says, ‘Thank you. But that’s not why I’m calling. Have you eaten?’ he asks.
I hesitate. ‘No,’ I admit.
‘Do you want to get some food?’ he asks.
I am hungry and I don’t much fancy staying in the apartment all evening, hiding from Sebastian to avoid conversation about audio textbooks and growing slowly more paranoid about what he’s up to in that room besides recording audio books. And it would be good to talk through everything with Konstandin. ‘Yes, OK,’ I finally say.
‘I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes, how does that sound?’
‘Good,’ I say, standing up and looking about for my clothes. ‘See you then.’
As soon as I hang up I wonder if it’s weird to go out to dinner with him. Rob wouldn’t like it much. And if I’m honest, I’m not sure of Konstandin’s intentions. He’s just being a friend I suppose, and I am grateful for everything he’s done so far. It would be good to talk everything through with him. I feel so alone over here.
I worry, though, that I’m being too stupid and too trusting. He isn’t exactly a law-abiding citizen. The thought occurs to me again that he could be involved in Kate’s disappearance. It would explain his interest. But if that were the case, he wouldn’t be helping me hunt down clues. In my heightened state of anxiety and exhaustion I can’t calibrate properly. I can’t figure out who to trust. I can’t even trust myself.
Fifteen minutes later I push my improvised barricade suitcase away from the bedroom door and exit the room. Walking quietly through the apartment I cock my ear for any sound of Sebastian but it seems like he’s gone out. I don’t know what to do about a key – how will I get back in later? – so I call his name. There’s no response.
My gaze hovers on the closed door, the one with the lock. Is he in there? From the outside the room looks to be about as big as our third bedroom back home, a tiny box space about six feet by eight, roughly the same size as a prison cell. My previous suspicions about the room come back to me. I tiptoe towards the door and