few minutes later with a bottle of Faustino V and two glasses. He poured a drop into Max’s glass. Max swirled it round, sniffed it, and sipped it slowly.
‘Great. What year is it? ’92. Good year.’
Ramón smiled. ‘So how you doing, Max? Are you going to introduce me to your pretty companion?’
‘Linda, this is Ramón. Ramón, Linda.’
Ramón lent over the table, and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘Gracias.
Max says you play the guitar. Hope I can come and hear you sometime.’
‘I’m playing at the weekend, come along. Not an Andalusian accent?’
‘No, from Madrid.’
‘Well, no one’s perfect.’
‘How do you like the wine?’
‘Mainly peach aroma, I’d say. I find the Riojas a bit insipid, but this is quite a good one. Myself, I prefer Ribera del Duera.’
Okay, you win, thought Max. No more trying to impress.
‘These cheeses are interesting.’
‘All from Andalusia. This one is Pedroches, a sheep’s cheese from Cordova. That over there, moulded in esparto, is from Malaga, a white goat’s cheese. That’s Grazalema, from the mountains south of Cadiz. And that’s another goat’s cheese from Las Alpujarras.’
‘You were going to tell me how you ended up in the cops?’
‘To be honest I’m still not really sure. But you can probably blame Jorge. It had never crossed my mind. I was at a really low ebb with parents finally divorcing . . . and I’d split with girlfriend. Life going nowhere, and not even knowing where it should be going. Couldn’t decide if I wanted to be in Spain or Britain, be British or Spanish. Drinking much too much, and to be honest, smoking too much pot.’
Linda sniffed disapprovingly.
‘Well, to cut a long story short I was really depressed, and decided to take a walk in the hills behind the Abadía, and as I was walking back Jorge stopped to give me a lift. One thing led to another. He talked me out of depression, and we became friends. It was Jorge who suggested the police. Said he’d seen a police advert for university graduates.’ Max laughed. ‘He kept going on to me about the importance of having sensitive, progressive police now that Spain was a democracy, and how it would be a good thing all round. Well, nothing else came up, and I thought, why not, give it a try, and I just drifted into it. Still not sure I made the right decision.’
‘So different to me. Never even thought about anything else. So apart from looking after Martín and me, and writing a report on the Muslims here, what else are you doing?’
‘I’m in Homicide, but I do a bit of community liaison work with the Muslims. Right now I’m involved in a really sad case. Pretty Muslim girl, Edinburgh University history student, found dead in Diva. Body under a bridge at the bottom of a ravine. I’ve been asked to help out. I knew her, and her family. It’s the first time I’ve actually known the victim – before, they were simply victims. It’s hard to stay detached.’
‘Bit unusual, straying from your patch?’
‘Yes. But a tricky one for the local police. She was British and Muslim. So it makes sense to ask me to help.’
Max glanced at her finger. ‘Still wearing your ring?’
Linda laughed. ‘Yes. I decided to keep the ring. Keeps randy cops at bay. If I ever remarried, I don’t think I’d marry another cop again. It’s funny how cops keep everything in the family. Must be because we think differently to ordinary folk, always asking questions. Suppose we need someone who knows how we think.’
She looked sad, sighed, and then smiled. ‘You, you don’t seem a cop. Too open.’
‘No? My family’s not exactly standard. Mum’s a musician, and Dad now runs a wine business in Barcelona.’
Linda glanced at her watch. ‘Oops. Better go. Getting on, and I’ve got to look my best for the meeting.’
‘I’ll show you back to your hotel.’
‘Thanks. But I’ll be okay. It’s just a bit further along Gran Vía on the other side,
‘Great. What year is it? ’92. Good year.’
Ramón smiled. ‘So how you doing, Max? Are you going to introduce me to your pretty companion?’
‘Linda, this is Ramón. Ramón, Linda.’
Ramón lent over the table, and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘Gracias.
Max says you play the guitar. Hope I can come and hear you sometime.’
‘I’m playing at the weekend, come along. Not an Andalusian accent?’
‘No, from Madrid.’
‘Well, no one’s perfect.’
‘How do you like the wine?’
‘Mainly peach aroma, I’d say. I find the Riojas a bit insipid, but this is quite a good one. Myself, I prefer Ribera del Duera.’
Okay, you win, thought Max. No more trying to impress.
‘These cheeses are interesting.’
‘All from Andalusia. This one is Pedroches, a sheep’s cheese from Cordova. That over there, moulded in esparto, is from Malaga, a white goat’s cheese. That’s Grazalema, from the mountains south of Cadiz. And that’s another goat’s cheese from Las Alpujarras.’
‘You were going to tell me how you ended up in the cops?’
‘To be honest I’m still not really sure. But you can probably blame Jorge. It had never crossed my mind. I was at a really low ebb with parents finally divorcing . . . and I’d split with girlfriend. Life going nowhere, and not even knowing where it should be going. Couldn’t decide if I wanted to be in Spain or Britain, be British or Spanish. Drinking much too much, and to be honest, smoking too much pot.’
Linda sniffed disapprovingly.
‘Well, to cut a long story short I was really depressed, and decided to take a walk in the hills behind the Abadía, and as I was walking back Jorge stopped to give me a lift. One thing led to another. He talked me out of depression, and we became friends. It was Jorge who suggested the police. Said he’d seen a police advert for university graduates.’ Max laughed. ‘He kept going on to me about the importance of having sensitive, progressive police now that Spain was a democracy, and how it would be a good thing all round. Well, nothing else came up, and I thought, why not, give it a try, and I just drifted into it. Still not sure I made the right decision.’
‘So different to me. Never even thought about anything else. So apart from looking after Martín and me, and writing a report on the Muslims here, what else are you doing?’
‘I’m in Homicide, but I do a bit of community liaison work with the Muslims. Right now I’m involved in a really sad case. Pretty Muslim girl, Edinburgh University history student, found dead in Diva. Body under a bridge at the bottom of a ravine. I’ve been asked to help out. I knew her, and her family. It’s the first time I’ve actually known the victim – before, they were simply victims. It’s hard to stay detached.’
‘Bit unusual, straying from your patch?’
‘Yes. But a tricky one for the local police. She was British and Muslim. So it makes sense to ask me to help.’
Max glanced at her finger. ‘Still wearing your ring?’
Linda laughed. ‘Yes. I decided to keep the ring. Keeps randy cops at bay. If I ever remarried, I don’t think I’d marry another cop again. It’s funny how cops keep everything in the family. Must be because we think differently to ordinary folk, always asking questions. Suppose we need someone who knows how we think.’
She looked sad, sighed, and then smiled. ‘You, you don’t seem a cop. Too open.’
‘No? My family’s not exactly standard. Mum’s a musician, and Dad now runs a wine business in Barcelona.’
Linda glanced at her watch. ‘Oops. Better go. Getting on, and I’ve got to look my best for the meeting.’
‘I’ll show you back to your hotel.’
‘Thanks. But I’ll be okay. It’s just a bit further along Gran Vía on the other side,
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