he said, making it sound like a warning, as he turned the key in the ignition.
I know you do, she thought to herself, stepping back. And I’m only kissing and making up because I couldn’t bear you to die in an accident when you were mad at me. She gave a half-hearted wave, which he didn’t see, and stood, arms clasped around herself to try to alleviate the remorse she felt. She watched the car roll slowly down the street, which was pedestrian-only at that time of day except for residents, until the red tail-lights vanished out of sight.
Shivering in the chilly Pamplona evening, she went back inside, glancing at the envelope that had been sitting in the hallway since a police officer delivered it an hour ago. More than anything she longed to soak in a hot bath. She opened the bathroom door and caught sight of herself in the mirror: eyes ringed in dark circles; hair dull and straw-like with split ends – she couldn’t remember the last time she had been to a hairdresser. She checked the time, felt a flash of anger as she postponed the longed-for bath and climbed into the shower. She let the hot water run until the screen misted up and she could no longer see out. Then she started to cry, as if some inner barrier had given way and a rising tide threatened to drown her from within. Miserable and helpless, she stood there, her tears mingling with the scalding water.
The restaurant El Rodero wasn’t far from her house. When she and James dined there, they usually walked, so that they could have a drink without worrying about driving. This time she took the car, in order to be able to leave for Elizondo as soon as she finished talking to the judge. She parked at an angle opposite Media Luna Park, crossed the street and walked beneath the arcade where El Rodero was located. The large, brightly lit windows and the understated décor of the façade were a promise of the excellent cuisine that had earned the restaurant a Michelin star. The dark wood floor and cherrywood chairs with cushioned backs contrasted with the beige panelling that reached up to the ceiling. The mirrors that lined the walls, combined with the pristine white tablecloths and crockery, added a touch of brightness, accentuated by the floral decorations floating in crystal bowls on the tables.
A waitress greeted her as she entered, offering to take her coat. Amaia declined.
‘Good evening,’ she said. ‘I’m meeting one of your diners, could you tell him I’m here?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Amaia hesitated, unsure whether the judge used his title outside of work.
‘Mr Markina.’
The young girl smiled.
‘Judge Markina is expecting you. Follow me, please,’ she said, escorting her to the far end of the restaurant.
They passed through the room Amaia had assumed they would be meeting in, and the waitress pointed her to one of the best tables beside the chef’s personal library. Five chairs stood around it but only two places were set. Markina rose to greet her, extending his hand.
‘Good evening, Salazar,’ he said, avoiding using her rank.
The approving look the waitress gave the handsome judge didn’t escape her.
‘Please, take a seat,’ he said.
Amaia paused for a moment, gazing at the chair he was indicating. She disliked sitting with her back to the door (a professional quirk), but she did as Markina suggested, and sat facing him.
‘Your honour,’ she began, ‘forgive me for bothering you …’
‘It’s no bother, providing you agree to join me. I’ve already ordered, but I’d feel most uncomfortable if you were to sit and watch me eat.’
His tone brooked no argument, and Amaia became uneasy.
‘But …’ she protested, pointing to the place set for a second person.
‘That’s for you. As I told you, I hate people watching me eat. I took the liberty. I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, although it didn’t sound as if he cared much whether she minded or not. She observed his body language as he shook open his napkin and placed it on his knees.
So that explained why Markina’s secretary was so hostile. Amaia could just imagine her making the reservation that morning with her cloying voice, lips set in a thin straight line. Recalling Inmaculada’s words, it dawned on her that Markina had made the reservation even before she called with the results of the autopsy. He knew she would ring him as soon as she got out, and had arranged the dinner in advance. She wondered how far in advance, whether Markina had even been out of town at midday. She couldn’t prove anything. It was equally possible he’d made a reservation for one and asked them to lay another place when he arrived.
‘This won’t take long, your honour, then I’ll let you dine in peace. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’ll start right away.’
She reached into her bag and fished out a brown file that she placed on the table, just as the waiter approached with a bottle of Navarrese Chardonnay.
‘Who would like to taste the wine?’
‘Mademoiselle,’ replied the judge.
‘Madam,’ she retorted, ‘and I won’t have any wine, I’m driving.’
Markina grinned:
‘Water for the lady, then, and wine for me, alas.’
As soon as the waiter moved away, Amaia opened the file.
‘Not now,’ said Markina, sharply. ‘Please,’ he added, in a more conciliatory tone. ‘One look at that and I’ll lose my appetite completely. There are some things one never gets used to.’
‘Your honour …’ she protested.
The waiter placed two dishes in front of them, both containing a small golden-brown parcel adorned with green and red sprouts and leaves.
‘Truffles and mushrooms in a golden parcel. Enjoy your meal, sir, madam,’ he said, withdrawing.
‘Your honour …’ she protested once more.
‘Please, call me Javier.’
Amaia’s anger rose as she started to feel like the victim of an ambush, a blind date meticulously planned by this cretin, who even had the nerve to order for her, and now he wanted her to call him by his first name.
Amaia pushed back her chair.
‘Your honour, I think it’s better if we talk later, once you’ve finished your meal. In the meantime, I’ll wait for you outside.’
He gave a smile that seemed at once sincere and guilty.
‘Salazar, please don’t feel uncomfortable. I still don’t know many people in Pamplona. I love gourmet cooking, and I’m a regular here. I always let the chef decide what I eat, but if the dish isn’t to your liking, I’ll ask them to bring you the menu. Just because we’re meeting as colleagues, it doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a good meal. Would you have felt more comfortable if we’d met at McDonald’s for a hamburger? I know I wouldn’t.’
Amaia looked askance at him.
‘Please, eat while you tell me about the case, only let’s leave the photos
