The Legacy of the Bones

‘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 until last.’

She was hungry. She hadn’t eaten anything solid since breakfast, she never did when attending an autopsy, and the aroma of mushroom and truffle from the crispy golden parcel was making her stomach rumble.

‘Very well,’ she said. They would dine if he insisted, but they’d do so in record time.

They ate the first course in silence, Amaia realising how ravenous she had been.

The waiter removed the plates and replaced them with two more.

‘Pearly soup with shellfish, seafood and seaweed,’ he said before withdrawing.

‘One of my favourites,’ said Markina.

‘And mine,’ she echoed.

‘Do you eat at this restaurant?’ he asked, trying to conceal his surprise.

A cretin and arrogant with it, she thought.

‘Yes, but we usually reserve a more intimate table.’

‘I like this one, looking at the other diners …’

And being looked at, thought Amaia.

‘Browsing the library,’ he explained. ‘Luis Rodero has a fine collection of books on cuisine from all over the world.’