The bank did not accept payments in Spanish currency: Winter had no alternative but to pay the exchange fees. He missed the feeling of having a plastic card in his hand. The notes were new and stiff in the inside pocket of his jacket. He paused as he emerged from the bank and took stock, determined to avoid crowds of people. Another month, but it was still just as hot. That morning Salvador, his host at La Luna, had thrust his arms out wide and said something about el cielo azul. The blue sky, constantly hovering over the people who were desperate for some cooler weather. Winter stood outside the bank in the main street, Avenida Ricardo Soriano. He felt hungry, more so than at any time since he’d arrived here. He turned right and bumped into Alicia. She was alone. Perhaps it was she who stopped and spoke to him. “Have you sorted out your financial problems, Chief Inspector?” “I’ve just picked up the money from Sweden,” he said, pointing at the bank window. “That’s good.”
