Becker stared in shock at Rocío. "You sold thering?"

The woman nodded, her silky red hair falling around hershoulders.

Becker willed it not to be true. "Pero… but…"

She shrugged and said in Spanish, "A girl near thepark."

Becker felt his legs go weak. This can't be!

Rocío smiled coyly and motioned to the German."Él quería que lo guardara. He wanted to keep it,but I told him no. I've got Gitana blood in me, Gypsy blood;we Gitanas, in addition to having red hair, are very superstitious.A ring offered by a dying man is not a good sign."

"Did you know the girl?" Becker interrogated.

Rocío arched her eyebrows. "Vaya. You really want thisring, don't you?"

Becker nodded sternly. "Who did you sell it to?"

The enormous German sat bewildered on the bed. His romanticevening was being ruined, and he apparently had no idea why."Was passiert?" he asked nervously. "What'shappening?"

Becker ignored him.

"I didn't actually sell it," Rocío said."I tried to, but she was just a kid and had no money. I endedup giving it to her. Had I known about your generous offer, I wouldhave saved it for you."

"Why did you leave the park?" Becker demanded."Somebody had died. Why didn't you wait for the police?And give them the ring?"

"I solicit many things, Mr. Becker, but trouble isnot one of them. Besides, that old man seemed to have things undercontrol."

"The Canadian?"

"Yes, he called the ambulance. We decided to leave. I sawno reason to involve my date or myself with the police."

Becker nodded absently. He was still trying to accept this crueltwist of fate. She gave the damn thing away!

"I tried to help the dying man," Rocío explained."But he didn't seem to want it. He started with thering—kept pushing it in our faces. He had these three crippledfingers sticking up. He kept pushing his hand at us—like wewere supposed to take the ring. I didn't want to, but myfriend here finally did. Then the guy died."

"And you tried CPR?" Becker guessed.

"No. We didn't touch him. My friend got scared.He's big, but he's a wimp." She smiled seductivelyat Becker. "Don't worry—he can't speak a wordof Spanish."

Becker frowned. He was wondering again about the bruises onTankado's chest. "Did the paramedics give CPR?"

"I have no idea. As I told you, we left before theyarrived."

"You mean after you stole the ring." Beckerscowled.

Rocío glared at him. "We did not steal the ring. Theman was dying. His intentions were clear. We gave him his lastwish."

Becker softened. Rocío was right; he probably would havedone the same damn thing. "But then you gave the ring to somegirl?"

"I told you. The ring made me nervous. The girl had lots ofjewelry on. I thought she might like it."

"And she didn't think it was strange? That you'djust give her a ring?"

"No. I told her I found it in the park. I thought she mightoffer to pay me for it, but she didn't. I didn't care. Ijust wanted to get rid of it."

"When did you give it to her?"

Rocío shrugged. "This afternoon. About an hour after Igot it."

Becker checked his watch: 11:48 p.m. The trail was eight hoursold. What the hell am I doing here? I'm supposed to be inthe Smokys. He sighed and asked the only question he couldthink of. "What did the girl look like?"

"Era un punki," Rocío replied.

Becker looked up, puzzled. "Un punki?"

"Sí. Punki."

"A punk?"

"Yes, a punk," she said in rough English, and thenimmediately switched back to Spanish. "Mucha joyería.Lots of jewelry. A weird pendant in one ear. A skull, Ithink."

"There are punk rockers in Seville?"

Rocío smiled. "Todo bajo el sol. Everything under thesun." It was the motto of Seville's Tourism Bureau.

"Did she give you her name?"

"No."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"No. Her Spanish was poor."

"She wasn't Spanish?" Becker asked.

"No. She was English, I think. She had wild hair—red,white, and blue."

Becker winced at the bizarre image. "Maybe she wasAmerican," he offered.

"I don't think so," Rocío said. "Shewas wearing a T-shirt that looked like the British flag."

Becker nodded dumbly. "Okay. Red, white, and blue hair, aBritish flag T-shirt, a skull pendant in her ear. Whatelse?"

"Nothing. Just your average punk."

Average punk? Becker was from a world of collegiatesweatshirts and conservative haircuts—he couldn't evenpicture what the woman was talking about. "Can you think ofanything else at all?" he pressed.

Rocío thought a moment. "No. That's it."

Just then the bed creaked loudly. Rocío's clientshifted his weight uncomfortably. Becker turned to him and spoke influent German. "Noch etwas? Anything else? Anything to help mefind the punk rocker with the ring?"

There was a long silence. It was as if the giant man hadsomething he wanted to say, but he wasn't sure how to say it.His lower lip quivered momentarily, there was a pause, and then hespoke. The four words that came out were definitely English, butthey were barely intelligible beneath his thick German accent."Fock off und die."

Becker gaped in shock. "I beg your pardon?

"Fock off und die," the man repeated, patting his leftpalm against his fleshy right forearm—a crude approximation ofthe Italian gesture for "fuck you."

Becker was too drained to be offended. Fuck off and die? Whathappened to Das Wimp? He turned back to Rocío and spoke inSpanish. "Sounds like I've overstayed mywelcome."

"Don't worry about him." She laughed."He's just a little frustrated. He'll getwhat's coming to him." She tossed her hair andwinked.

"Is there anything else?" Becker asked. "Anythingyou can tell me that might help?"

Rocío shook her head. "That's all. Butyou'll never find her. Seville is a big city—it can bevery deceptive."

"I'll do the best I can." It's a matterof national security…

"If you have no luck," Rocío said, eyeing thebulging envelope in Becker's pocket, "please stop back.My friend will be sleeping, no doubt. Knock quietly. I'll findus an extra room. You'll see a side of Spain you'll neverforget." She pouted lusciously.

Becker forced a polite smile. "I should be going." Heapologized to the German for interrupting his evening.

The giant smiled timidly. "Keine Ursache."

Becker headed out the door. No problem? Whatever happened to"Fuck off and die"?