Ramón watched the detectives pottering about outside the shed, swirling his spoon around his lemon and ginger tea.
It was a Monday.
That was important because it had been two full days of uninterrupted noise, and Ramón wasn’t the least bit surprised.
It all started on Friday. Somebody had posted in the neighbourhood Whatsapp group looking for a good place to practice their scales.
Thinking it was a saxophone, or even perhaps an electronic keyboard, Ramón’s neighbour had offered their shed.
There followed a 48 hour period of regular disruptions to the quiet lockdown-ambience of the weekend. The man was an opera singer.
Opera is to classical music what metal is to popular music: loud, but useful if you want to piss off the neighbours.
On this occasion, the detectives were stumped. Upon reviewing the potential distance the sound of his shrill scales could have travelled, they found that there were a potential 50 suspects. In addition, in an offer of Spartacus-like solidarity, every member of the neighbourhood Whatsapp group had posted a knife emoji at the same time.
Ramón, finishing his tea, wandered back into the house.
Suddenly he stopped. A cold feeling spread from his lobes to his drums. Ears that is.
From somewhere, not too far off, he could hear Carlotta’s kid Pablo, thrashing away at his drum kit.
He shook his head and unlocked his phone.