CW: Same as Chapter 37 - take care when reading.

'He's a sadistic serial killer who's abducted one of our officers, we don't have time for this fucking shit, don't you know how serious this is?' Mansouri shouted at George in English, his usually calm demeanour shattered. Dominguez sat beside him in silence. He'd heard Henry Dixon's voice as he abducted her. He’d been crying moments before, though he wasn't going to let that on in front of this creep.

What made it so much worse was that part of him had blamed Rita for Silvio’s death. A very small part but a part nonetheless; that bull was cursed, he’d thought, much as he loved him to bits. And that inevitably led onto blaming himself for what Castella had done.

'In the name of God, why do you protect him, what's wrong with you? You think he'd do the same for you? You think he'd not throw you under a bus if he thought it would benefit him?' Mansouri demanded, desperation in his voice; George wasn’t giving anything up. Dominguez knew the younger man’s recent work with Rita made her abduction hit all the harder.

'He's murdered 10 people at least, and we have evidence you're an accessory to many of those murders. You don’t need to protect him. We know he’s the killer. If you tell us where she is, you could be out in 10 or 11 years! Consider that, at least.’ George sat in silence, saying nothing to Mansouri’s furious pleading.

‘We know he went to Castella’s. Where did he go after that? Where has he taken her?' Mansouri looked at George in despair. There was an interpreter sat with George's lawyer, but the four years spent working behind a bar in Wellingborough before Dominguez came back and followed in his dad's footsteps would have their use now.

'Henry Dixon's got a hold over you.' After not trusting himself to speak the entire interrogation, Dominguez finally spoke, ignoring his pounding headache; his voice dripping with contempt, his fists clenching under the table. George again said nothing.

'Why's that, George?' George took a glass of water and drank it in silence.

‘You’re trying to stretch this out. I get it. Not a good feeling, not being in control,’ Dominguez said, reaching into his bag and getting out a plastic folder.

'Shall I tell you what I think,' he said in a whisper.

'I think you've got a secret. A secret only he knows, a secret he uses to get you to do things for him.' As Dominguez took out a printout from the folder, George clutched the edge of the table and gaped at him in horror, like he was about to be sick.

He went on, 'Except, it wasn’t just him. The UK police had you in their sights before anyone even suspected him.' He passed the page of photos to George as if it was contaminated.

It was.

George stared at the paper open-mouthed, his skin turning grey.

'Thought your secret was safe with him, didn’t you?’

'I've never seen...' George's voice trailed off. Mansouri clenched his fists and stared at the photos in revulsion and horror. Dominguez couldn’t blame the guy. His wife had just had a kid.

'That's interesting, because the site’s owner got arrested three weeks ago. You made seven separate payments in six months.’ Dominguez leafed through the vile images, until he found the card receipts the London Met had provided. The silence seemed to go on forever.

'He's not going to protect you now. And you know what? I don't think he wants to, he's got what he needed from you, that's why he's not getting you out of trouble. I think he got fed up,' Dominguez said coldly, hoping, praying something would break.

George looked like he was going to cry.

'Everything you've done for him, and he couldn't keep his side of the bargain. Everyone knows. It’s over. He's not coming to save you.' George stared down at the table.

'I heard that sick bastard kidnapping my best friend. Tell me where he's gone. You think things are bad now? If something happens, if he hurts Rita, then, trust me, I'll make your life worse than you can even imagine.' Dominguez's voice dropped, thick with the barely concealed threat.

'He's gone,' George's voice was a barely audible whisper.

'Gone where?' Mansouri regained some of his composure. He looked visibly ill from seeing the pictures. When George did not reply, he shouted, 'Gone where, where's he taking her you fucking -'

'He's left. He's leaving Spain, he's going back to England. Are you happy now,' George said miserably, tears pooling in his eyes. Dominguez wasn't sure whether to believe him. He just wanted to save his own skin.

'How's he getting there, driving, what?' Dominguez said, sending out an alert on the national police app with his phone.

'He took Lord Owenstoft's car,' George gulped.

'So he's driving, through France I guess?'

'Of course not, he's flying! He'd never take the channel, that's for peasants!' George snapped, then stopped himself, looking mortified. He clapped a hand over his face, his eyes wide with terror. These fucking guys, Dominguez thought.

'Peasants? Are you fucking serious?' Mansouri laughed in disbelief.

'I can't say any more, I can't, I've said too much, he'll kill me,' George sobbed, holding the table to keep himself steady.

'Oh, will he? Really? Because rest assured – ’ Dominguez started saying, then stopped himself, standing up abruptly. The lawyer began to protest. He didn’t want to hear it.

'I can't carry on, Abdul, if I spend another minute I'll do something I regret - interview paused at 20:52,' he swallowed, walking out the door and slamming it hard behind him.

'Laurentia, good to see you,' he said as the young woman wrapped her arms around him. Her shell-shocked, wired look showed that long bath he’d ordered her to have had never happened.

'I came back to work as soon as I heard,' she said, looking dazed and shocked. Standing beside her was the woman from Madrid who’d replaced Flavia, he couldn't remember her name, Carmen or something. She was Black, about a foot taller than him, with glasses and long braided hair.

'I can take over from here, it's OK,' she said, hugging him. Her name badge said Catalina, not Carmen. Oh. Dominguez nodded dumbly and blinked back tears.

Moments later, Mansouri emerged too.

'Don't you think you should get some rest, you two, there's several teams of officers on this. Dixon's presumably got her weapon, he's a dangerous psychopath-' Catalina said, concerned. It was the last thing Dominguez felt like doing.

'I'll rest when she's back safe,' he said, as he and Mansouri headed to the door.

****

'What's going in the hold? What's in the container, if you've got animals in there, you know they need their certificates...’ a woman asked, alarmed, as the metal box was lifted off the truck, with Pepelito and Chicero inside it.

'You don't need to know, 'Clarissa'. This aircraft doesn't belong to you. Your job is to serve us tea and coffee and shut up.' Pepelito knew they were being wheeled along the tarmac in the box, and felt nauseous as it bumped along. It was now as dark outside as it was inside, giving the bulls some relief from the heat. Pepelito could just about lick the condensation on the wall, but it wasn’t enough.

'It's a legal requirement but suit yourself! I'm out, fuck this for a game of soldiers!'

He couldn't recognise the voice or understand any of the language. As Chicero tried forcing his way out, Pepelito listened to the handful of people outside, chortling unpleasantly as Clarissa's voice faded.

'That bull gave me a most peculiar look when he sauntered out earlier,' he heard one of them say in hateful tones.

'Did he? Seems like he could do with a lesson.' Someone else kicked the side of the box Chicero was on. Pepelito’s back and shoulders tensed up, thwacking his tail hard on the wall as the other bull tried to shrink away.

It made him so sad when they hurt Chicero.

But the fear had left him.

'I wouldn't take any chances with those horns,' the first man said, laughing nervously as Chicero bashed at the locked box. They were being wheeled somewhere. Maybe they'd make him run into the street and chase him, like what happened to one of the bulls who’d attacked him in the enclosure. Then he’d have a chance to get loose. Maybe someone in the crowd would help him.

Maybe he could find Rita.

Someone climbed up the side of the box and it shook, tilted slightly upwards. He could feel Chicero shivering in the dark; this situation usually meant pain. The rope slackened and Pepelito licked his friend’s back as much as he could. Let them beat me, he thought. He didn't care any more. Then it tightened again. They both cried out as they slammed into the door; the resin dislodged from one of Pepelito's horns and he felt a sting at the tip.

Then the metal container slid open and the rope tugged them towards whatever was on the other side. Whoever was up there hit him hard on his neck, where it still hurt. He couldn't see anything. The metal was cold on his feet as he skidded, one of his hooves sliding into the other. It didn't lead to the street or another pen, let alone a field. It led to another, bigger container.

Unable to rid himself of the rope, he skidded on the floor, knocking his leg on the metal bars between him and the other bull. He pulled himself back, and Chicero reached his head between the bars and licked him. He could just about turn round. The rope was now much longer, tied to the wall in front of him, but Pepelito stayed as close as he could.

Was his friend less scared?

He hoped so.

The door to the second container slammed shut. There were four cameras and a row of spotlights on a very low ceiling, which was stamped with 'Taurine Club of Kensington' and its stylised T symbol. A bull's head on a wooden board loomed below the logo, attached to a light coloured wall slotted with small holes. Its scent was gone, replaced with an unnatural chemical aroma. He sniffed again and walked around the side. The water trough was empty, but there was a steel bucket of water near the divider. He began to drink from it but despite his thirst, could only finish half; it was foamy and tasted like cleaning products, like Rita’s bath except worse.

Then he saw who was lying in front of him.

Rita had a chain round her waist, attached to a hook in the wall. Her hands were tied behind her back with a cable tie. He sniffed her and nudged her with his snout, trying to make her wake up, but she didn't move. Making a low noise in his throat, his desperation increased as he pawed at her side with his feet. She was alive, and breathing.  

Pepelito lay down beside her and licked the back of her top, the fabric rough against his tongue. Despite his sore horn he shut his eyes and breathed out, resting his nose on her back. He thought of green fields with nice cows, far calmer than the situation warranted.

After several minutes, Rita startled him as she wriggled around, trying and failing to sit up. He shifted back from her. The cable tie scratched him as she tried to get free of it. Sometimes he forgot his rescuers weren't as big or heavy as he was.

'Hola, dulcito. Where am I,' she gasped, trying to lean against him as he shifted around. She looked at the ceiling, at Chicero, who was watching her fearfully, and around the room.

'Where am I?' she said again, her voice more insistent.

Then she screamed.

AN: I think I would too - at least she's got company!

Also hope it worked from Dominguez's POV. I know I haven't shown it before but needed to show what the cops were doing XX