CW: Possibly upsetting (but not gory/violent) pic at the end

Henry was a cunning bastard, Dominguez thought as he and Mansouri crossed the station car park towards the other man's car. Maybe he hadn't left. Maybe he only wanted them to think so. The sounds of people in the distance, happy diners and drinkers, only made the night more eerie.

For the last hour, Dominguez had been sat in the canteen, sending emails and writing reports, doubting the words made any sense, his mind not on work but unable to face anything else.

'You're in no state to look for Rita, you should go home. I'll drive you,' Mansouri said, but Dominguez didn't want to go home.

He wanted to find Rita.

His phone vibrated. Stupidly, he wondered if it was her. The memory of his last phone call to her played over and over again in his head. She was crazy but she was his best friend and he knew he'd do anything to have her craziness back.

It wasn't.

'Hello, is that Jesus Dominguez? I'm calling from the animal hospital. Do you have a moment to talk?' A middle aged woman's voice. He grunted a response.

'Señor Dominguez, I understand that under the circumstances it's hard for you, but it's my opinion that the kindest thing to do at this point is to put Maribel to sleep. So I wanted to have your consent before we go ahead with this.'

'You don't have my consent. She's my uncle's favourite cow. You're going to do everything you can to save her,' Dominguez snarled, an instinctive reflex reaction before he'd even thought about the words. At the intake of breath on the other end, he yelled, 'Everything you can. If I agreed to this, my uncle's ghost would haunt me until the end of time.'

'We'll try,' the woman said. 'But I hope you'll consider it. Otherwise, we'll have to amputate her leg. And that's expensive...'

'Fine. I don't care. Do it. Save her. It's what Silvio would have wanted. Don't give that murdering fuck Castella one last kill,' Dominguez snapped. He hung up. It wasn't fine. He'd hardly begun to process his uncle's murder. All he could think about was that phone call, that moment when Henry took Rita.

He looked, disorientated, around the small car park. A heavily built blonde woman with a ponytail was staggering across the tarmac, unsteady in heels. She was tottering away from the direction of the police station.

'Excuse me?' Mansouri said after a second, looking as lost as the woman did. 'Can I help you?'

Helping anyone except Rita was the last thing Dominguez felt like doing.

'Do you speak English?' she said. Her voice was brittle. 'I can't think in Spanish right now. I need to speak to someone that speaks English.'

'Go to the front desk and someone will see you there,' Mansouri said tersely. 'We don't have time right now.'

'They're all busy, I tried, and I tried phoning 112 and couldn't get through,' the woman said, much more businesslike than Dominguez felt. He looked at the dark blue flight attendant's uniform the woman was wearing, and his stomach turned inside him.

She took a deep breath. 'Right. So about half hour to an hour ago I saw Henry Dixon get on a plane leaving for the UK.'

*

In every high profile case, and many low profile ones, there were people who claimed to have knowledge about the crime. Sometimes they made false confessions. Dominguez reminded himself of this as he stared at the woman across the table in the interrogation room, the sound recorder on with its flashing light. He sipped at a glass of water. If only it was something stronger.

'What happened?' he asked in as gentle a voice as he could manage, sounding as together and balanced as he could make himself.

'My name's Clarissa,' the woman said in an official tone, taking a big sip of water. 'I work for a company that provides cabin crew for private jets. We had a booking tonight from an...organisation. To put it politely, these guys are my least favourite customers. They changed the date of the booking. Said something had come up, and they had to go back today.'

Spit it out, Dominguez thought, his hands clenching under the table. Mansouri kept his face impassive. Clarissa kept the same calm demeanour. 'So, that client. Any work I do with them is covered by an NDA. But as I've lost my job that probably doesn't matter now.'

'What client?' Mansouri said.

'The Taurine Club of Kensington. That's the name the booking was under. I didn't know. So now – I'm freaking out. I could have been on that plane, but I walked off the job. It was really sketchy and I didn't want to be involved.' Clarissa took several deep breaths. Dominguez felt his heart lurch in his chest.

'So - I'm pretty sure they were smuggling bulls, you know – for a bullfight. They made us go to a tiny little airstrip in the middle of nowhere. There was a massive truck they wouldn't let us help with. I heard them mooing and stamping about. They wouldn't show us any documentation. When I questioned it, he – Henry – said my job was to serve him drinks and shut up.' Her voice didn't change but she was visibly angry. Dominguez put his head in his hands.

'Interpol have put out an international arrest warrant for Henry Dixon,' Mansouri said in a stiff tone that failed to cover his obvious shock. 'And this plane was allowed to take off with him on board?'

Clarissa blinked, a tremor in her voice. 'Yeah. That client do all their security online, so they don't go through any checks. They don't even show us their passports. I didn't know about the arrest warrant. If I did...'

'That's illegal,' Mansouri said, his voice shocked. 'Nobody did any checks at all? Anything could have been on that plane.'

'Well, yeah. Damn right it's illegal, isn't it, but you try telling them that. They've got enough money they don't have to worry about the law. If you have a problem the agency just says there's no more work. Nothing I or anyone can do.' Clarissa gave a long sigh.

'Anyway. I just lost my job. I don't want to be part of it any more. I said I wasn't going to help them do something so blatantly dodgy, in much less polite terms than that. Anyway, as I was driving back to my flat here I put on a true crime podcast. Talking about this exact same group. The first thing it said was Henry Dixon's on the run for killing 12 people. I've worked on their flights before. Henry's arrogant as fuck, they're all weird and disgusting. But this, this, I didn't imagine...' Clarissa said, her knuckles white as she gripped the glass of water. 12 is a low estimate, Dominguez thought, his mind filling with the grim scenes at the villa.

'You did the right thing coming to us,' he said slowly.

'I had to. My workmates are up there, aren't they. With him,' she said, her voice cracking.

*

Dominguez stared out of the passenger window, feeling numb, as Mansouri started his car. Henry Dixon had been one step ahead of them, the entire time. He'd used his wealth and privilege to plan for something like this, like he used them to gain access to his victims and stay above the law.

'It's a pity we can't pursue this sick bastard ourselves,' Mansouri said.

Dominguez felt his stomach tighten. He snapped, 'Of course we can pursue him. What are you talking about?'

'He's crossed an international boundary. We can't go to another country off our own bat and arrest him ourselves. I wish we could but that's the law.' Mansouri spoke through gritted teeth. His voice was full of a bitterness Dominguez had never heard before.

'I think we can pursue him where the fuck we deem fit at this point, Abdul. He doesn't give a shit about crossing an international boundary, or any sort of boundary. He definitely doesn't care about the law. Does he? Right now, stopping him is more important.' He gave a dismissive snort. Mansouri nodded miserably as he prepared to turn off for Dominguez's flat.

'No, I'm not going home. Drop me at the station. You should go. Help Halima with the baby. I'll go on alone. I'll ask Heather to pick me up.'

'Heather?' Mansouri said, his eyes widening. 'I'm not letting you get a plane to England on your own, man. I'm coming with you. It's pointless trying to talk you out of it.'

'Guess it is,' he said. 'But Halima needs you.'

Mansouri's voice softened. 'Halima's got her mum over from Morocco for a few nights. And she's a cop too. She gets it.'

Dominguez opened WhatsApp to write to Heather and stared at his inbox. The vet had tried to call him again. They had amputated Maribel's leg; according to them, it had gone 'well'. There was a message from a guy on a dating app he'd joined after his breakup, and one from Alfonso.

'Hey man. Are you holding up OK?' it said. How could he even begin to answer that?

He began to type out an approximation of a response before his phone pinged again. Mansouri said, 'Forget the station. Let's go direct to the airport.'

It didn't register. Dominguez stared, unhearing, at the text.

It was from Rita's number.

Henry had sent him a video.

The video showed Chicero trapped in some sort of cage, looking up at the camera, pressing himself into a corner and shaking with fear. The view switched; the camera zoomed in on Rita's terrified, tear-stained face as she hugged Pepelito. Dominguez couldn't breathe; his best friend's indescribable distress tore through his chest.

Then a text appeared, alongside a photo. 'A disgraceful, unworthy display of cowardice. I await your verdict, Inspector – does the situation require these?'

The photo showed several pairs of black banderillas with double spikes.

Dominguez rolled down the window and threw up. 

AN: Hope this worked! I had to explain how Henry pulled this off as I know it's a bit uunbelievable.

Also, I have just rewritten this scene from Dominguez's POV so hopefully it works.