Henry's Surrey country mansion, worth over ten million, was owned through a series of complex financial arrangements. He sat at a desk in his study, the walls covered with vintage posters advertising the great corridas of the past. Although electronic wizardry could never replicate the real thing, he often rewatched the most electrifying spectacles from his extensive video collection.

He had not looked at any news since arriving home for the Taurine Club's Anniversary Dinner, but curiosity now seized him. He had to know. He opened the Tor browser on his computer and searched for Caroline McKenzie.

Had they found her yet?

They had.

'Appliances2U director found murdered in Spanish hotel' from the Guardian. He clicked on it, hoping the lefty rag would provide salacious details. None were forthcoming; maybe they thought giving descriptions of the modus operandi would trigger their readers. Just how old she was, a bit about her job and a statement from her family – 'gutted', obviously.

He went down the list of articles. Then he saw one from the BBC. 'Murdered director planned to open dog rescue.' The license fee was working well!

Of course she did, he thought, laughing to himself. Her sons spoke of her passionate love for man's best friend, and how, with her small fortune, they were going to set up a foundation to look after abandoned dogs as it was what she would have wanted. Dogs! Sometimes it seemed to Henry that he was witnessing the decay of Western civilisation. Doubtless, all this woman's idiotic friends and family would congratulate them on such a 'lovely thing to do'.

Maybe the Daily Telegraph could give a more balanced perspective. But even here the coverage was strangely biased, with a statement from the CEO of the company she worked for on how she was 'not just a colleague but a friend.' As if the writer was trying to indoctrinate him into thinking this supposed CEO was a model of good business sense.

He closed the tab hastily at his housekeeper’s footsteps upstairs. An Englishman’s home was his castle. But the authoritarian reach of the nanny state extended everywhere. Many jealous members of ‘the lower orders’ simply wanted to tear down people like him, and constantly looked for dirt. He didn’t want to give the peasants any ammunition. Thus, the Caroline McKenzie searches were erased. Without Javier’s opponent, her destiny may have been rather different.

What had become of that bull, anyway? Henry had been inches from the ill-bred creature's face as it barged up the steps, snorting and panting rather than willingly facing its elegant end. He had given it a good shove, grabbed its tail and kicked it hard in an effort to slow it down, but nothing had. The bull was utterly unworthy of Javier's genius and delicate grace. Henry had known that as soon as it emerged.

'Mystery of Spanish bull's disappearance deepens,' said one article. At the top of the page was a photo of the offending animal, its black shoulders dripping with blood. Someone must have seen where it went. Surely. The Spanish police were even more useless than their reputation suggested. The hot weather obviously made them lazy.

'This is an unfortunate event for fans of our national fiesta, and rest assured we are doing everything we can. But two brutal murders have taken place in the city in the last two days, plus numerous domestic violence cases, firearms offences, a break-in at a school and a suspicious fire, so as the bull is not loose and there appears to be no further danger to the public, serious crimes have to take priority,' said Superintendent Gabriel Sanchez of the Policia Nacional. To Gabriel Sanchez, harbouring an escaped fighting bull – from one of Spain's top ranches, no less – obviously wasn't a serious crime!

High time for Henry to do some investigation of his own.

He went onto YouTube and searched for 'Escaped bull in Valladolid full video'. Within seconds he had found it. An inspired aficionado had put the whole thing online. It was 45 minutes long. Henry leaned back and watched the first bull, an altogether better-quality beast. How enjoyable that had been! Castella had treated the audience to a fine show. He watched the performance several more times. If only all six could have ended so superbly.

Then there was Pepelito. From the start, the bull had not lived up to expectations. Nonetheless, Henry watched each 'tercio' three or four times, slowing down the video as Pepelito charged at the mounted picador, and as first Castella's assistants, then the man himself placed the banderillas. Such a pleasure to see, as always with this extraordinary talent.

Then everything went wrong.

Unlike Ladron, Pepelito had not approached Castella at all. He stood panting for several minutes, as if he didn't know what was expected of him. When he finally charged, it was in the opposite direction, leaping into the stands. Henry smiled as he watched himself kicking Pepelito in the video. It had felt good to give the cowardly creature some extra punishment. It wasn't often he got the opportunity; usually it was Henry on the receiving end, from Labour's army of online harassers.

Like Caroline McKenzie.

Again, before Henry's eyes, the unthinkable happened. Pepelito reached the top of the stone steps. Javier Castella was now approaching sword in hand. Henry paused the video again and zoomed in on the now wide open door to the bullring. He rewound the video to his part in it. Just as Pepelito had dodged him, a security guard walked up the stairs from the entrance.

Had he opened the door?

Henry then watched as Pepelito ran down the stairs, robbing Javier of his triumph. The person shooting the video ran to the top row of seats in the bullring and looked into the street behind him, following for a while before the bloodied bull disappeared from view. Moments later, Pepelito appeared again, but then turned round a corner out of sight, and the video cut off.

The video had thousands of comments, and Henry translated the page into English so he could read all the Spanish ones, seething with rage as he did so. One translated comment said, 'hahahahahahahaha this is the best thing I've ever seen, pity he didn't take out a few sickos on his way to freedom.'

Just who was the real 'sicko' here?

He looked further down the comments until he found one in English. 'Well done brave Pepelito ❤ so glad you got away from those monsters.'

Monsters? Henry thought indignantly. Clearly, the state school system was working well. This could never be blamed on him; education had never been his brief. In any case, Henry was proud not to have paid any tax for the last 15 years. It was nothing more than theft, and probably socialism.

He continued scrolling down the YouTube comments. Honourable interventions aside, most showed a shocking lack of appreciation for the art of toreo. He had several text messages from the Tory WhatsApp group, but ignored those. He bunched his fists with rage as he read further, eyes turning to a penknife on his desk.

'30:56 the guy pulling the bull's tail is a British politician – Henry Dixon.' Outraged, Henry braced himself to read the 106 replies it had gained – many from former constituents. Thank heavens he was in the House of Lords. He'd never have to fight an election again.

'Scumbag. He used to be my MP and he was utterly useless!'

'Omg so cruel 💔 there is something wrong with him.'

'Shame it couldn't of gored him :( '

Outrageously, this last comment had 501 likes. Henry went to see who had made it – someone called 'angel2004'. Now, who could that be? A minute on Google revealed the culprit as an 18-year-old near Leeds called Aidan Donnelly who worked in a gaming shop. He took out a leather-bound notebook given to him by the Prime Minister and opened it to a list of names, above which was written 'Violent Threats'. He wrote Aidan's name in it with his House of Lords fountain pen. Where were his parents, hadn't they taught him to respect his betters?

Henry rewound the video until he found the part with the security guard, took a screenshot of his face and saved it. While the Spanish were generally tanned, the guard's skin colour was of an altogether darker hue. He'd probably have let a dangerous bull escape deliberately.

Then, he looked at his phone. He had messages from one of the other Tories in his WhatsApp group. 'Hi, Henry, I've just seen a video of you which puts you in a somewhat controversial light. You might want to be prepared when you go on Newsnight tonight.'

Henry laughed. Not if the BBC want to keep their funding, he thought. But then someone rung his mobile.

'Mr Dixon, my name's Robyn, I'm a reporter from the Daily Mirror.' Mr Dixon?

'That's Lord Dixon,' he snarled. 'Is it so hard to address me by my proper title?'

Where had she – if it was a she, you never knew these days – got his number from anyway?

'Mr Dixon, a video has emerged of you appearing to mistreat an animal while on holiday in Spain, have you got anything to say about that?'

'Nothing at all,' Henry said. 'I was participating in local culture, the way you woke types say we Brits should do when we go to the EU.'

He hung up. It was 11.30 in the morning; too early for calls from liberal snowflakes. He could relax for an hour before the grouse shoot, with some old boys from Eton who'd gone on to enjoy distinguished careers in politics, finance and the arts. Before he forgot, he recorded Robyn's name in another list in his notebook, entitled 'Hacks'.

His attention turned back to the YouTube video. Fresh comments had been added since he had viewed the page, many utterly libellous. After wishing further gorings on those who risked cancellation with their appreciation of the Spanish bullfight, 'angel2004' had even suggested his hard drive be searched for snuff movies. Henry felt an involuntary shudder at the mere thought, however implausible such searches were.

He'd make sure the little scrote wouldn't get away with that.

AN: Poor Pepelito :(

As those who read Damaged and Untouchables know my whole thing is writing about evil and showing reality - and although this story is partly humorous, this character is intended to be every bit as evil as the villains in those books. It is based on research I have done in real life. If it's too much let me know and I can edit some things out. A special place in Hell waits for people like this.