'Well, what did you think?' Alfonso asked his 18 year old nephew Matteo as the two sat in the bar with Rita. He was certainly a clever kid, she thought, although speaking in a mixture of Spanish and English for his benefit was getting tiring.

The start of February was a quieter period for the Valladolid Policia Nacional; the festive season was over and the summer heat had not yet kicked in. So, if Rita was going to go away, now was the time. Despite her instinctive distaste for true crime, so far the evening hadn't been as bad as she had feared. She had even avoided checking her work phone more than once this evening.

'I think the talks are really interesting. Definitely makes me want to go into criminology,' Matteo said, enjoying his first official drink as an adult, although he had enjoyed plenty of unofficial ones. Nervous but polite, he reminded Rita slightly of Alfonso himself.

'They are. There weren't many people at the one I went to,' Rita said. 'Maybe 10?'

'Oh, there were like, 600 people at the Javier Castella talk, easily,' Matteo said. 'Everyone wanted to go. It's one of the main reasons I wanted to come to the Crime Convention.' Of course, Rita thought, her hand tensing slightly over Alfonso's. Matteo had wanted to go on his own, but Alfonso's brother had insisted that he and Rita accompany him. If the convention had been about any other topic than true crime, Rita would have agreed his dad's reaction was over protective. The kid already had a job; he'd just done his first term at university.

Rita enjoyed the odd true crime documentary. Several detectives, lawyers, profilers and forensics experts were giving talks about their work. She had given a similar talk at an event in Barcelona six months ago. Her boss, Gabriel Sanchez, viewed these events as an important way for the public to understand the work of the police. But there was something distasteful about a few of the people attending this convention. Earlier, there had been someone in the hotel lobby selling t-shirts with quotes by Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy. Two of tomorrow's talks were by authors of 'dark serial killer romance'.

Romance? she thought, still sickened by the idea.

'I think Castella would have loved to watch a two and a half hour talk about himself by a couple of good looking young women.' Rita tried, and failed, to keep the emotion out of her voice. Castella's smirking grin still made her want to throw up. Some of her colleagues had joked that if Rita could dig the dead matador up and kill him again, she would. They didn't know how close to the truth that was.

'You knew him, didn't you? He was your brother in law. What was he like?' Matteo said. Alfonso took in his breath. He looked tense and taken aback. Neither of them would ever forget what they had seen on that farm. Maribel bellowing in pain as dead geese littered the path and Silvio lay face down on the track...

'He was a bastard. A monster. I'm glad he's dead,' she said tersely.

'Could you shed any light on...like, why he did it?'

'He wanted the respect, the big house, the money, the women. His 'career' gave him that but he wanted more. He was the big man and laws were for suckers. Or so he thought.' Rita sighed and shifted in her seat, not wanting to spend more time in the drug dealer's head. Her phone vibrated and she picked it up, glad for a get out.

'Oh. It's from Emelina.'

Emelina managed Santuario Colmenar, on what had been the old farm and what was now a forever home for dozens of rescued animals. As Rita looked at the message she had sent she felt calm. Her heart felt warm; it slowed and a smile spread over her face. An adorable little calf lay on a bed of straw, looking at the camera with big eyes. She had brown and black splodges and a white splash on her nose. 'Hi Rita, hope you are enjoying the UK. Tulipan and Pepelito's calf was born today. But we can't think of a name. Can you?' 

'Pepelito's that bull, right? The one that killed Henry Dixon?' Matteo leant forward, interested.

'That's him,' Alfonso grinned.

'Sounds like a badass. I'd like to see this bull when I go to Spain next,' Matteo said, sipping his drink. 'What kind of bull is he? A Miura? I've heard those are the fiercest.'

'His pedigree certificate is somewhere,' Alfonso said. 'Emelina should have it, right,  Rita? From recollection, he's a Domecq-Jandilla cross breed.'

'They're just bulls, Matteo.' Rita remembered the shock, the sheer terror of realising she had been kidnapped by the serial killer she'd been chasing for months. With the help of a cabal of wealthy  aficionados, Dixon had planned his own corrida, with Rita herself planned as the final gruesome act. She remembered the hunger, the cold, the darkness as outside her tiny cell, a bloodthirsty crowd screamed with excitement and a poor sweet animal bellowed in fear and pain. 'They're only fierce because of the way these sick, evil -'

'OK. Sorry. I was only curious. I'd like to see him.'

Rita sucked in a deep breath. As she stood up her eye was caught by a skull on a nearby empty table, clearly fake but real enough to startle her. 'I'm going to get another drink.' 

Rita took a step, not looking forward to fighting through the mass of people at the counter, although pubs and bars everywhere had got less chaotic post Covid and Britain seemed no exception. Someone prodded her on the shoulder. She turned to see a well dressed brown skinned  woman, with frizzy hair in a bun, and a blue maxi dress which covered her arms. 'My name's Donna Markham. I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. You're Rita Silvera, right? You're the copper who got kidnapped by Henry.'

Rita took a step back. What was this? Why was Donna calling him 'Henry'?

'How are you doing these days?' Donna continued, like she knew her, although Rita had never seen her before. This was weird. Some of her own neighbours didn't recognise her. 'I hope you had the right support at work.'

'Fine, thank you,' Rita said, her voice cold.

'Henry killed 22 people. Truly awful.' Donna's awed tone didn't match the words. 'But everyone wants to hear about him. What he did was so shocking. Why do you think he did what he did?'

'Henry Dixon was a sexual sadist who killed for pleasure. He was also a snob driven by class hatred. Maybe something happened to him, but it doesn't absolve him.' Rita had said it in a presentation at work. She might as well say it again.

'Class hatred?'

'He chose as victims those he looked down on. Those he thought were beneath his station and therefore worthless in his eyes,' Rita said. Something crawled up the back of her neck. She didn't have an issue discussing the serial killer who had almost taken her life. But she wanted to do it on her terms, not those of some random. And she especially didn't want to end up going viral on this woman's podcast.

'Anyway. How's Pepelito?' Donna said.

'Great,' Rita nodded, not looking at Donna as she found a spot in the queue.

'Your sister was married to Castella. That must have been difficult for you. Did you see that interview she did about her marriage?' Donna didn't give up easily. Rita glanced behind her at Alfonso and gave him a pleading look but he didn't seem to notice, deep in conversation with his nephew.

'No, and I don't care to,' Rita said firmly. While her and Maria had spoken a handful of times since Castella's death, her sister's lack of contrition and her frequent requests for money for legal costs now she was being charged with corruption in public office and profiting from organised crime, killed any desire Rita had had for a relationship. The final straw had been when she had taken Maria to Santuario Colmenar as part of her ill fated reconciliation attempt. Maria had harassed Pepelito, yelling 'Eh! Toro!' and waving a picnic blanket to attract his attention - like a matador.

When the bull had wandered away, Maria had moaned that he didn't like her.

'No love lost between you two then? I totally understand. Think she'll be sent down?'

'That depends on the judge's conclusion.'

'Slightly personal question, sorry. But if she is, do you think you'll visit her?'

Rita was saved by the presence of Alfonso behind her. Gently, he put his arm around her and she had rarely been so grateful. Rita hugged him back and found some of her tension subside.

'Is everything OK?' he said.

'Sure,' Rita said.

'Well, here's my card, if you want to get in touch. Me and Erica would both love to have you on the show and hear your story.' Donna gave Alfonso an awkward smile. She handed Rita a business card. Rita took it and stared, then let it fall to the floor. Seemingly oblivious, Donna said, 'Get in touch, yeah? I'd love to hear from you. I'm a big admirer of yours, Rita.'

'Who was that?' Alfonso said.

'Some podcaster,' Rita shrugged, relieved to watch Donna push her way through the crowd. 'I appreciate you coming to my rescue. That was weird.'

'It looked a little intrusive,' Alfonso agreed. The two walked back towards the table where Matteo was sitting with his beer. 'As long as you're OK. Are you still getting that drink?'

'I mean...it's been a long couple days for me. The drive, the train to Barcelona, the Eurostar and this - I don't usually do these things and I need to adjust. It's all a bit intense. I might go up to bed. Maybe I'll come down later. I hope you don't mind.' Someone else was giving her an odd stare; a man with biker jeans and close cropped hair. Internally she shuddered.

'Not at all, mi amor.' Alfonso gave her hand a squeeze. 'I imagine me and Matteo will stay down here a bit longer. We've got some catching up to do.'

*

Rita stepped up to the lift and touched the button. I can do this, she thought, a small victory. It had taken her several months before she could go into a confined space like an elevator again without freaking out. She was over that now. The thought of the doors closing and then not opening entered her mind for a second, then left. She pressed the button for her floor and shut her eyes.

'Rita!' Heather Cooper had texted her. Heather had been the officer in charge of the British side of the Henry Dixon investigation. Rita dawdled as she read. 'Jesús told me you're at the Crime Convention. Got time for a trip up to Yorkshire on the Saturday? I'm going for a curry to celebrate my promotion. Not massive, just family and mates. Subeera's coming up too - isn't she there too?'

'Congratulations, DCI Cooper!!!! I'd love to. Let me see.'

Heather reacted with a love heart. 'Can't believe it's real <3'

Rita slid her phone back in her pocket. Around the corner she could hear two young women having a conversation. 'Sure, Carly. It would be great to chat to you again. But, I'm sure you can appreciate, my schedule is quite hectic. Me and Donna have got a US tour coming up and sorting out everything for that. It's been a nightmare. Especially with all these new...tariffs or whatever.'

There was a muffled sound Rita couldn't catch. Then, 'No, it does matter.'

'There's always something, isn't there?' came a quieter, less well spoken voice. 'It's starting to feel like ... like you don't believe me. Do you think I'm making it up? Do you really think I would do that, Erica? Do you really think what I told you is a lie?'

'Carly - I don't think that at all. I just - I've been busy. We do want you on. I'm just - look, I'll sort some admin things out, and then we will invite you back on. I would love to hear more about your book. I promise.'

'Really?' Carly sounded tired and cynical. 'Sounds like another excuse. You're just like the others.'

Rita walked down the corridor to her and Alfonso's room. It was 306, wasn't it? She took her key card out of her pocket. Maybe she'd finally get another few pages in of the vampire novel she had started reading on the train. Dominguez's partner Roberto had recommended it and she could see why. She loved the romance but the 'Gabe' character and his brother made her skin crawl.

'Excuse me? Rita Silvera?' It was the voice of the same young woman she'd just heard. She looked exactly as she had sounded, cool and confident, with beautiful black hair and striking tanned features. 'My name is Erica Scott. I was hoping to catch you, if you're not -'

'Is this about that podcast?' Rita said. 'Look. Thanks, but no thanks. I am going to bed. It's been a day.'

'Oh.' The woman's mouth caught open in surprise, then disappointment and anxiety. 'Oh. Did...Donna already speak to you about it?'

'She did. I don't think it would be...right, for me.' Rita took a deep breath. 'Not now. Maybe in the future.'

'Oh no,' Erica visibly squirmed. She lost her confident demeanour. 'Oh no. I hope she wasn't...she can be a bit - a bit abrasive at times, a bit pushy. She's been unwell - she's got Borderli - umm, Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder, and sometimes she's really difficult to be around. I'm sure she didn't mean to come across horribly, but she can't always help it. Oh, no. I'm so sorry.'

Rita took a breath. 'My ex told me I have that. A common diagnosis for difficult women.'

'I really am sorry. I'm sure Donna's sorry, too.'

'Sorry. That was insensitive. It was a very traumatic time,' Rita said, keeping her voice calm. 'I have  some distance now. I'm sure your podcast is great, but I'm not ready to discuss what happened in that way. This killer murdered 22 people. I'm not at the banter stage yet.'

'I completely understand,' Erica said, and Rita found it hard to be dubious about her. 'Sorry again.'

Rita shrugged. 'Not a problem.' She wasn't sure if she meant it. 'I'm just out of my comfort zone here.'

Erica shook her head. 'Yeah, of course. I usually go every year with Donna and we do live recordings of cases. I'm doing another one tomorrow. The Mount Everest Murders, have you heard of that? Netflix have a documentary on it. The Heights of Psychopathy. No, um, the Heights of Madness.'

'No, I haven't.' The young woman seemed twitchy and nervous and Rita doubted it was because she was starstruck at meeting her or embarrassed at Donna's behaviour. Something held her back from just getting into her room and shutting the door, as much as she wanted to.

Call it a copper's instinct.

'Was that what this was about - the podcast? I've been on the train for several hours. I'm ready to collapse. You did a two hour talk, right? I am sure you must be too.'

Erica looked stunned. No, Rita thought as she watched her - she looked terrified. She slowly put a hand against the door frame. Her arm shook slightly and she lowered her voice to an odd whisper. 'That guy who was with you in the bar. The young guy. Do you - do you know who he is?'

'My boyfriend's nephew. Why do you ask?' Rita said carefully, the uneasy feeling that had been building in her stomach rising inside her.

'Just a warning, woman to woman.' Erica took a breath and swallowed hard. Her hand slid down the painted frame of the hotel room door. 'If your boyfriend is anything like his nephew you should get the hell out and never look back. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree in these types of situations.'

'What?' As Rita's brain connected with the words, something jolted her from inside. 

'My friendly advice is to stay far, far away from that kid, and probably that whole family.' Erica swallowed hard, her legs wobbling as she spoke. 'That's what I wanted to tell you. Have a nice evening, Rita.'

For a moment, she was too stunned to speak.

'Wait,' she said, but the young woman had turned on her heel and walked away.