'Excuse me - Room 424? Here are your belongings. Sorry for the delay.' The hotel porter, a young, clean shaven man in his 20s, looked as nervous and shell shocked as Rita felt. He was carrying their suitcases in a metal trolley along with some clothes and pyjamas strewn on the top.

'Thank you,' Rita said.

Turning to Alfonso, the porter said, 'Sir, your booking also included Matteo Cadiz in Room 331. That's right, isn't it?'

Alfonso hesitated before he spoke. 'That's right, yes.'

'And are you checking out this morning?'

'I think so, yes.'

'Will you consider our free 4-night offer?'

Rita and Alfonso looked at each other.

'I don't know. My brother offered to put us up,' Alfonso said. Rita hadn't even thought about where she wanted to stay and doubted he had either.

'Sir, I highly suggest taking up this offer. It will simplify things should any developments arise.'

That's reassuring, Rita thought.

'Let's think about it. We've all had a shock,' Alfonso said, tightening his arm around Rita. She felt her tension ease, replaced with embarrassment at how irrational fear had so easily overridden her. He hadn't out and out lied to her. As soon as they were away from the throngs of agitated people and the murder-themed decor they would talk. Who knew, maybe she would be able to help Matteo out in some way. He was still young. Not everyone who had been in trouble with the law was irredeemable.

Most people weren't.

'Can you inform Matteo that we need his key card back as soon as possible, especially under the circumstances. There is a £70 charge for failing to return it. We also need his consent to verify what time he entered and left his room last night...'

'You haven't brought any of his luggage. He had a few bags, didn't he, Rita?' Alfonso said in a confused tone. The hotel porter looked stricken. Clearly he'd been dealing with a lot. Some of the other guests were shocked and panicky. Others were angry.

'I'm afraid we found nothing in the room, sir, except a phone charger. It looks like he has left without telling anyone.' The porter shrugged, indicating the phone charger that lay draped on Alfonso's camo print bag. Rita felt like she had been punched. This was fucking weird. Her mind flicked back to Donna and the dark, damp patches on her t-shirt, pictured her frantically trying and failing to wake Erica up.

'Anyway, sir, can you let him know?'

'I can try,' Alfonso said.

'So he cleared out everything in his room without telling anyone?' Rita said once the attendant was gone. 'Shouldn't we...'

'I don't know. Let's just wait. He's seen my messages.' Alfonso looked tense. He stared at his phone. Rita sat down, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling inside.

'Well, Matteo finally replied,' he muttered a few minutes after the porter had left. 'He says he had a panic attack and left last night just after he went up. Says he's at a friend's house. Says it all got too much for him and he had to go get some air.'

Rita took a deep breath. 'OK. If he says so.'

'Yeah...now I know we're not waiting for him I feel better about leaving.'

As they prepared to make a move, the woman who had been reading the Jack the Ripper book shoved past aggressively, knocking his big suitcase over. The suitcase was not done up properly but neither of them had thought to do it and some of Alfonso's clothes spilled onto the floor.

'Hey,' Rita said. 'Watch where you're going.'

'Oh! Well, I'm sorry.' The woman didn't seem sorry. She thumped the book she had been clutching onto Alfonso's done-up suitcase. The lanyard around her neck said that her name was Sandra Horsforth. Alfonso was no longer wearing his and Rita realised she had forgotten to hand hers back. 'This is a pity. I looked forward to this for the entire year. I don't see why they had to cancel it. Now I have to claim my money back. I can't get the app to work. Who can keep up with all this technology?'

'Someone's been murdered. They can't exactly keep an event going under these circumstances.'

'I don't know,' Sandra huffed, swinging a leather tote bag over her shoulder. 'Nothing like a real mystery to get one's teeth into, is there?' She gave Rita a conspiratorial look. 'I watched her live show last night. Not to speak ill of the dead, but it wasn't very good. Dreadful, actually.'

'Oh. She was probably under stress,' Rita said. As soon as she had said it, she wondered how Sandra seemed so sure of the identity of the victim. Had she overheard Donna? While Yvonne Lindon had since confirmed that there had been a suspicious death, the police were cagey about releasing details and hadn't named Erica.

'Stress?' Sandra made a sour face. 'Everyone's got something wrong with them.'

Sandra marched out of the revolving glass doors. 'That was weird,' Alfonso muttered as they packed the last of his stuff and Rita put her lanyard into a small box by the door. Looking down at his suitcase, he said, 'She left her book.'

Rita picked up the book, one hand on her suitcase, as they walked into the exit and out into the street. It was a large, heavy, 507-page hardback. The cover featured a dark, cobbled alley with an old fashioned street lamp, illuminating a cloaked, sinister figure. 'Jack the Ripper - Unmasking a Monster by Professor Jon Phillips.'

'It's signed,' she said, staring at the title page. 'And it cost 25 pounds. Did you see where she went?'

'You're so law abiding,' Alfonso chuckled. 'If she left it with us, I doubt she's too bothered. And I don't care enough to want to track her down. Do you?'

As they followed the footpath away from the hotel, Rita had to admit he had a point. Not wanting to carry it, she stuffed the book into a compartment on the top of her suitcase. She could hardly fit the zip over it.

They walked down a path past an artificial lake, past immaculately cut grass. In the day Rita hardly noticed the small LED lights on each side of the pathway. As they walked away from the Ornata Hotel and Conference Centre, the noise of traffic grew louder as they approached a tunnel under the main road, beyond which was a train and coach station, primarily serving the out of town hotel and entertainment complex.

Near the entrance to the station was a Lebanese cafe called Aljiran Altiybin. Rita and Alfonso had bought coffee here yesterday after their train journey. Alfonso glanced through the window. 'How about going here? It looks decent.'

'Sure.' It hadn't been long since she'd eaten but she was already feeling hungry again and the hotel breakfast had gone straight through. 'It doesn't look too busy. Prices seem OK. I'll grab us something.'

'I'll go and grab a table,' Alfonso said, and headed towards the back. Rita stood in the queue. It was longer than it had looked outside but she didn't mind waiting. She slid out her phone and saw another of Emelina's updates. She had sent more pictures of Tulipan and her calf.

Surprisingly for its location, the cafe had a great selection of Lebanese dishes - tabbouleh salad, stuffed vine leaves, chickpea stew, pastries, baklava. Rita tried to think about what she would like but her mind kept going blank, her eyes drawn to a silent television. Donald Trump was standing at a White House podium, mouthing soundless words. At the bottom of the screen was the line, '25-year-old woman found dead at conference centre near London, police treating as suspicious.'

'...such a shock. It's only right that they cancel the convention. My book launch can wait. I only wish I knew where I had left my author's copy,' a man said behind her. Rita recognised his voice and felt her muscles clench. The man who had interrupted Subeera's talk this morning. The professor.

'Yes, I wouldn't expect anything else. Have they named the victim?' said another voice, uncomfortably close to her. She felt herself cringe from its well spoken familiarity. An English guy who had come from money.

Like him -

'I don't, Timothy, although I've heard some rumours.'

'Yes. I've also heard rumours,' Timothy said in a thoughtful tone. Sounding so like Henry, the voice turned Rita's stomach. Given who Timothy was hanging out with, she wasn't inclined to put her prejudices aside.

Glancing back, she saw Jon in his leather jacket. Timothy turned out to be an elderly white man in his 70s, with a dull grey coat and hair the same colour. The queue cleared and she stepped up to the counter.

'Hello. Two peppermint teas, please,' Rita said to the elderly woman standing behind the counter. The woman's hair was tied in a bun, under a loose headscarf. She wore a white apron.

'OK, dear,' the elderly woman said. Rita edged towards the far end of the coffee counter, stayed as unobtrusive as possible. Jon's gaze strayed towards her as he placed his order and waited. He gave her a long, lingering glance, like he was assessing her and checking her out. He smiled languidly at her and Rita returned it with a cold glare.

'Your tea,' the elderly barista said to Rita, sliding the drinks over on a red tray. Relieved, she thanked her, took the tray and walked towards the back of the cafe where Alfonso was sitting on an old sofa with the suitcases. The walls were covered with pictures of Lebanese scenery, Arabic inscriptions and delicious looking food from the cafe's menu. An antique wooden clock hung above where Alfonso was sitting and ticked loudly.

'Ugh. Stuck in front of the guy who harassed Subeera during her talk.' Rita put the drinks down and sat down beside him, drew closer.

'Poor Subeera. How is she doing?' Alfonso laced his fingers into hers. At the other end of the cafe, she felt Jon's eyes watching her. She wanted to walk over and punch him; she only relaxed when Alfonso put his arm around her waist and kissed her lightly on the mouth. She leaned over and kissed him back harder. They sunk back into the soft sofa and for a minute there was nothing else going on in the world.

'I don't know. She puts on a good face but it can't be easy for her, not in this job.' She sighed, sliding her phone from her pocket. 'I should ask her if she wants to go for dinner while I'm here.'

'You're a good friend,' Alfonso said.

'Did you think about a name for Pepelito's calf?' she asked Alfonso. 'Thinking of our friends.' A waitress walked past carrying some tea with a stick of cinnamon in it.

'Canela,' Alfonso said, smiling fondly at her. It was amazing what moments like this could do. For a few moments, it seemed like old times. But as they lay on the old leather seats she could feel the tension in his body.

'Right. So. Matteo,' he sighed, leaning forward. 'I need to explain.'

'It's OK. We don't have to discuss it right now.' Rita watched the window at the other end of the cafe. Jon and Timothy were now deep in conversation. The professor's loud voice carried across the room.

'No. I need to.' Alfonso's voice was firm. 'I should have told you before.' He took her hand in both of his. 'I didn't tell you before because I didn't know what you'd say.'

'Go on,' Rita said.

'I don't know the full details. But when he was 14, there were complaints at his school about his behaviour. He was expelled. Federico wouldn't tell me everything but it must have been serious, because he was only allowed back after two years.' Alfonso gave her a tortured look. 'People change. He was only a kid. I didn't want it to affect your view of him.'

He took a deep breath. 'It must have been a year before I met you, when I last saw him. Matteo was constantly arguing and fighting with his sister. Federico couldn't get him to do anything. Anyway...' Alfonso sipped his tea. His eyes shifted around. He looked like he was trying to force the words out. Rita squeezed his hand.

'I stayed at my brother's for a week. We tried to get Matteo doing things,' Alfonso whispered. 'Going for walks. Helping in the house. He wasn't having any of it. He threw things during arguments...' He swallowed, his face pale. 'Rita, he was just a 15 year old kid, not a psychopath. It shouldn't damn him, should it? Federico says he is so much more together. He was going through a really bad time, and my brother wasn't the most stable or understanding parent. One day, I asked him to help me out in the kitchen with a meal. Things got very heated...I still don't understand.'

'What did he do?' Rita said in an undertone, feeling nauseous.

'He grabbed a knife and put it against my throat.'