'Are you scared of him?' Rita asked gently, feeling the revelation like a punch to the gut. Alfonso wasn't wrong to feel the way he did. That kindness had been part of why she'd fallen in love with him. Of course people changed.

But they didn't always.

And the thought of anything happening to him made her want to sob.

'Look. Federico didn't think him going to the Crime Convention would be a bad thing. Matteo's apparently very keen to learn about criminal behaviour, from an educational perspective - when I spoke to him he thought it would be more factual and less...gaudy.' Alfonso swallowed. 'Look at Lucia Gutierrez. The first time she saw us, she literally threw stones at us.'

'That isn't the same.' The angry 14-year old who had caught them leading Pepelito to Silvio's truck wouldn't have threatened anyone at knifepoint, she was sure of it. She remembered Lucia's hesitation and nervousness at her grandmother's house and afterwards in the cafe, and her almost suicidal smoking habit. Lucia had started volunteering at Santuario Colmenar one weekend a month; last time Rita had seen her she had seemed like a different person.

'I never felt in danger from Lucia,' Rita said. She drew herself up on the sofa and repeated the question. 'Are you scared of him?'

'I don't...' Alfonso started. 'He has issues, but...no - I don't think Federico would have asked me to come here if he was truly dangerous.' He took a big gulp of the peppermint tea. 'But...Matteo was desperate to go, and Federico agreed to pay for his ticket on condition that we kept an eye on him. He didn't say it outright, but thinking about it, yeah - probably because you're an officer.'

'Thank you for being honest,' Rita said, putting her arm around him. 'Maybe we should take up that offer from the hotel,' she said, anxious about spending a night in Matteo's house even if he never appeared. 'I'll get over my issue with hotels.'

'Yeah. Maybe we should.' He hugged her tightly and kissed her hair. She felt the tension dissipate and the weight against her chest begin to shift. They sat like that for a few minutes. As she sipped the last of her tea she realised her stomach was growling. It was still early but the only thing she'd eaten so far was a bit of toast. The cafe was starting to empty out now so many Crime Convention attendees had got the hell out of dodge.

'Let me treat you after all this crap,' Rita said. 'I like the look of the falafel wrap. What about you?'

'How about the vegan shakshuka,' Alfonso said. She squeezed his shoulder and walked back to the front of the counter. Despite the unease that remained she felt lighter. She and Alfonso had listened to each other. She got where he was coming from - mostly. For now they were OK, even if other things weren't. She watched out of her peripheral vision and smiled, as he opened her suitcase and took out Sandra's book.

'See that woman standing there? That's Rita Silvera,' she heard Jon saying to Timothy from his seat by the window. Since her talk with Alfonso she had forgotten he was here. But the way he had looked at her had left a bad taste in her mouth that still lingered.

'Remind me?'

'Henry Dixon.'

Hijo de puta, Rita thought.

'Ah. Of course.'

'Can I help you two gentlemen?' she asked, ice in her voice.

'Rita! Great to meet you. I do apologise about this morning. You must have got quite a poor impression of me.' Jon's eager, charming manner was a disturbing contrast to everything else Rita had seen of him so far, the aggression to Subeera and unsettling stare in the queue. Timothy smiled weakly at Rita but looked startled and awkward.

'That will happen when you insult a friend of mine the way you did,' Rita muttered.

'I'm sorry if that was your impression. I'm sure DI Sabbagh is good at what she does. But we've had some... unfortunate past encounters.' Jon grimaced, then flashed a smile before Rita could respond. 'I only wish we had met in better circumstances. I followed the Henry Dixon case closely. I watched all the press conferences. Even as someone critical of the police, your courage was exceptional.'

'I was doing my job. Pepelito was the real hero.' Rita spoke tersely. At the counter, two elderly ladies were taking a long time giving a complicated order for six different people. She wished they would hurry up.

'Pepelito is remarkable. You don't often see bravura like that any more from his lineage.'

Oh.

Rita knew Jon sensed her revulsion. He quickly said, 'I should explain. My father is the aficionado, not me. He travelled in Spain during the 70s and met some of the greats. He was one-time acting president of the Taurine Club, before Lord Dixon - never had a good word to say about the man. Blames Dixon for dragging the Club's reputation through the mud.'

'That club is devoted to watching men like Javier Castella killing bulls. It deserves to be dragged through the mud and so does he.' Rita turned towards the counter, shuddering, hoping Timothy would say something or nudge him or draw back his attention. He didn't, just sat there looking awkward. Nearby, the door of the shop swung open and someone walked in.

'Well - I don't see any attraction myself.' Jon stood uncomfortably close to her. 'My father and I have diametrically opposing views on almost everything. But we do enjoy a heated but rational debate.'

'There is no attraction. It is torture.' Rita remembered Pepelito's bloody back and fearful eyes as he had lain shivering in her doorway. The way he had comforted her during the nightmare journey on Henry Dixon's jet. She saw herself stumbling into the sand, gazing around a ruined arena, hugging Pepelito amidst the pandemonium he had caused. That night, the bull had been so exhausted and fragile that after she'd been taken to hospital, Rita had lain awake terrified of losing him.

Maybe one day she would be able to enjoy a rational debate on this barbarity but not now.

Not here.

'Some of these matadors are very talented, I have to admit. Regardless of the morality of it all.' Jon looked at her sideways, a slight smirk on his face. He's fishing for a reaction, she thought, fighting with herself not to hit him. She stepped up to the counter, took a deep breath, and ordered her food.

'A falafel wrap and a vegan shakshuka, please,' she said. She took a numbered wooden spoon from the server and walked back towards her seat. Of course this professor was a fucking taurino -

As she approached her seat, someone nudged her arm hard. She turned around to see a middle aged woman, a little taller than her. It took Rita a minute to clock who it was. The woman's hair was neater than before and she was now dressed in a smart outfit, a grey coat and a black woollen skirt.

'Oh. Sandra,' Rita said, her stomach sinking. 'I need to give you back your book. I walked away with it, sorry.'

'It isn't mine. I found it, but I don't want it.' Sandra's eyes flashed with rage. 'I gave it to you because you're a detective. You know how to investigate a crime. And that book is evil, like the man who wrote it.' She jabbed an angry thumb in Jon's direction, and for the first time Rita connected his name with him being the author; losing his author's copy. 'Don't let him worm his way into your life.'

'Don't worry. There is no chance of that,' Rita muttered, not caring if he heard.

'I am warning you. Don't even speak to him, Rita,' Sandra snapped, digging her fingernails into her arm. 'He'll destroy you.'

'Thanks for telling me, Sandra.' Rita spoke as politely as she could. 'Can you let go, please?'

'I saw him last night with that...that hussy. I couldn't believe he dared show his face. I've come here for twelve years and he ruined everything in one moment,' Sandra shouted, flecking the air with spit. Everyone in the cafe turned to look at her. 'He has never apologised. He's a coward who won't admit what he did.'

Jon approached the two women, his voice laden with passive aggression. 'If you make a scene here, someone will call the police. This time, they might not look on it so kindly.'

Sandra marched over to the table where Alfonso was sitting, knocking a stray cup from an empty table onto the floor. It didn't smash, but two teaspoons clattered out. She snatched the book from Alfonso's hands and ripped out a few pages, then tossed the scrunched paper at the sofa, before slamming the book onto Alfonso and Rita's table with force. 'See? It's about his idol - Jack the Ripper.'

'Sandra,' Rita said, keeping her voice gentle. Her heart sank; Sandra completely ignored her. 'Come outside with me. Let's talk about it. Tell me what has happened.'

'Nothing has happened. Sandra needs professional help. The Court of Appeal found me innocent,' Jon said in a soft, menacing tone that chilled Rita's bones. 'Keep that in mind before you slander me.'

Sandra clenched her fists, staring at him in outraged loathing. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She spat hard onto the shiny wooden floor, then leapt at him, swinging her fist as he ducked away. Rita lunged at Sandra to pull her back, but she was too quick. The wooden spoon tumbled to the floor. 'You fooled the court, but you'll never fool me. You think it was nothing? Frances was your wife!'

'Stop this,' the woman at the till shouted, but nobody seemed to have heard. 'Get out!'

'I know what you are,' Sandra spat. 'Don't you dare say you're innocent. You murdered my sister!'