'What's this?' Aimee snatched the tissue paper from Rita's hand. 'He gave you his number? He didn't even speak to you. How does he even know who you are?'

'My boy Pepelito and I seem to have become celebrities without realising it.' Rita continued eating. 'Going to the Crime Convention was...an experience. Everyone seemed to know who I was and wanted to ask me about things I wasn't ready to talk about.' She shuddered, remembering Jon's remarks about Pepelito, the way he had phrased his 'debate opener', so calibrated to provoke a reaction.

Aficionado talk.

As if the bull was an object to be admired for his bloodline and 'bravura', the entertainment he could provide to the Taurine Club and its members, men like Henry Dixon and George Stenton and - apparently - Jon's father. Like the spectacle the taurinos had wanted Pepelito to be, not the loving, empathetic creature she knew him to be, the gentle bull whose coat she had cried into during her darkest moments.

'It'll die down,' Aimee muttered. 'There's always another case for people to get their teeth into.' She squinted at the tissue paper. 'Ehh. My side. My side of what?'

'Dios mio. He must guess everything I've been hearing about him is negative. He wants the last word.' She ate a mouthful of dosa, then hovered her phone over the napkin, snapped a photo of Jon's message just as Heather approached the table looking flustered. 'Alfonso and I were in the same cafe as him when the sister of his late wife - the one he was accused of murdering - came in and tried to attack him. I had to break up the fight and hold her back. He must be talking about that.' With Heather's colleagues around, Rita left out what Subeera had told her about Jon's predatory behaviour with young women, her belief that he had sabotaged her career.

But Sandra had been carrying around that bag of clothes, hadn't she? Rita couldn't get away from that.

'Jesus,' Aimee said, shuddering. 'You're not gonna ring him, are you?'

'He's gone.' Heather came up behind them. She was out of breath. 'Me and Mithun looked all over. He even looked in the gents and round the back. Like he was never there.' She leaned over Aimee's chair, her arms around her neck. 'You all right, Aimz?'

'Course. Your dinner's getting cold, love.' Aimee kissed Heather on the mouth as she sat down.

*

Having had a bit of mango sorbet and a couple of syrupy, plant-based Indian sweets from her plate, Rita felt completely stuffed at the end of the dinner. It was probably the first time since she had become vegan 25 years ago that a dessert had defeated her. After she'd had it boxed up and they'd all paid, she staggered out of the restaurant, feeling much more settled and less tense than earlier in the evening.

'You all right with a 25 minute walk back to ours, Rita love?' Heather asked, linking arms with Aimee. 'Didn't bring the car on purpose. Need to get me steps in after all this food.'

'Steps? Don't be daft. I felt drops, Hev.' Trish shook her head. 'Bob and I will take you back, come on.'

'Mam, you mustn't put yourself out -' Heather started, but didn't finish her sentence. Thank God, Rita thought, as a huge, cold drop landed on her cheek, then another one. They dripped down her skin. The wet wind swept her face and she found herself walking to Heather's parents' car on autopilot. Trish and Bob had to be in their late 70s or early 80s but were still driving. It gave Rita hope that she too could be like that when she got to that age. Once inside she put her bag on her lap as Aimee and Heather clambered in.

Rita's phone vibrated in her pocket; she suspected it was Alfonso finally but she didn't feel like looking. She spent too much time staring at the damn thing as it was and it wasn't every day she was in the UK, wasn't every day she saw Heather and Aimee. It wasn't every day that she could enjoy a night like this free from the responsibility of work - paid work, that is.

There was also a part of her that felt scared to look at whatever the notification would say.

Trish started the car and the radio came on at full volume. As she fumbled to turn it down the newsreader said, 'And now, we return to our top story. The Israeli Defence Forces have continued their ground offensive in Deir al-Balah. An IDF spokesman responded to criticism of its tactics by the UN, by saying that Israel has an absolute right to defend itself. But according to a new report...' 

'That's where Subeera's from, you know, Deir al-Balah,' Heather muttered, leaning against Aimee's shoulder as they left the car park with a slightly bumpy motion, rain slamming onto the windscreen.

'Yeah.' Rita swallowed hard, a pain in her heart at the unspeakable horror described in the news report.

'I want to say something, but I never know if it's the right thing, or if it would make her feel worse, poor lass,' Heather sighed. 'I've known her for years on and off and she's told me all these things about her family and places she went to as a kid but we haven't much talked about war or anything of that sort. I wanted to tell her...'

'Just be there for her if she wants to talk. Treat her like anyone else. You're good at that,' Rita said, looking out of the window at the rows and rows of houses lit up by street lights. 'Anything we said or did wouldn't be enough. But maybe our support could help a little.'

Trish turned through into a row of large terraced red brick houses, and parked the car halfway down the street, in front of a large oak tree. Rita unlatched the car door and extricated her legs from the cramped space in front of the back seat. Outside, it had stopped raining, and the air was filled with a fresh, pleasant smell.

'Wake up, Aimee, love, we're here,' Bob chuckled as he opened the passenger door. 'Watch out. That one will fall asleep in five minutes if you let her.' Aimee shifted and stirred and then unlatched the door so both her and Heather could get out. Again, as she got out, Rita felt the gaping absence of a kind of closeness she could never have had. She found her lip trembling as she watched the elderly couple. The way they'd so totally accepted Aimee as one of their own without any judgement.

'It was great to meet you,' she told Bob and Trish as she stood by their car window, and meant it.

Once they had said their goodbyes, Rita followed Heather and Aimee fifty metres down the road to a house with a pale blue door and a cherry tree in front of it, illuminated by a bright street light. A lime green Ford Fiesta was parked outside. Inside was a light grey carpet and pale purple walls that smelled slightly of paint.

'Excuse the smell, we've been redecorating,' Aimee said, shutting the door. A tub of paint lay by the staircase.

'D'you want a cuppa, love?' Heather asked Rita as she walked through to the kitchen. 'We've got normal, or chamomile.' Heather turned on an old fashioned kettle which whistled loudly. Some cups were hanging by their handles on a rack above it.

'I'll have chamomile.'

'Sure thing. I'll bring it up. Aimz, show Rita the spare room, would you?' Heather yawned. 'Sorry, love. I'd love to stay down here a bit and catch up but I'm absolutely shattered.' There was no need for her to be so apologetic, Rita thought. Exhausted herself, she wasn't exactly complaining.

Aimee showed Rita upstairs into a room with dark blue walls. 'This used to be Marty's room. It became my study when he moved out,' she explained. The room was dominated by a large bookshelf with football trophies on the top shelf. On the wardrobe were two teddies. One had a Leeds United top on and one was dressed in a Santa costume. The books were a strange mix of football biographies, romantasy novels and forensic psychology textbooks. 'Bathroom's round the corner. Need anything, give us a shout.'

Rita sat down on the bed and slid her phone out of her pocket. As she had hoped, Alfonso had replied. As soon as she saw his name relief flooded her, releasing tension she hadn't even realised she was holding. 'Sorry for the delay, mi amor. Lina and I had a great time. I got back an hour ago. We went shopping and I took her around one of the Oxford colleges, she wants to apply in a few years. Then we went for dinner.' Alfonso had sent several pictures. One of them was of a herd of cows grazing on a meadow near the water.

'Clever kid, then. Good luck to her if she does apply. We should have brought Pepelito here after all 😅' she sent. 'How is she?' 

'On the whole good, but she told me something that upset me. Can we talk about it when you're back?' 

Rita replied with a thumbs up, disconcerted. 'We can talk about it tonight?' 

Alfonso read the message and began to type something, but then stopped. After a moment he wrote, 'You know I'm not great with that stuff. Let's talk when you're here.' She sent him a teddy bear holding a heart, wishing he was there.

Heather knocked on the door. 'Here’s your tea,' she said as Rita opened the door, and handed her a hot mug with a picture of a dog on it. 'Are you all right? I didn't mean it to seem like I was getting rid of you.'

'It's totally fine.' As Rita took the mug she noticed a tiny cream-coloured ladybird running up the door frame. Her eyes flicked to the little creature at the same time Heather's did.

'She keeps getting in here. Or maybe he. I have no idea,' Heather muttered, cupping her hands and trapping the insect. It was touching to watch. 'Come on, you. You need to go outside.' She shook her head. 'One just like this landed on me at a crime scene a couple weeks ago. I'm not convinced it's not a sign of something.'

Her hands closed, Heather said, 'I don't get why that old housemate of Aimee's would write you a message like that.' She breathed out and walked towards Rita's window. 'How are you feeling with that murder at the conference? Must have been such a shock for you.' She opened the window and stuck her hand out of it, muttering, 'Go on, out you go. Fly away home. Honestly.'

'It was.'

'I know Subeera's been working on that investigation.' Heather shut the window. She turned back to Rita, her voice gentle. 'I don't know everything. She's not told me a lot, but I know there are problems with racism and all sorts in her department. Her current boss was under investigation at Greater Manchester a couple years ago. Forgotten his name. Bent as a nine bob note he is. Should have been fired.'

'Yes, I have heard it is bad.' Rita sipped her tea, a prickle of apprehension down her spine.

'Try not to get mixed up in anything while you're here,' Heather said quietly. 'It won't end well and nobody will thank you. I know from bitter experience. Now, if only I could take my own advice.'

'It might be too late for that.'

'Yeah? Look after yourself, love,' Heather said in a dubious tone. 'You're a good copper and a good friend. After all that work we did on Henry Dixon, you and Dominguez matter a lot to me. Just take care.' She began to close the door but hesitated. 'Try to, anyway.'

*

After Heather had gone and Rita had got herself ready for bed, she picked up her phone and found her document. She entered the words 'Police corruption' in Spanish below her list of suspects, and made a note to find out Subeera's bosses' names, feeling foolish and inadequate. With everything Rita added to the document came an ever increasing sense of frustration at her own ridiculous personality.

Who did she think she was kidding, trying to solve Erica's murder on her own?

But there was too much injustice here. Everything she learned convinced her that the existing investigation was fatally flawed, and potentially riddled with corruption. If she stood by while a friend, already coping with so much unimaginable pain as her childhood home was systematically destroyed, lost her job and had her reputation trashed, while another innocent person faced being sent to prison, wouldn't that make her complicit?

Rita swung her legs onto the bed and searched through her photos until she found Jon's note. Her heart pounded. The thought of his smirk made her skin crawl. What, if anything, did he have to tell her that was so important? Her stomach clenched at the way he'd so clearly enjoyed toying with her, the way she'd seen him treat her friends, the abuse she knew he had got away with.

He'd followed her.

Out of all the bad ideas she'd ever had, this had to be among the worst.

Didn't it?

She stared at the number, reached for a pen on the bedside table and wrote it on her hand. It didn't work straight away, and took a few tries.

Then she reached into her bag and found a small zip-up purse. She had bought a UK SIM card at the train station when she arrived. She had not needed to use it so far, but had kept it in the purse just in case. You never knew when you might need it. She unzipped the purse and swapped the two SIM cards, turned her phone back on, and added the number to her contacts.

Then, she opened WhatsApp.

'It's Rita.' Her finger hovered over the send button, her hand shaking. She took a deep breath and drank most of the chamomile tea. The fluffy dog on the mug looked at her innocently, its tongue hanging out and a red ribbon in its fur. Heather’s warning rung in her ears.

Then, she picked the phone up and pressed send.

He was online. The screen showed that he was typing. Rita finished the tea and took several deep breaths. By the time she'd looked at the screen again, he had replied.

'Wow! I wasn't expecting this. A pleasure to make your acquaintance ☺️' The use of that emoji and the false familiarity set her teeth on edge. She had to put him right. 

'This isn't about pleasure. You said you wanted to talk. Let's meet tomorrow.'

AN: Part of this scene will take place from the ladybird's POV in Fly Away Home.