Rita ordered two cokes at the place Lucia had suggested and sat just outside the door, in a small, shaded courtyard. Laurentia sat inside, out of sight. She hadn't slept and kept replaying the events at the plaza de toros, her collapse, the claustrophobia, the way she saw people looking at her. She had to stay in control or she'd lose everything.
Lucia turned up about 20 past 5, just as Rita was thinking about going. A denim bag slung over her shoulder, she was wearing lip gloss and a lot of blue eyeliner. She sat down, looking breathless.
'Hey,' the teenager said nervously. 'Sorry I'm late.'
'That's OK,' Rita said. 'How are you?'
'OK, I guess,' Lucia shrugged, drinking her coke out the bottle. She took a packet of cigarettes from her bag and offered one to Rita.
'You're far too young to smoke.' She shook her head. The girl shrugged.
'What are you gonna do about it. Put me in jail?' Lucia said, lighting up, but she didn't seem annoyed, just resigned as she flicked ash into the tray.
'I started smoking at your age, I only managed to stop five years ago. It's a bad habit to get into, expensive too.' The teenager rolled her eyes but looked self-conscious.
Then, Lucia looked at the table. She was silent for a while and when she spoke next she was close to tears. ‘I’m really sorry, Rita. I hope my video didn’t get you in trouble. The bull, he just seemed so loving and trusting. When you gave him away, I thought you were killing him. I didn’t know Alfonso was an activist. I assumed the worst. I’m so sorry. I wanted you to know that.’
'Nah, slap on the wrist and that's it. My boss thought the exact same as you. He said it made the police look uncaring.' Rita kept her voice light and jokey.
Lucia gave an embarrassed smile. 'You'll think this is cringe, but I found him so relatable, because - I don't belong in this world and sometimes I just want to run away.'
'What do you mean?'
The girl swallowed, sipping her drink. 'That first video of him. It just reminded me of, like, being beaten up at school, or the other girls having a go about my mum, with everyone stood around watching. When I'm at school, I just want to escape, like the bull did. A lot of times I just don't go.'
Rita felt a rush of sympathy for Lucia, the urge to protect her. Finding the killer might help her and her family find peace.
'That must be really difficult.'
Lucia nodded and sipped her drink, shuddering. She took a drag on her cigarette and quickly changed the subject back. 'But yeah, he's a peach. Super brave and adorable.'
'Yeah, when he knows you're a friend, he's super affectionate and full of love.'
Lucia nodded, finishing the cigarette and drawing out another one. Teenagers were always rebellious, but it was worrying how much this 14 year old was smoking. 'Aw. What a legend. I love animals.'
Rita held the girl's gaze. 'Were you going to tell me something? Because I can chat about this all day, but...'
Lucia took a deep breath, suddenly looking nervous. She tapped the cigarette over the ashtray.
'Yeah, sorry. I was...it's my anxiety. Abuela said you arrested someone, is that the killer?' The girl's voice was a mixture of fascinated, sad and hopeful. Watching her, Rita couldn't imagine what it would have been like growing up in this situation, the shadow of her mum's murder hanging over everything. Lucia was both childlike and far too grown up for her age – nowhere near as tough or worldly as she was trying to seem.
'I don't want to say too many details, without other members of your family present,' Rita said.
Lucia looked crushed.
'You don't have to treat me like a child, I'm strong enough to hear it.'
'Legally, I do,' Rita said. The girl rolled her eyes and took another puff, reminding her a lot of herself when she was that age - weird, edgy posturing mixed with childish vulnerability.
'I dunno if this is important but. A few years ago, Abuela was going through my mum's things and she found this. She can't bear to throw anything out that belonged to her. Anyway, this was from a conference or something, it's from the weekend my mum died. I think maybe she picked it up from a hotel when she saw a customer.' Lucia said it so matter of factly. She passed a battered leaflet across the table. Rita took it and inspected it.
The leaflet was in English.
'Standing for Freedom and Building Growth: Preserving national traditions and building a conservative movement across Europe.' Rita had a look at the list of speakers, who were from a range of different countries. Their mayor was on the list, a man she hated. He rarely seemed to not be on holiday, and also happened to be the president of the bullring.
These had to be the VIPs.
'Henry Dixon: Lessons from Margaret Thatcher on prospects for a sound economy.' She had heard that name before. But where? A conservative UK politician. What had he been doing here, she thought, irritated. The leaflet also mentioned another MP called George Stenton.
Valero had mentioned a wealthy British guy called George.
'What made you think this might be important, Lucia?' she said, more sharply than she intended.
'It wasn't me. It was Abuela. She's always going on about what was on at the time and how none of the guests at the events were looked into. I love her, but...it gets too much sometimes, like, she's always sad, especially when it's my mum's birthday and things like that. That doesn't make me a bad person, does it?' Lucia gulped.
'Not at all. Families are difficult,' Rita said. The girl was visibly relieved.
'So, a few weeks ago, like, that guy, Henry Dixon, it went viral that he was at that corrida. He hurt the bull, he tried to stop him getting away! It was horrible. Like, I just remembered that leaflet. So creepy that it was for the day before Mum dying.' Lucia's voice rose. She spoke passionately.
Ah yeah.
That was where she'd heard it.
To Rita, this sick spectacle was the national shame. And these pompous, privileged men came from overseas just so they could watch it.
'Maldito. He's not the only powerful man who enjoys this sort of thing,' Rita said. She went onto Google and searched for his name. The top result in English said, 'Lord Henry Dixon accused of mistreating escaped Spanish bull'.
'Pobrecitos,' Rita whispered. As well as Pepelito, the article had pictures of Castella's first bull Ladron bleeding, his tongue hanging out, hardly able to walk as he stood waiting to die. Trapped in the dark, driven mad with fear, Pepelito would have heard and smelt everything.
'This guy loves his corridas, doesn't he.' Henry was president of something called the Taurine Club of Kensington, an association for British bullfighting lovers. To view anything on its website, you had to pay and then fill out a form to become a member. There was no way she was doing that.
A chill came over her.
'Upper class British guys, who come here on holiday to watch bullfighting.'
'Did you watch that video? The one of him escaping? It just made me so happy. I know it would have made my mum happy too.' Lucia's face lit up. Rita shook her head.
'I should. I'm being a wimp. It just broke my heart to find him like that.'
'I think you should see it, not the horrible parts, just the end. There are some funny comments as well.' Rita nodded. The idea of watching the vile, preening Castella and his assistants torture Pepelito made her want to throw up. Watching the video would send her into a spiral of rage.
But she'd have to now.
Henry Dixon had been at the corrida.
He'd been in the vicinity of at least two murders.
He fit their profile.
'I suppose I should.' Rita said. There was nobody on the surrounding tables in the cafe. Lucia's eyes darted around the street. There was a long pause while the girl drank the last of her coke. Then she spoke.
'Abuela would kill me, but I want to be a cop when I'm older, so I can catch people like the guy who killed my mum,' she said nervously, fiddling with the lid of the coke bottle.
Rita stared her in the eye. She wanted to hug her, but tried not to display these maternal, protective feelings. 'Keep your eye on that goal, then, and try not to skip any more classes. I think you'd be amazing.'
'You're gonna think this is dumb.' Lucia's lip trembled. Rita shook her head; the information given her so far had been anything but dumb.
'But sometimes. Always in summer. Sometimes, when Abuela used to fetch me, before I started getting the bus, I used to think I'd seen someone watching me, looking at me when I came out of school. I've known my whole life my mum was murdered. So maybe that's why. My mind playing tricks. Everyone told me not to be stupid, so I don't talk about it usually.' Lucia's cigarette had gone out. She lit it again.
'But you know that Henry guy? When Abuela found that leaflet, I couldn't believe it. Because the guy I used to imagine sometimes looked exactly like him.'
'Like, I'm sure it's nothing,' Lucia said nervously. There was a long silence. Rita felt sick. Kids felt they were invincible at that age, and especially with girls, few listened to them.
'It doesn't sound like nothing.' Lucia looked doubtful. Rita had a nauseous feeling twisting up her stomach.
He'd get a kick out of it, wouldn't he?
Watching the daughter of his victim.
Staring at her from a distance.
'Hmm, I suppose.'
'Lucia.' Rita's heart was pounding. 'If you see this man following you again, you must call 091 immediately.'
****
After eating a substantial dinner with the other club members, Henry retired to his bedroom, where he saw he had an email from one of his old Eton chums. The chilling subject line said, 'Tegan'. A name Henry and his friends never uttered after that party and their unspoken conspiracy of silence. It had been somewhat of a gentleman's agreement. So what did this fool think he was doing with such a message?
'You may want to be aware of this, Dickers, in case there is future legal trouble down the line,' the email said. Below was a link to an article.
Seeing its title, Henry felt numb.
'I am innocent, says released ex-wife of stabbing victim.'
Reading on, he began to feel tingly, light-headed and nauseous.
'Tegan Ferry, whose conviction for the murder of her ex-husband has been overturned, claims crucial evidence has been missed in the case.
Speaking today upon her release, she said, 'Graham and I certainly had our differences. But, I never, ever wished him dead. I have spent 8 years in prison for a crime I didn't commit, while, it appears, his murderer has walked free to kill again and again. I'd like to thank my family and friends for their support.'
Tegan's daughter Georgia said, 'I'm grateful for all those that steadfastly believed in my mum's innocence. Now, our focus must turn towards seeking justice for my stepdad and catching the real killer.''
She didn't say 'identifying', did she, he noticed, with a sinking, falling feeling in his chest.
Just 'catching'.
Catching the real killer.
Wealth wouldn't deter people like Rita or Heather. They couldn't be bought, either.
They were onto him.
If they weren't, they soon would be.
AN: Now that we're at this point - any predictions for the end? :)