Rita sobbed, curled up on the floor, as Pepelito licked her face and arms in an effort to calm her. Lying with her hands tied behind her back, she was unable to do anything about his kind, well meant but thoroughly unwanted show of bovine affection. His long black tongue was rough like a cat's. He'd been startled by her screams, but otherwise seemed unnervingly chilled - much more so than her.
Chicero was as far away as he could get, shivering, drooling, giving her frightened looks and horning the floor. What kind of life had this poor animal had? Seeing his terror, her heart broke for the bull - but she was glad not to be anywhere near him.
She remembered turning down Castella's track - and nothing after that.
How long had she been here? Hours? Days?
Managing to sit up against the side of the container with her knees against her stomach, she tried to break her restraints against the wall, but couldn't undo the zip ties. The chain was about two metres long, but tied tightly around her waist and was secured by a padlock. Metal bars ran down the side of the container, separating her and Pepelito from Chicero.
'He knows I’m a cop, dulcito. This man is completely insane.'
While she stared at one of the cameras in the corner of the plastic box, Pepelito licked her shoulder. She froze, feeling vulnerable on the floor as he lumbered around. He would never hurt her on purpose, but he was horned, often clumsy, and a hefty size.
'Yeah, you're going to want to stop him climbing on your bed again, let alone lying down, especially if you're in it,' Alfonso laughed. Rita had taken to wearing steel capped police issue boots in the house in case the bull stood on her feet.
'How much do you reckon he weighs?'
'Um, the toros bravos are bred to be athletic, so lighter than some of the beef breeds, but 'lighter' is relative. I'd say he's average for the breed, maybe about 600 kilos? The bigger ones can get up to 800. Resting his head is fine but you'd be in trouble if he sat on you.'
Where was Alfonso?
He would be going out of his mind with worry. She swallowed, listening to the footsteps above her, as the cable tie cut into her wrists. With a lurch of nausea, she realised exactly what was happening.
Henry was leaving - and taking them with him.
Rita blinked back tears, self conscious, as if the bulls were an audience requiring she compose herself. Pepelito blithely got up, walked several paces away from her and then peed on the orange mat covering the floor, before grunting loudly, walking back and licking the back of her top. Suddenly, the tears gave way to laughter, especially when the black bull turned away, seeming embarrassed. Despite the worry of Pepelito's horns, the two bulls lightened an unbearable situation. They took her mind off whatever Henry had planned.
With them, she wasn't alone.
'Thanks for being here,' she said to both animals, and meant it.
'Right, you two. The subject of today's talk is serial homicide. There are two types of serial killers, organised and disorganised,' she said to the bulls as if she was giving a presentation. Chicero looked at her through the bars, confused but maybe less frightened.
Pepelito lay down beside her again. The tip of one of his horns had been bleeding slightly where he'd bashed it against the box. Rita's stomach tightened, seeing the 2 or 3cm they'd filed down to disorientate him and make the matador's job easier.
At least he was dead.
'The FBI say organised serial killers like Henry Dixon often devolve into disorganised ones. Disorganised killers leave a chaotic crime scene, they act recklessly and make bigger and bigger mistakes, don't they, Pepelito?' The bull nuzzled her hard in the side, giving her a fright, then tried to lick her nose. Could she get him to use his horns to break the cable ties?
Probably not.
Chicero stared at Rita without blinking and she started laughing again. This time, she could not stop. 'Think we'll agree, Chicero. There aren't many bigger mistakes you can make than this.'
As Rita spoke, a roar started beneath them and a fan powered up past the holes in the container, well out of sight. The floor began to vibrate as the plane's wheels scraped along the tarmac. Pepelito heaved himself up and trotted the couple of steps to the opposite wall, knocking over the bucket of soapy water. The lukewarm water sloshed all over the floor. The 600-kg bull put both his front feet on the side of the bucket. As he slipped it landed on its side, clattering towards her.
The rim was damaged; it wasn't the first time this had happened.
Rita lay on her front on the sodden mat, clenching her fists and trying to angle her hands over the sharp edge of the bucket to cut the tie. Pepelito pushed the bucket back towards her. Now she could hold it in place. She rammed her hands against the rusted edge, tightened her fists and pushed them one on each side, pressing down. The tie dug into her wrists. Biting her lip, she tried again, unable to see where it was as she rubbed it back and forth; slightly loose, but not broken. She lifted her aching arms from behind and thrashed them down again. The tie snapped in two and she lay on the floor, panting from the effort, hands cut and scratched, relieved she'd just renewed her tetanus jab.
'Thanks, dulcito,' Rita gasped, pulling herself up against the wall again. She patted the bull and hugged him gently around his neck. It was so cold in here, and her clothing was drenched with soapy, dirty water. The chain was secured in place with a padlock. Removing that wouldn't be so easy.
'Let me see what I can do for you.' Rita noticed blood on the rope tied round Pepelito's head. As he lay beside her, head between his feet, she loosened it, nervous about untying it completely. As she undid the knots, the plane picked up ever more rapid speed. She slipped forward, landing awkwardly on her knee against the wet mat. The chain dug against her stomach; she almost threw up.
'It's going to be OK,' she whispered, sitting up, knowing it was anything but. The plane lost contact with the ground; both bulls opened their mouths and bellowed, but Rita was unable to hear anything except the engine, her ears splitting from the pressure. Which bastard was enabling him - and where?
Was Henry himself flying the plane, or an accomplice? Had he coerced someone? These prospects were all equally horrific.
Pepelito rested his head on her knee. Rita stroked his nose gently and scratched behind his ears, staring at the bucket and the snapped cable ties. She couldn't slide them towards her simply by using her foot. The bull's horn was too close to her stomach for any sudden movements.
When she'd first become a cop, there was a suspect in an armed robbery who escaped from the cells by picking a lock with a bit of plastic. Maybe she could use the cable tie on the padlock chaining her to the wall, which was too tight to slip out from. Pepelito's rope, too, was tied far too tight for her to undo quickly with her hands.
Pepelito began to lick her trousers, slurping at the fabric with his huge tongue. She dragged at the bucket with her other foot. Pepelito looked up and snorted. He stretched, got up and walked back across the wet mat until he was standing by the bars alongside Chicero. The grey bull seemed much calmer with his friend beside him.
That was her chance, Rita thought, leaning forward and grabbing one of the broken cable ties lying beside the bucket.
The padlock was one of the newer ones with a thick blue button and a key combination; she slid the broken end under the button and scraped around underneath until she could twist it off. Then she dug the sharp, pointed end into the hole, pressing it up and down, feeling where the pins were. It didn't come off.
Pepelito and Chicero stood close together, nuzzling each other between the metal bars as she fiddled with the lock, her attempts becoming more frantic the longer she stared. She jiggled the cable tie around in the hole more slowly, biting back tears. If either got out of the container and stamped around in the hold, it could be disastrous. Could be?
It already was.
Gritting her teeth, she dug the broken tie hard into the hole, not expecting anything as she manoeuvred it around. Something clicked. The padlock was stiff; she removed it after a few pulls, then lifted the heavy chain off herself, feeling completely out of control.
Rita looked up at the cameras, ill and hungry. Henry would be watching. What were he and his friends going to do to them when they landed?
If they landed.
She'd only been on a plane once since she was 20, during that awful Turkish holiday with her ex husband. She told people she didn't fly 'because of the environment'; that wasn't the real reason.
Once it took off, there was nothing you could do if things went wrong.
'You sick bastard, Henry,' she shouted, leaning against the bars, her face hot with fear and anger as Pepelito approached her. She stroked his scarred, disfigured back, pressing her face against his side as she cried.
****
Dazed and weak with shock, Robyn pictured a family with a distraught child, missing a beloved member; a retired person without their walking companion. They hadn't cried in a long time - if anything did it, this would.
'That dog up there, that was someone's pet, wasn't it?'
'This, here is my canine collection. Myself and George found this one tethered outside Lidl. Look at the jawline. Such a fine example of the breed, utterly wasted on its master.’ Henry pointed out the head of the Red Setter gazing mournfully from his wall as if he was showing Robyn the decor of a stately home. To its left was a wolf, to its right an Indian dhole, an endangered species.
'I don't suppose you've ever been hunting, Robyn. Few things in life are more satisfying.'
All the canned food and drink Henry left was gone. There wasn't much; cold soup and tins of sweetcorn. They had no idea of the day; the light was constantly on and the door was locked. At first Robyn had tried to reason with Henry on why he should let them go, or at least not kill them. But nothing had worked. One day he suddenly announced he was going to Spain for several weeks.
Now they lay, too weak to move, in a tiny, locked room adjacent to Henry's secret bullring.
So thirsty and hungry, they'd almost stopped feeling the ache once they'd got every scrap of food from the tins. When they sat up they felt faint, so they lay down, tried to sleep, and stayed in the corner or on the ground, slowly fading away.
Henry must be back, they thought, from the noises upstairs. Maybe he'd brought them food or water. That was all they could think about, too dehydrated even to cry properly. Someone was banging and crashing around upstairs. Henry liked a drink; maybe he'd got drunk and hurt himself. They’d be stuck there forever, Robyn dimly thought, too tired to assemble the right emotions.
Loud footsteps were descending the steps to the cellar. People were shouting. They hadn’t seen anyone, but Henry’s posh friends frequently visited to discuss hunting.
Maybe he'd brought back another victim.
Was he going to kill them?
The thought no longer seemed so bad. It no longer seemed...anything.
'Jesus,' Robyn heard a woman's muffled voice saying.
'I've never seen anything like this Subeera, let's get the explosives dogs to make sure the place isn't booby trapped,' another man said. Dogs... Maybe they were dreaming.
'Possible human remains found, this needs to be bagged up and taken as evidence,' a second woman said as Robyn tried to sleep again. The footsteps drew closer and it was a good idea to open their eyes but they couldn't keep awake any more.
*
'Robyn? Robyn? Stay with me. The ambulance is on its way. You're going to hospital. You're safe now. Can you hear me?' a man's voice said urgently. Robyn's eyelids were stuck together and they could only see him as a blur.
'The victim's breathing. Seems like they've not eaten in several days and they're suffering severe dehydration.' The policeman's voice was grim.
'Can you hear me?' he asked again, desperation in his tone.
'Yeah,' Robyn whispered, about a minute later.
AN: Hope this worked! Really wanted to get them out. You might notice some continuity errors since I had to edit Chapter 39 quite a bit.
(For anyone who doesn't remember Robyn is the journalist from Chapter 20)