Sangre De Toro (Old Draft - Now Published!)

Chapter 39 - What Friends are For

CW: Same as Chapter 37 - take care when reading.

'He's a sadistic serial killer who's abducted one of our officers, we don't have time for this fucking shit, don't you know how serious this is?' Mansouri shouted at George in English, his usually calm demeanour shattered. Dominguez sat beside him in silence. He'd heard Henry Dixon's voice as he abducted her. He’d been crying moments before, though he wasn't going to let that on in front of this creep.

What made it so much worse was that part of him had blamed Rita for Silvio’s death. A very small part but a part nonetheless; that bull was cursed, he’d thought, much as he loved him to bits. And that inevitably led onto blaming himself for what Castella had done.

'In the name of God, why do you protect him, what's wrong with you? You think he'd do the same for you? You think he'd not throw you under a bus if he thought it would benefit him?' Mansouri demanded, desperation in his voice; George wasn’t giving anything up. Dominguez knew the younger man’s recent work with Rita made her abduction hit all the harder.

'He's murdered 10 people at least, and we have evidence you're an accessory to many of those murders. You don’t need to protect him. We know he’s the killer. If you tell us where she is, you could be out in 10 or 11 years! Consider that, at least.’ George sat in silence, saying nothing to Mansouri’s furious pleading.

‘We know he went to Castella’s. Where did he go after that? Where has he taken her?' Mansouri looked at George in despair. There was an interpreter sat with George's lawyer, but the four years spent working behind a bar in Wellingborough before Dominguez came back and followed in his dad's footsteps would have their use now.

'Henry Dixon's got a hold over you.' After not trusting himself to speak the entire interrogation, Dominguez finally spoke, ignoring his pounding headache; his voice dripping with contempt, his fists clenching under the table. George again said nothing.

'Why's that, George?' George took a glass of water and drank it in silence.

‘You’re trying to stretch this out. I get it. Not a good feeling, not being in control,’ Dominguez said, reaching into his bag and getting out a plastic folder.

'Shall I tell you what I think,' he said in a whisper.

'I think you've got a secret. A secret only he knows, a secret he uses to get you to do things for him.' As Dominguez took out a printout from the folder, George clutched the edge of the table and gaped at him in horror, like he was about to be sick.

He went on, 'Except, it wasn’t just him. The UK police had you in their sights before anyone even suspected him.' He passed the page of photos to George as if it was contaminated.

It was.

George stared at the paper open-mouthed, his skin turning grey.

'Thought your secret was safe with him, didn’t you?’

'I've never seen...' George's voice trailed off. Mansouri clenched his fists and stared at the photos in revulsion and horror. Dominguez couldn’t blame the guy. His wife had just had a kid.

'That's interesting, because the site’s owner got arrested three weeks ago. You made seven separate payments in six months.’ Dominguez leafed through the vile images, until he found the card receipts the London Met had provided. The silence seemed to go on forever.