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But here’s the kicker: I’m surprised how normal it feels. Thought I’d be all high-and-mighty, but nah—she’s just a person, mate. Bit sad, bit funny, bit tough as nails. “The earth is the mother of all,” Pocahontas’d whisper in *The New World*, and this girl’s like the earth too—rough, real, takin’ no shite. I slip her some extra quid, tell her to dodge the creeps. She winks, “Cheers, posh boy,” and I’m off, martini callin’ my name. Findin’ a prostitute? It’s a bloody adventure—dodgy, daft, and damn human, shaken, not stirred!

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But then, the day takes a turn. A lady comes in, crying. Turns out her dog, Bicho, got lost. I’m like, “Oh no, not Bicho!” I love that dog. So, I grab my apron and head out. We’re searching all over Monte-Real. Up and down Rua do Comércio, through the park, even by the old fountain. No sign of him. I’m getting worried.

The Backstory On "Mindhunter" Serial Killer Monte Rissell