BooksBarbecue
Back Rabbit Hole
Chapters (73)
  1. Rabbit Hole
  2. Also by Mark Billingham
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Preface
  8. PART ONE
  9. ONE
  10. TWO
  11. THREE
  12. FOUR
  13. FIVE
  14. SIX
  15. SEVEN
  16. EIGHT
  17. NINE
  18. TEN
  19. ELEVEN
  20. TWELVE
  21. THIRTEEN
  22. FOURTEEN
  23. FIFTEEN
  24. SIXTEEN
  25. SEVENTEEN
  26. EIGHTEEN
  27. NINETEEN
  28. TWENTY
  29. TWENTY-ONE
  30. TWENTY-TWO
  31. TWENTY-THREE
  32. TWENTY-FOUR
  33. TWENTY-FIVE
  34. TWENTY-SIX
  35. TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. TWENTY-NINE
  38. THIRTY
  39. THIRTY-ONE
  40. THIRTY-TWO
  41. THIRTY-THREE
  42. PART TWO
  43. THIRTY-FOUR
  44. THIRTY-FIVE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. FORTY
  50. FORTY-ONE
  51. FORTY-TWO
  52. FORTY-THREE
  53. FORTY-FOUR
  54. FORTY-FIVE
  55. FORTY-SIX
  56. FORTY-SEVEN
  57. FORTY-EIGHT
  58. FORTY-NINE
  59. FIFTY
  60. FIFTY-ONE
  61. FIFTY-TWO
  62. FIFTY-THREE
  63. FIFTY-FOUR
  64. FIFTY-FIVE
  65. FIFTY-SIX
  66. FIFTY-SEVEN
  67. FIFTY-EIGHT
  68. PART THREE
  69. FIFTY-NINE
  70. SIXTY
  71. EPILOGUE
  72. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  73. Back Cover

She seems to be enjoying herself. She laughs at my jokes and my daft attempts at some of the accents and looks suit­ably shocked when she’s meant to. I’m actually quite enjoying myself, but then she stands up, just like that, and announces that she’s tired. She tells me she wants to go to bed, says it like it’s the most important thing I’ve heard all day.

I say, ‘Oh, fair enough,’ and watch her walk to the door.

After she’s gone, I wait until I’m fairly sure everyone else is in their room and pay a quick visit to all the other women on the corridor. I knock on doors and put my head round. Sorry to disturb you, just a quick question.

I want to know if any of the others have had a visit. If anyone else has been asked if they want to be Clare’s best friend.

Nope. Just me.

THIRTY-NINE

THIRTY-NINE

Banksy says, ‘I’m amazed it took you this long to call.’

‘You’re happy that I have though, yeah?’ I’m trying to be funny, but I’m genuinely chuffed that he’s even speaking to me. I think I’d been a bit off with him last time he was here. ‘You’re happy, I can tell.’

‘I’m ecstatic,’ he says.

I’m back in my room, watching rain battering at the window and it’s almost like I can hear the grease from the bacon at breakfast cranking up the cholesterol and turning my arteries to Twiglets. ‘You heard the latest news from the Ward of Death, then?’

‘Yeah. Like I said, I was expecting you to call Sunday night.’

‘I was a bit busy,’ I say.

‘What the hell’s going on in that place?’

‘You know it was me that found her, right?’

‘No.’ There’s a pause. ‘I did not know that.’ He sounds concerned and it’s lovely. I suppose it’s fair enough, because we’re close, plus he knows that the last time I was anywhere near a blood-soaked body, things didn’t turn out so well. ‘You OK?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Straight up?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Stupid question, bearing in mind what I just said, but Banksy knows better than anyone that, when I was on the Job, I dealt with far worse things than a single murder victim on a bathroom floor. I tell him I’m good, or as good as I’m ever going to be surrounded by nutters, at least one of who’s homicidal. I tell him not to worry. I tell him he’s a top mate.

‘So, come on then . . . what are you hearing?’

‘What am I hearing where?’ he asks.

‘From the MIT. Their plan of action or whatever. It’s a DCI called Brigstocke who’s running things, apparently, but I don’t know if—’