Chapters (73)
- Rabbit Hole
- Also by Mark Billingham
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Preface
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- PART TWO
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- PART THREE
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Back Cover
He’s holding a hand up now and shaking his head. ‘No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’
If I’m right, he’s certainly convincing, but the best UCs are seriously good at this. Problem is, some of them can immerse themselves in their roles a bit too much. I knew an officer one time who was undercover for Serious and Organised and, a month after he’d helped bring down one of the biggest gangs in West London, he was done for armed robbery himself.
‘I’m not sorry she’s dead,’ I say.
‘Fair enough,’ he says.
I move my chair a little closer to his and lower my voice. ‘But somebody in here thinks I did it, and the reason why I’m supposed to have done it makes me a target.’
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he says.
‘What have you heard?’
‘No, I mean you’re right . . . that’s bad.’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ I say. ‘I don’t know who to trust.’
‘You shouldn’t trust anybody.’
‘No . . .’
‘Or . . . you could trust everybody. That might work as well.’
I watch him smile and give me the thumbs-up. He seems very happy with his plan. He’s either a copper who’s ridiculously good at his job or he’s as mad as a hatter.
‘I’m scared,’ I say.
‘Oh yes, so am I,’ he says. ‘All the time.’
‘I don’t like it. I’ve only ever been really scared once before and I didn’t like it then, either.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I fought back,’ I say. ‘I got weapons.’
‘Right.’ That fires him up and he turns his head and starts to look around the room, searching for something suitable. I’m quite excited, so I do the same.
Bongos, the broken guitar, a collection of board games.
Nothing that’s going to do anyone a great deal of damage.
He slaps his hand on the table in frustration, then shrugs, as though it was well worth a try. He says, ‘Do you want to have dinner?’
It’s sweet, like he’s asking me on a date, and I find myself grinning.
‘Could do,’ I say. ‘But just dinner, yeah? I’m not a slag.’
He giggles again. Mutters, ‘Slag.’
‘Then maybe afterwards we can come back here and I’ll help you finish your jigsaw.’
His face darkens immediately and he leans forward, wrapping his arms protectively around the scattered pieces. He sniffs and looks sideways at me.
‘Oh no you fucking won’t.’
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-FIVE