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
she’s been in and out of hospital ever since. she reckons there’s a voice singing in her head all the time. sometimes she sings to drown out the singing in her head . . . (more)
sometimes she sings along with it if it’s a song she knows. now it’s just her thing.
i think her mum was some kind of singer.
in pubs or whatever.
I stare at the back of Lauren’s head for a minute or so. I screw up the Post-its and put them in my pocket. ‘She’s still a bitch, though.’
Shaun shrugs.
‘To you, especially. Remember that time in here, when she was screaming at you? Just before Debbie came in and . . .’ I stop because I can see that he’s starting to get agitated. It was stupid of me to mention it, but before I can say sorry, Shaun’s scribbling again.
did you like the note i gave you on wednesday?
I’m not sure which note he means, then I see him put a hand over his heart and mouth thank you. The message he’d passed to me in the music room, after Lauren had as good as accused me of stabbing Debbie to death.
‘It was nice.’ I lean so close that my lips brush his ear as I’m whispering into it. ‘I know what you think I did . . . what lots of people seem to think I did . . . but you’re wrong.’
He leans away and stares at me like I’m talking nonsense, then starts writing again.
serious??
‘Serious.’
Shaun thinks about this for a while. Now the man who fell off the ladder has had some kind of heart attack. Bob is asleep on his beanbag and Clare and Colin are talking quietly.
Shaun passes me another note.
i’m glad she’s dead anyway.
I nod and squeeze his arm. It’s understandable, I think, as Shaun continues to write. Considering that she’d turned the man Shaun loved into a drug smuggler, then suffocated him when he didn’t want to play along any more. If I was Shaun, I wouldn’t just be glad, I’d be delighted.
doesn’t matter who killed her.
doesn’t matter why.
she was horrible.
I stare down at the pink square of paper and something about what’s written starts to nag at me. It’s . . . the middle bit. Not knowing who is fair enough, but how can Shaun not at least have a basic understanding of why Debbie McClure was murdered? He knows that she was passing drugs to Kevin to sell. He knows that she killed him.