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
‘So . . . can you take me through exactly what happened last Sunday? I presume you followed Miss McClure into the toilets . . . or maybe you were in there waiting for her, I don’t know. Tell me what happened once the pair of you were in there together.’ He sits back and folds his arms. ‘Tell me about killing her.’
For the half a minute or so it takes me to say anything, I’m hoping for some kind of medical miracle, perfectly on cue. For the fog to lift suddenly, like it would if this was a TV thriller, CSI or some shit. Obviously, it doesn’t.
‘I’m not sure I can tell you exactly,’ I say.
‘Well, maybe not every detail then, but . . . did you come at the victim from behind?’
He waits and I say nothing.
‘Did you stab her in the neck first or in the stomach?’
He waits and I say nothing.
‘Did you carry on stabbing her once she was on the floor?’
‘I can’t remember.’ I hadn’t wanted to raise my voice, but it happens anyway. ‘Fair enough?’
He nods, like this is exactly what he was suspecting and isn’t he just the best detective in the fucking world, but it’s ridiculous, because this is surely something else his girlfriend would have told him. Work-related pillow-talk, whatever. Because I was a suspect . . . the obvious suspect . . . Perera would definitely have been in regular touch with Bakshi and Bakshi would have told her all about the memory blips, the PTSD, all of it.
‘I’ve been having these blackouts,’ I say. ‘You can check because it’s all in my notes and it’s all perfectly normal. I can’t remember exactly how I did what I did . . . it’s like I just woke up suddenly and I was in there and she was on the floor with blood everywhere. But I know I did it, isn’t that enough? I must have done it, any idiot can see that. I discovered the body, I knew what she’d done, I had a motive.’ I’m tired, suddenly. ‘I’m not sure how much more you need.’
I don’t know what the hell’s happening now, because when he looks at me he’s calm, like he doesn’t need anything.
‘Everything you’ve said may be true,’ he says. ‘But it doesn’t change one very important fact.’ He sits forward slowly and rubs a finger along that scar on his chin. ‘You didn’t kill anyone, Miss Armitage.’
The look on my face is definitely not one I’ve practised. Christ knows what it is, but I see him clock it and suddenly it’s like he’s my best mate.
‘Alice—’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Bearing in mind everything you’ve told me, I can see why you might—’
‘Why are you here?’