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
See, I didn’t mind taking the tablets, but it wasn’t particularly enjoyable, and pretty quickly I discovered that a bottle of red wine and a few spliffs every night could do the job equally well. So, on top of some prodigious pill-popping, I started bulk-buying at Oddbins and filling daily prescriptions with Billy. Twice-daily, sometimes. And I felt absolutely great, to be honest; no point pretending I didn’t. The panic and the piss-myself terror were all but gone, and I was calm for a while, at least. Until I found out what getting out of your head really means.
So, the trial . . .
I was the prosecution’s star witness, of course, but that soon changed when a couple of the DCs working the case came round to go through my forthcoming appearance in court. All very straightforward, and not even official because they weren’t allowed to ‘coach’ any witnesses and were just there to talk about a couple of the questions the defence might throw at me. Sod’s law – I was midway through a bit of a bender when they turned up, so it only took a few minutes with them before ‘forthcoming’ became ‘not-a-cat-in-hell’s-chance’. Never mind take the stand, I was hardly in a fit state to stand, so it was quickly decided I would not be giving evidence at all.
I was gutted, because I’d wanted to be there for Johnno.
I knew both those DCs, but the way they stared while I ranted at them, it was like they didn’t know me at all.
It didn’t much matter in the end, which is the only good part, because the toe-rag got was what coming to him anyway. They had my original statement, a Stanley knife with his prints on, and the bloodstained clothes which the moron had not thought to get rid of.
Next thing, there’s a lot of official coming and going with Police Federation reps and the like. Everyone was ‘shocked and disappointed’ but it was not the behaviour expected of a Met officer – whatever said officer had been through – and, being permanently unfit to return to duty, I hadn’t left the powers that be with much choice. The extended paid leave became ‘medical retirement’, and even though they were nice enough not to nick me for possession they made it clear they were actually doing me a favour and maybe I could do them one by not making a fuss about it.
Handing over my warrant card nice and quietly.