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Back Rabbit Hole Save as PDF
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

There were so many things rattling around in my head. Kevin and the cameras and Seddon and the drugs and the nurses and Shaun. I was struggling to process the information or make sense of any of it. I knew the answer was in there, fighting to get out, but it was all so jumbled.

The drugs, maybe. My drugs, I mean.

When it came to seeing the wood for the trees, which was always going to be important if I wanted to break the case, I was seriously starting to wonder if the meds were doing me any favours. If these ‘inhibitors’ they fed me three times a day weren’t inhibiting the very bits of my brain I needed to be working at full tilt.

Names and faces, bits of things people had said.

All racing around my brain and I couldn’t put the brakes on.

Stuck in a loop.

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-TWO

I’ve worked a couple of murders where attending the victim’s funeral was as much about hoping the murderer might show up as it was paying respects to the victim. Sounds a bit far-fetched, I know, and yeah you see it on cop shows, sometimes – Keep your eye on the mourners, Lewis . . . our killer’s in this church somewhere – but I’m telling you from experience that once in a blue moon it pays off. Maybe it’s one of those where the murderer might not be able to resist showing up to gloat or they’re a bit weird and need to make doubly sure the person they’ve done in is actually dead. Sometimes it’s a bit simpler than that and you just suspect that the killer is one of the victim’s family or friends.

Either way, all I’m saying is that, every now and again, it’s worth a detective’s while to dig out their black suit and dip into the petty cash for some flowers.

I wish I could say that when I’d woken up Sunday things were any clearer. I was still all over the shop, I’m not pretending I wasn’t, but at least I’d woken with an idea. A pretty decent one too, I reckoned, despite all the things I didn’t know or couldn’t work out. Because I knew my killer was in the church somewhere.

In the church, on the ward, you get the point.

I talked to Marcus about it after breakfast – not about the killers going to funerals thing, obviously – and he wasn’t against the idea.

‘It might be nice.’ He didn’t seem in the least bit suspicious. ‘It’s very thoughtful, Alice . . . let me know if we can help.’

‘Least we can do,’ I said.

It wouldn’t really be a funeral, of course.