Rabbit Hole

by Mark Billingham

  ‘No,’ Marcus said. ‘You did not.’

  When I saw Bakshi lift up the sheet of paper, I knew what was coming, but I was genuinely confused.

  ‘At least there was only one late night phone call to Mr Flanagan this week.’

  ‘No way,’ I said. ‘I never called Andy.’ For once I wasn’t lying, either, not intentionally.

  ‘Quite a memorable one, though.’

  Not for me it wasn’t.

  ‘I’m not going to read out what you said, but suffice it to say it was just the one word.’ She looked at me, waiting for the penny to drop. ‘A very offensive word, repeated over and over again.’

  I nodded. Like I’d taken a leaf out of Lauren’s book. But I could not remember doing it.

  ‘Oh, right. That call.’ Malaika shifted in her seat and I swear I saw her trying to stifle a smile. ‘Yeah, sorry. I meant to call him again to apologise, but I must have forgotten. It was a moment, that’s all, though . . . of being really angry and doing something stupid. Just one moment, in the whole week.’

  Bakshi looked at Marcus. Marcus shrugged.

  ‘Well, I’m taking it as a very good sign that you’re not disputing that what you did was wrong.’

  ‘Oh, I know it was.’ I wasn’t going to tell her that I thought it was piss-funny and I certainly wasn’t letting on that I couldn’t remember making the call in the first place. ‘It was dead wrong.’

  Bakshi nodded and began to tidy her papers. ‘In which case, on Marcus’s recommendation, and in the hope that this progress continues, I’m happy to move you back on to escorted leave.’

  That was it. Short and seriously sweet.

  I smiled, nice and humble. A day that I already knew would be one to remember had got off to a blinding start.

  ‘Cool,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

  Clare was sitting with Shaun and Femi at lunch while the rest of us sat together and watched her. Shaun was still keeping up the whole Marcel Marceau thing, but the two women were talking quietly as they ate. I don’t think Femi was sitting as close to Clare as she was because of a Within Arm’s Length obs stat or anything so I presumed it was part of the normal process of easing the new arrival in gently.

  Not wanting to leave her alone with the rabble just yet.

  She hadn’t shown up for dinner the previous evening and I hadn’t been there for breakfast, so for all I knew this might have been her first group mealtime. I asked the others and they all thought it was.

  ‘Has anyone actually spoken to her yet?’

  Heads were shaken.

  ‘Not really had a chance,’ Ilias said. ‘She was with George at the meds hatch first thing and now Femi’s stuck to her like shit on a blanket.’

  Heads were nodded.

  ‘Femi-Nazi,’ Donna said.

  ‘I reckon she’s a bit up herself.’ Lauren sat back, ready to give her full appraisal of the newcomer, and looked horrified when I stood up. ‘Fuck d’you think you’re going?’

  ‘Say hello . . .’

  I wandered across to their table, told Shaun to budge up and squeezed in between him and Clare. Femi gave me a hard stare, so I smiled to let her know that my intentions were wholly friendly. ‘No worries,’ I said. ‘Just being matey.’

  If anything, I was in an even better mood than I had been an hour or so before when I’d sauntered out of the MDR. It wasn’t just what they’d said in the assessment meeting, it was what they hadn’t said. Not one of them had mentioned the interesting drawing I’d done in the occupational therapy session. Nobody had said a word about any of the conversations I’d had with Debbie over the previous few days.

  Like they’d never happened.

  That meant that she hadn’t said anything, and there could only be one reason for that, right?

  Guilty as sin and she knew I knew it.

  ‘I’m Alice,’ I said. I stuck out a hand. ‘Al . . . whatever.’ Clare proffered her own, limp hand and I squeezed.

  ‘Clare.’

  ‘With an I or without?’

  ‘Like the county in Ireland.’

  ‘Oh, you Irish, then?’ I didn’t think I could hear an accent, but she hadn’t said much, to be fair.

  ‘My mum is.’

  I leaned close to her. Said, ‘Listen, why don’t we grab a cup of tea and go somewhere a bit quieter for a good old natter?’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ Femi said.

  ‘All I’m saying . . .’ I looked at the nurse, ‘I wish someone had talked to me when I first came in and yeah, I know she’s had the official spiel and all that, but she’s going to get a much better idea of how things really work in here from someone like me than from one of you lot.’ I smiled. ‘With all due respect.’

  ‘Sounds OK,’ Clare said. A London accent, I decided. Somewhere south of Watford Gap, anyway.

  ‘You make a fair point,’ Femi said. ‘I should run it past Marcus though.’

  ‘No sweat.’ I stood up and reached out a hand towards Clare. ‘We’ll just be in the music room, so if he’s got any problem with it, he knows where we are.’

  We’d barely got our arses into chairs in the music room when Ilias came barging in. I asked if he wouldn’t mind buggering off and giving us a bit of privacy, but before he’d had a chance to open his mouth Clare burst into tears.

  Ilias pointed, looking thrilled. ‘What have you done to upset her?’

  I was searching around for tissues, then saw her pull one from her sleeve and bury her face in it. ‘It’s not me, you twat, it’s you.’ I walked over to him and whispered, ‘I think you just scared her a bit, that’s all. Just do me a favour and give us a bit of time on our own?’

  Astonishingly, Ilias turned and walked out without saying a word, and by the time I sat down again, Clare had stopped crying.

  ‘You OK?’

  She tucked the tissue back into her sleeve. ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

  For the next ten minutes we drank our tea and I gave her the lowdown on Ilias, Lucy and the rest of the gang. I told her their nicknames – well aware that I’d need to come up with one for her – and as many of their strange habits as I could remember. I told her not to let Lauren use her bathroom under any circumstances. I told her about Graham and the waiting, Donna and the constant walking, and when I got to Tony’s preoccupation with the Thing, she just stared at me like she’d never heard anything like it.

  ‘I’ve barely even started, love. Proper madhouse in here.’

  She thought that was funny.

  I’d just started to dish the dirt on the staff when Clare looked up, noticed Shaun peering in at us through the window and immediately burst into tears again.

  ‘Jesus . . .’ I got up to shoo him away and yet again, by the time I’d sat down with her again the crying had stopped and the soggy tissue was being nudged out of sight. ‘Is it blokes?’ I asked. ‘You got a problem with blokes?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Thing is, there’s quite a few in here, so you might need to have a word with someone about that.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

  ‘You can talk to me,’ I said. ‘I’ve had some training—’

  ‘Carry on with what you were saying before.’

  I immediately decided that she must have had some kind of breakdown after being raped. It made perfect sense, and I don’t know why I hadn’t clocked it earlier. I know they normally try to put patients like her on a single sex ward, but that it isn’t always possible. There’d been a woman like that in here when I arrived, and I’d talked to any number of victims who’d been through much the same thing when I was on the Job.

  ‘Tell me about the nurses,’ she said.

  I moved my chair a little closer to hers. ‘Well, I’m not sure if anyone mentioned it to you . . . I mean they almost certainly didn’t . . . but w
e had a murder in here a couple of weeks ago. One of the—’

  And just like that, she was blubbing again.

  So, not blokes then.

  I’ll be honest, the on-off waterworks were doing my head in by now, so I got up and opened the door, keen to find someone else to deal with her. I saw Mia outside the 136, so I shouted and waved, and while I was waiting for her to stroll over I decided that – pain in the arse as Clare ‘like the county in Ireland’ was – I did, at least, have a nickname for her.

  Clare, aka Tiny Tears.

  It was even funnier, because she was tall, yeah?

  While Mia was still on her way across, I felt my mobile buzz in my pocket. I took it out and checked the message.

  I think I’ve got everything you need. Call me for details. Howard.

  Now I seriously couldn’t care less about the sobbing behind me as I marched quickly past Mia and away towards my bedroom. Funny, isn’t it, how the stars align at moments like that – or you think they do – because who do you reckon was the last nurse I saw before I turned on to the ­women’s corridor?

  Debbie looked up from the window of the nurses’ station as I passed.

  ‘Someone’s happy.’

  I didn’t stop walking. ‘Delirious,’ I said.

  THIRTY-ONE

  The man from Pindown Investigations sounded every bit as upbeat about things as I was.

  ‘Like I thought, it was pretty run-of-the-mill stuff. Nothing a bit of know-how and the right computer program couldn’t handle. Didn’t take me very long if I’m honest, and I’m telling you, Alice, so you know I’m not one of those people who string an investigation out for no good reason except to charge a client more for the job.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Howard.’

  ‘So you’ll know where to come if you ever need this kind of service again, right?’

  I was running out of patience. About-ready-to-punch-a-hole-in-the-wall running out of it. I needed to know. ‘What have you got for me then, Howard?’

  ‘So . . . ’ I could hear pages being shuffled. ‘The subject lives alone in a two-bedroom flat in Edgware. She runs a small car and, as far as holidays go, last year she managed two weeks in the Scottish Highlands. Went with her sister, I think—’

  ‘What about the money?’

  ‘Well, I’m just giving you the what-do-you-call-it . . . context. But if you want details . . .’ More pages being turned. ‘She’s currently running a small overdraft of £112.75 on an HSBC current account. It’s within her agreed limit, but an overdraft none the less. She’s missed two mortgage payments on her flat in the last six months . . . there are a couple of outstanding credit card debts, but nothing massive and she’s got a credit rating of 375 which is about the national average . . . well, a little below if we’re being picky.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So, whoever she is, your subject isn’t exactly minted. I’d say she’s just about getting by.’

  ‘What about deposit accounts, savings, whatever?’

  ‘Well, there’s a small sum in a deposit account that’s tied into her current account, but it’s just where any interest gets put. We’re talking about a couple of quid, that’s all.’

  I could feel acid rising up from my stomach, imagined the filthy bubble of it emerging slowly from my mouth and wrapping itself around me. I’d been lying on my bed, but when I tried to sit up, I thought I was going to be sick. ‘There must be something else.’

  ‘Not that I could see,’ he said.

  ‘What about offshore accounts, overseas banks, trusts or whatever?’

  ‘Sorry, what? You’re talking very fast.’

  I took a deep breath and said it again.

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s a possibility, but that would involve widening the investigation significantly, and—’

  ‘You’ve missed something. You must have done. I mean it’s obvious that she’s hiding the money, isn’t it? Why don’t you get that?’

  He said, ‘Do you mind me asking what this individual does for a living? If that’s information you’re happy to share.’

  ‘She’s a mental health nurse.’

  He laughed. The useless twat actually chuckled. ‘Well, there you go then.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Have you any idea how little they get paid? Nurses.’

  ‘She’s a nurse who’s dealing drugs to patients, fair enough?’ I knew I was shouting. I could hear my own voice bouncing back off the walls, but sometimes it’s the only way to make people see sense. ‘She’s obviously making a lot of money from selling drugs but for some reason you can’t find it. She also happens, by the way, to have murdered someone who was threatening to expose her and I know this for a fact, so don’t try and tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about. Because she’s got motive and she had opportunity and I’ve spoken to witnesses and taken statements for God’s sake and you were the one who told me that you could get the proof. You promised me you’d get the proof and now I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. Do you want her to get away with it? Seriously, is that what you want?’

  For a few seconds, all I could hear was the two of us breathing and the noise of Lucy moaning in the room next door. Then Howard said, ‘I think I should probably . . . step away from this.’

  ‘Kevin Connolly couldn’t step away, could he?’

  ‘I should also remind you that you need to pay the remaining half of my fee—’

  ‘Johnno couldn’t fucking step away.’

  I was on the floor now, though I still don’t remember falling off the bed, and by the time I’d finished swearing at him, my so-called investigator had already hung up.

  I remember thinking that the floor was the ceiling and clinging on to the end of my bed for dear life to stop myself falling.

  I remember doing a lot of shouting, and even if I can’t remember what the words were – I mean there probably ­weren’t any words – I know I did, because it felt like I’d swallowed glass for a couple of days afterwards.

  I remember someone knocking, asking if I was all right.

  I remember ringing Howard back, but he obviously saw it was me calling and didn’t answer, so I just did the same thing as when I’d left that message for Andy and said the C-word over and over again for ages. I knew it would be OK, though, because there wasn’t any chance Howard would be writing Bakshi a letter.

  Mostly, though, I remember my conversation with Johnno, because it was only when he started talking some sense into me that things became clearer and I began to feel they were a bit less hopeless. To see another option.

  ‘It’s like with the Evans case,’ Johnno said. ‘Like with Ralph Cox.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘You just need to find a different way, that’s all. Something a bit more direct.’

  He was sitting next to me on the floor, in that brown suede jacket I always liked. I told him that he should probably be holding on to something if he didn’t want to crash into the ceiling, but he told me he could look after himself. He smiled a bit when he said that, like he knew very well how ironic it was.

  ‘I’m sorry, Johnno.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About everything, mate. You and Maggie and the baby. Letting you down, I mean.’

  ‘You didn’t let me down, you soft sod.’

  ‘You know that when I try to picture your face it’s always got blood on it? Just . . . spatter. Did I ever tell you that? Sometimes I see it on my fingers, too, and my clothes . . . like when you and me were on the Job and they spray stuff with luminol to show up the blood.’

  ‘You didn’t let anyone down, Al.’

  ‘I’m a walking fucking crime scene, Johnno.’

  ‘You’re not going to let Kevin down, either. I know you’re not . . .’

  And then I was properly calm. Get
ting there, anyway. I wasn’t thinking about the money any more, or gathering evidence; none of it.

  I knew exactly what I needed to do.

  THIRTY-TWO

  I collared her outside the nurses’ station after dinner.

  ‘Debbie, can I have a word?’

  ‘Course you can, darlin’.’

  ‘In private, I mean.’

  She glanced at her watch then pointed towards one of the examination rooms. ‘Let’s go in there.’

  When I’d sat down, I nodded towards the door she’d left open. ‘You might want to shut that,’ I said.

  She shrugged then pushed the door until it was almost closed. ‘I’ll leave it open just a little bit,’ she said.

  Like she thought I was dangerous.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. Because I was.

  She pulled a chair across and sat down. ‘So, what can I do for you, Alice?’

  Before I knew what I was doing, I had reached into my pocket for my mobile, pressed a few buttons and was holding it out towards her. ‘Look at this,’ I said.

  She watched, started to smile.

  To this day I can’t quite explain what I was doing for that minute or so. It wasn’t like I’d changed my mind or chickened out or anything, it wasn’t any kind of clever delaying tactic. It was a switch that tripped for no good reason. I just forgot myself and . . . went somewhere else.

  ‘That’s funny,’ she said.

  I was showing her the video my dad had sent me a few days earlier. A monkey being shown a magic trick, for fuck’s sake. I was smiling myself, even though my hand was shaking as I held the screen up. Christ alone knows what happened or where my head was at right then, but looking back now I was like a hitman who pulls out a gun then gets distracted by the colour of the curtains. ‘Look at the monkey’s face when he sees it . . .’

  She laughed at the monkey’s double-take. ‘Ah . . . that stuff’s brilliant,’ she said. ‘I love all those cat ones.’

  Then, just like that, the switch flipped back again. I slipped my phone back in my pocket and looked up to see her staring at me.

  ‘I know what you did,’ I said.