Rabbit Hole Read online

  ‘I suppose it’s kind of a junkie gaydar.’ Lucy laughed, a silly, high giggle. ‘I’m just saying, I always thought drugs were a part of Kevin’s life in one way or another.’

  I didn’t tell her that she was bang on the money. As far as I knew, I was still the only person on the ward – the only patient, at any rate – who knew about the drugs discovered in Kevin’s room, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell her about it. A detective learns early on that it’s not clever to furnish a witness with any information that may prejudice the statement they’re about to give you.

  Lucy resumed her exercises, tossing back her head and rolling her hips around. ‘Is that any help to you, babe?’

  I hadn’t got the first idea, besides which I’d noticed Mia wandering across from the nurses’ station. She stopped a few feet away from us and smiled, just to let me know that she knew exactly what I was up to, had been up to most of the day.

  As it happened, at that moment I was perfectly happy to stop for a while.

  I’m still not sure if it was some kind of early comedown, but I felt like a sodden blanket had been thrown across me. It wasn’t even two o’clock, but I was wiped out suddenly; bone-tired, as though, when I’d been talking to Donna, I’d walked a hundred times further than I did.

  I can see now that it was mental – isn’t everything? – because I was doing it all. Normally, on a job like this one, I’d have been working as part of a good-sized team. Maybe talking to a single witness, collating statements or putting together a report on suspicious mobile activity, while Johnno, Banksy and the rest of the squad were busy doing other stuff. I’d have one thing to concentrate on, one area of the investigation to put all my energy into, but now everything was down to me and I was finding it all a bit stressful to say the least.

  I trudged back towards the women’s corridor thinking about the three people I still wanted to talk to.

  The Grand Master, the Sheep, the Singer.

  It would have to wait, though, because right then I was finding it hard enough to put one foot in front of the other.

  I all but fell into my room and slept for the best part of eight hours.

  SEVENTEEN

  You probably won’t be amazed to discover that, once dinner and after-dinner meds are out of the way, the most popular recreational activity in this place of an evening is settling down in front of the idiot box, and not just because of the appropriate nickname. Actually, I don’t think that anyone in here is an idiot, but you know what I mean. A lot of people are probably quite smart, unlike the TV itself, but even though that’s not got the biggest screen in the world or the widest selection of channels, it’s where most of the patients end up in the hours before bedtime.

  Watching what’s on, or arguing about what’s on, or ignoring what’s on but still there anyway.

  Make no mistake, there is a variety of other pastimes and pursuits catered for on Fleet Ward. Aside from looking out of the window at the breathtaking views of the A41 there are newspapers every day and, for readers, a decent selection of books in the OT room (if you like thrillers or chick-lit, which I do). There’s a few jigsaws (pieces gone missing or been eaten). There’s Jenga and Cluedo and Scrabble and of course, if you prefer a solo hobby, there’s always frantic masturbation, which, judging by the faces of the housekeeping team when they’re changing the beds every day, remains a perennial favourite. Now I think about it, leisure-wise, there’s often a degree of multi-tasking, and I say that with confidence, because I once saw someone masturbating while they were playing Scrabble.

  But it’s the telly that tends to unite everyone in here, even if they rarely get a say in what they get to watch, and it strikes me that the makers of Gogglebox are seriously missing a trick.

  . . . and in a hospital in north London, Ilias, Donna and Bob have settled down to watch Bake Off. It’s pastry week and the contestants are . . . oh God, no . . . Donna is running round and round the sofa and Ilias appears to be taking his pants off . . .

  I woke feeling a damn sight better, but also annoyed at having slept through dinner. I made short work of some crisps and a box of Jaffa Cakes that Banksy had brought in because, aside from being properly ravenous, I didn’t fancy taking my last lot of meds on an empty stomach. Having sweet-talked Femi – who had just shut up shop – into handing them over after hours, I wandered into the TV room, well up for it.

  Aside from Donna, who someone told me later had gone to bed early because she was upset about something, pretty much everyone was in there, which was helpful.

  Most important, Ilias, Lauren and Shaun were in there.

  There are two fake leather sofas at the front and a variety of chairs scattered around behind. A few armchairs that almost certainly have things living in them and plenty of the hard blue ones that are knocking around all over the ward. They’re usually lined up around the walls in here, but as soon as the TV gets switched on people drag them into the middle of the room to get a better view. There’s even a few low tables dotted about so people can keep their tea or nuts or Fanta within easy reach.

  It’s nice enough, as it goes, long as you don’t mind the farting.

  Everyone has their spot, of course, and I’ve seen it kick off more than once if a favourite perching position is snaffled. Ilias likes to sit at the back, from where he can provide a foul-mouthed commentary if he’s in the mood, or occasionally throw things. Shaun prefers a chair near the door and Lauren, as always, was in prime position on a sofa at the front, her fat fist wrapped around the remote control as though it were a sceptre. Or a sock full of snooker balls.

  I pulled one of the empty chairs across and sat down next to Ilias.

  ‘What’s on?’

  ‘It’s all shit,’ Ilias said. He stared at me, suspicious. ‘You weren’t there for dinner.’

  ‘I was asleep.’

  He grunted, then cupped his hands round his mouth, like nobody would hear him shouting otherwise. ‘Turn it over!’

  Lauren stuck up a finger.

  ‘Why do you care, if it’s all shit?’

  ‘It’s the what-do-you-call-it . . . the principle,’ Ilias said. ‘Why should that cow decide which shit we have to watch?’

  We sat and watched for a couple of minutes. Some chefs on a road trip. It wasn’t unenjoyable, as it happens.

  ‘You’ve been here about as long as me,’ I said.

  ‘Longer.’ He sounded proud of the fact, and said it again, keen to make sure I knew. ‘I was here the night they brought you in.’ He let out a low, phlegmy chuckle. ‘Shouting about lights in the garden and funny music and all that.’

  I ignored that, took a few seconds, and nodded. ‘Makes sense, because you always know what’s going on around this place. Who’s getting off with who, who’s got the hump about something, all that. You keep your ear to the ground.’ I looked at his ear as I said it. Huge, and sprouting long black hairs like he was a hobbit.

  Ilias sat back, smiling and humming with pleasure, delighted that someone had finally noticed his contribution. I took the chance to glance over at Malaika, who was running WEO/WAL interference for the evening. She was sitting in a corner, next to one of the less-than-realistic plastic ferns that are dotted around all over the place so that we don’t lose our connection with the natural world.

  She looked content enough, slowly turning the pages of Take A Break.

  ‘So, bearing all that in mind, what’s your take on what happened to Kevin?’

  He folded his arms and thought about it. ‘Kevin wasn’t very happy.’

  As insights went, considering where we were, it was hardly Hercule Poirot. I said, ‘I don’t think anyone’s exactly thrilled, stuck in here.’

  ‘I’m perfectly happy,’ Ilias said. ‘You have to have a positive attitude.’

  ‘So why wasn’t Kevin happy?’

  ‘I think he felt trapped.’

>   ‘Did he say that?’

  ‘He said . . . something. He couldn’t get out because people would be upset. I can’t really remember.’

  ‘Was this anything to do with Shaun?’ I was thinking about the argument the two of them were supposed to have had. Was Shaun the one Kevin felt trapped by?

  ‘Shaun is also unhappy. Now, because of what happened to Kevin, but he was not happy before.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Ilias looked at me like I was an idiot. ‘You need to ask Shaun.’

  I intended to, but I was saving him until last. I told Ilias that maybe the two of us should play chess some time, then stood up and walked to the front of the room.

  ‘Turn it over!’ he shouted again.

  There was an Informal I’d never spoken to sitting on the sofa next to Lauren, so I turned on the menace and told him to move, told him he was in my fucking spot. He swore at me a bit – ignoring the angry shushing from Lauren – then stood up, and from the corner of my eye I saw Malaika doing the same thing. ‘It’s fine.’ I turned and smiled innocently at her. ‘Thing is, I can’t really see from back there . . .’

  Malaika sat down and so did I.

  Without taking her eyes off the screen, Lauren moved the remote control to the hand that was furthest away from me. She said, ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  Getting anything at all out of Lauren was going to be a tough one, I’d always known that, but I’d thought about it. About the best way to come at her. I leaned across and started singing, quietly.

  ‘It’s so funny . . . that we don’t talk any more.’ I smiled, but she didn’t react. ‘Cliff Richard,’ I said. ‘His best one, if you ask me.’

  She turned to me. ‘Are you serious? What about “Congratulations”? What about “Wired for Sound”?’ She shook her head, disgusted. ‘You’re a moron.’

  ‘It’s true though.’ I turned back to the screen, like I didn’t care one way or the other. ‘We did use to talk.’ It was certainly the case that, once upon a time, me and Lauren had exchanged words rather more often than we did now, even if most of the words had four letters in them.

  I waited. The three chefs – one of them was Gordon Ramsay – were somewhere in the American south, arguing about the best way to roast a pig.

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’ Lauren asked.

  I didn’t see a lot of point in going round the houses. ‘Why didn’t you like Kevin?’

  ‘Who says I didn’t?’

  ‘A “two-faced little ponce”. That’s what I heard you called him.’

  ‘So?’ She shrugged. ‘Doesn’t mean I killed him, does it?’ She looked at me. ‘That’s what you’re going round trying to find out, isn’t it? Miss fucking Marple.’

  Ugly as it was, Lauren had a decent head on her shoulders. She was the only one who’d really sussed out what I was up to. Or who let me know she’d sussed it, at any rate. It was my turn to shrug.

  ‘Got any suspects, have you?’

  ‘Bit early for that,’ I said. ‘It’s just a question of gathering information at this stage.’

  She said, ‘Ooh,’ like she was impressed. It might have been at one of the chefs, but I’m pretty sure she was taking the piss.

  ‘So, why was he a two-faced ponce?’

  ‘Because he always tried to come across as such an innocent . . . like he was a victim. Him and his boyfriend.’ She flicked her head towards the door, where Shaun was sitting on his own. ‘Love’s young dream, over there. Well, we’re all victims of something or other, mate, that’s why we’re here. So I for one wasn’t having any of it.’ She sniffed, hacked something into her mouth and swallowed it. ‘He was into all sorts.’

  ‘Like what?’

  She smiled and it wasn’t a good look. ‘They found stuff in his room.’

  ‘What stuff?’

  She smiled again. ‘You think you’re the only one in here that knows anything?’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘One of the nurses told me. I’ve been in here a while and they know I don’t go around shooting my gob off like some. Can’t say I was surprised, mind you. About the drugs, I mean.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Dangerous game to get into, that one.’

  I had every right to be annoyed that I wasn’t the only one who knew about the drugs, who had inside information, but I’m still angry at myself for letting it show. Clenching my teeth, I said, ‘Where were you when it happened, then? Did you go into the men’s corridor that night?’

  ‘Jesus, love, you’re getting a bit desperate now, aren’t you?’

  ‘You’re not going to answer, then?’

  ‘No comment.’ She was enjoying herself now. Like she was the one in the box seat. ‘How’s that suit you?’

  I couldn’t think of any other way to get the upper hand again, and before I knew it I was on my feet and moving to stand – very deliberately – between her and the TV screen. There were one or two jeers and the odd shout of complaint from fans of the three chefs, but I could see straight away that I’d got the reaction I wanted from Lauren.

  ‘Move,’ she said.

  ‘Make me,’ I said.

  Malaika laid her magazine to one side and stood up. Debbie appeared in the doorway.

  Lauren didn’t hesitate. She heaved herself to her feet, and as soon as she’d begun lumbering towards me I ducked quickly past her, grabbed the remote that she’d left behind on the sofa and changed the channel.

  ‘You’re dead,’ she said.

  I made full use of the few seconds I had before Malaika or Lauren could get to me, acknowledging the cheers and the standing ovation from Ilias. It was lovely. I raised both my arms like I’d won something, then lobbed the remote at Lauren before pushing my way through the chairs and settling down nice and quietly next to Shaun.

  I waited ten minutes or so, until it had all died down.

  Until Debbie had gone back to the nurses’ station and Malaika was sure things were calm again. Until the programme with the chefs had finished and Lauren had made a show of changing the channel, so that we could all enjoy Celebrity Botched-up Bodies.

  ‘How you doing, mate?’ I asked.

  ‘OK, I suppose.’ Shaun looked at the floor and began scratching furiously at his head, as though his hair was full of ants. He grunted with the effort. He was never the easiest person to talk to, but he’d gone even further into himself in the days since Kevin had died.

  Grief, I presumed, but it could easily have been something else. I was still thinking about what Ilias had told me about a big argument, about Kevin feeling trapped. ‘Come on, I know how you must be feeling. It’s better if you let some of it out though, mate. What Dr Bakshi always says, right?’

  Shaun nodded and scratched.

  A woman on TV was showing off her horrendous pair of fake tits.

  ‘The thing is, Shaun, the police have asked me to help them with their investigation. Like, an extra person on the inside kind of thing.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He gave me a thumbs-up. ‘That’s pretty cool, Al.’

  ‘Yes, but it means I do need to ask you a few questions, if that’s OK.’

  He mumbled something that sounded to me like it was.

  ‘Was everything good with you and Kevin?’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘Before what happened to him, I mean?’

  ‘It was OK.’ He was mumbling and the looking at the floor wasn’t helping, so I had to lean in to hear what he was saying.

  ‘Only I heard you’d had a row . . .’

  Now he looked up, like he’d been tasered or something.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Nobody ever gets to say the things to someone who’s died that they wish they’d said. Sometimes the last things you say to a loved one aren’t . . . kind, but that’s how it goes. Don’t beat yo
urself up about it.’ I blinked, remembering a voluntary who’d been here for a couple of days and had spent most of the time doing exactly that. Daft bastard had knocked himself unconscious several times.

  Shaun was nodding again and his eyes were all over the place.

  ‘Take your time,’ I said.

  ‘We were arguing about the drugs,’ he said eventually. It was still quiet, but suddenly he was talking nineteen to the dozen. ‘Fighting all the time. He was getting these drugs, a lot of them, and I told him it was stupid. I begged him and begged him . . . I told him that he’d end up going to prison and he wouldn’t be able to get well and I’d be stuck in here and we wouldn’t see each other again—’ He stopped suddenly and the hand that wasn’t scratching went to his mouth.

  ‘Where did he get the drugs from, Shaun?’ I waited then leaned across to lay a hand on his arm and began to rub. ‘Come on, you’re doing ever so well. You’re being dead brave, mate.’ Rub, rub, rub. ‘Where did he get them, Shaun?’ Keep saying the subject’s name to get their confidence. ‘Was there someone bringing them in for him?’

  Then I saw his eyes widen suddenly, shift and fix, and I turned to see what he was looking at.

  ‘No, not Malaika . . . it’s not . . . are you saying he got them from someone in here? Is that what you mean, Shaun? Did someone in here—’

  I stopped because I saw what was coming. He looked terrified and that bloody finger was pressed to his chin.

  ‘Am I going to die? Am I going to die? Am I going to die?’

  I tried to shush him, but the volume just built and built until he knocked the chair over as he scrambled upright.

  ‘Am I going to die? Am I?’

  Malaika was on her way across and I was trying to hold on to him.

  ‘No, of course you’re not going—’

  ‘AmIgoingtodieAmIgoingtodieAmIgoingtodieAmIGoingToDie?’

  He was screaming it by now and other people in the room were already on their feet, some of them getting visibly upset and moving away, pressing themselves back against the wall.

  Above the cacophony I could hear Lauren yelling, ‘Will someone shut that little twat up?’