Black Rabbit Summer (32 page)

We ate together in the kitchen.

We watched the news.

She asked me about the little cut on my face. I told her I must have scraped myself on something when I’d ducked under the crime-tape at the end of the street.

I asked her where Dad was, she told me he’d gone into work.

‘Is he coming back tonight?’ I said.

‘I think so. They’ve got him covering all the stuff that everyone else is too busy to deal with, but there’s not all that much he can do on his own. He’s just going through the motions really.’

She lit a cigarette.

I frowned at her.

She shrugged and looked out of the window. ‘Did you have any trouble getting past all the reporters out there?’

‘Not really. A couple of them called out to me as I ducked under the tape, but the police are still keeping them well back, so I couldn’t really hear what they said. I think one of them used my name though.’

Eric’s phone was still calling out to me from my pocket as I went upstairs to my room after we’d eaten, and I was still desperate to turn it on. But I didn’t. I don’t know if I was just trying to savour the sensation of knowing it was there for a little while longer – in the same way that you leave the tastiest thing
on your plate until last – or if it was simply that I didn’t
want
to know the truth.

I didn’t know.

And I didn’t want to think about it.

And besides
, I told myself,
you really need to take a shower. You stink of sweat. Your skin feels grubby. Your hair’s all matted and dirty, your head’s too hot…

I took a shower.

Changed into some clean clothes.

I went back into my room, shut the door, sat on the bed, and stared at Eric’s phone…

Then I put it back in my pocket and switched on Sky News.

The first thing I saw was a really bad photograph of Raymond. It was taken from a school photograph, one of those panoramic photos they take of the whole year. You know the ones – where you all line up in rows, smallest at the front, tallest at the back, and you have to keep as still as possible, and there’s always some joker pulling a face or waggling their fingers behind someone’s head…

Rabbit ears…

Anyway, the news people had obviously got hold of one of these photos, and all they’d done was cut out Raymond’s face and enlarge it. So, for a start, it looked all blurry and grainy, which made him look like some kind of fugitive. And, secondly, he was wearing his second-hand school uniform, with his shirt buttoned up to his neck, but without a tie, which made him look kind of poor and desperate. But, worst of all, the camera had caught him just as he was looking to one side, smiling nervously at something, and that made him look like a deranged serial killer.

Which I guessed was probably the point.

Because although the news presenters were being careful not to explicitly link Raymond’s disappearance with Stella’s, there was something about the tone of their reporting, the way they kept
emphasizing
things, that made it pretty clear what they
really
thought. Raymond Daggett had been at the same
fairground
as Miss Ross. Raymond Daggett had once been a pupil at the same
school
as Miss Ross. And although the two teenagers weren’t
known
to be closely acquainted, and the police weren’t ruling
out
the possibility of a double abduction, reporters close to the investigation believed that such a likelihood was
extremely
unlikely…

And then they’d show a picture of Stella’s house – security gates, high walls, acres of rolling lawns – followed by a picture of some dingy little terraced houses (which weren’t even in St Leonard’s, let alone Hythe Street) just to show us the kind of hovel that Raymond came from… and then more pictures of Stella looking well-groomed and beautiful, and the same picture of Raymond looking deranged and desperate…

I watched it all for a while, my initial anger quickly fading to a sense of numbed resignation, and then I just gave up and turned the TV off. It was pointless watching it. Pointless and sickening. It didn’t tell me anything, it didn’t say anything, it didn’t do anything.

It was just TV.

It wasn’t real.

Nothing felt real any more.

Even this
, I realized, taking Eric’s phone out of my pocket,
even this doesn’t feel quite so real as I thought. It’s just a lump of plastic, a handful of stuff that goes beep beep beep…

But it was all I had.

And I knew I had to see what it could tell me.

I flipped it open and turned it on… and then I quickly turned it off again as Dad knocked on my door and walked in.

Mum must have already told him how the police interview had gone, because the first thing Dad did was try to explain why DI Barry had been so hard on me.

‘I’m not apologizing for him,’ he said, ‘and I’m not trying to say that, underneath it all, he’s a really nice guy. Because he’s not. He’s a cold-hearted bastard, always has been, and personally I can’t stand the man. But he’s good at his job. He knows what he’s doing. And he gets results. So whatever you think of him, Pete, however he made you feel today, try not to take it to heart, OK? It’s just how it has to be done.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘I mean, if it had been me on the other side of the table, I would have been just as hard on you as Barry was.’

I grinned at him. ‘Mum wouldn’t have let you.’

‘True,’ he agreed, nodding thoughtfully. ‘I probably could have outwitted her though.’

‘You think so?’

He smiled at me, which made me feel pretty good, and I think I realized then that there was something about these recent little chats of ours that I was beginning to enjoy. I mean, I’m not saying that we hadn’t talked like this before, because we had, but Dad was usually so busy most of the time, or so tired, that he couldn’t always spend as much time with me as he’d like. Now, though… well, now it was different. Now we had time. And it felt kind of nice – just me and my dad, sitting in my room, talking quietly in the fading light of the evening sun…

It was good.

Like it should be.

It was just such a shame that it’d taken something so bad to bring us together.

‘They brought in quite a few people for questioning today,’ Dad told me. ‘Some of Stella’s friends, her security men, the guys who made the film…’ He looked at me. ‘Do you know where Paul Gilpin is, by the way?’

‘Why?’

‘He wasn’t at home when they went round to bring him in. Apparently, no one’s been home all day, and no one knows where Paul is. Any ideas?’

I shook my head. ‘He could be anywhere… I mean, you know what Pauly’s like – he’s always out and about somewhere…’

Dad nodded. ‘Well, I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. But if he doesn’t show up soon, it’s only going to make things worse for him. So if you hear anything…’

‘I don’t really know him that well any more, Dad. I mean, we don’t hang around together like we used to.’

‘What about Eric and Nicole? Are they still friends with him?’

‘Not really.’

Dad nodded again. ‘They were interviewed today – Eric and Nicole.’

‘Yeah, I know. We saw them on the way out of the station. Did they have anything interesting to say?’

‘I’m not sure about Eric… John Kesey wasn’t involved in his interview, and he hasn’t heard the tape yet, but he was in on the interview with Nicole.’ Dad looked at me. ‘John hasn’t had time to tell me everything yet, and it seems as if Nicole was fairly vague about a lot of things anyway, but she remembers being with you in the den.’

‘Yeah,’ I mumbled, slightly embarrassed. ‘I think she’d had a few drinks before I got there… I mean, she seemed all right at the time, but I suppose she was fairly…’

‘Vague?’

‘Yeah,’ I grinned.

‘And what about you?’ he said. ‘How “vague” were you?’

I sighed. ‘Come on, Dad… I’ve already been through all this with Mum.’

‘I know.’ He gave me a stern look then, and I guessed Mum had told him about the dope and everything, and from the look on his face I thought he was going to start lecturing me about it. But, surprisingly, he didn’t.

‘Did you drink any of the tequila?’ he asked me.

I looked at him. ‘How do you know –?’

‘Your den in Back Lane was searched yesterday morning,’ he told me. ‘Forensics have been analysing all the stuff you left behind.’

‘What stuff?’

‘Bottles, cigarette ends, spliffs, condoms…’ Dad shook his head at me. ‘Christ, Pete, what the hell was going on in there?’

‘It’s not as bad as it sounds, Dad. It was just…’

‘Just what?’

‘I don’t know… it was just
stuff
, you know?’

He stared at me. ‘What about the tequila? Did you drink any of it?’

‘Why?’

‘Just answer the question, Pete.’

‘I had a bit, yeah.’

‘Whose was it?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes, it matters.’

‘Why?’

He leaned forward in his chair and looked me in the eye. ‘Forensics have identified traces of a drug called TCI in the tequila. Do you know what that is?’

‘No,’ I said quietly.

‘It’s a synthetic hallucinogen, a phenethylamine, the same group of drugs as Ecstasy. It’s not all that common yet, but it’s starting to become popular at raves and nightclubs. It’s sometimes known as “glitter” or “ice”. Other people call it “juice”.’

‘Juice?’ I said.

As Dad nodded his head, Pauly’s grinning face suddenly flashed into my mind. I could see him laughing, lighting a cigarette… I could hear the echo of his voice calling out to me in the den…
Joooooseeee!

I looked at Dad. ‘This TCI stuff was in the tequila?’

He nodded again. ‘Didn’t you know?’

‘No… Christ, I wouldn’t have touched it if I’d known. I thought it was just tequila.’

‘Well, it wasn’t. Forensics think the TCI was probably mixed into the tequila as a powder. You can get it as tablet, apparently, but it’s usually sold as a sparkling white powder.’

‘What does it do to you?’ I said, remembering the powder I’d seen in Pauly’s drawer.

‘It’s a powerful psychedelic. The effects usually come on within about an hour of taking it, and they can last for anything up to ten hours.’

‘What kind of effects?’

‘Heightened stimulation, hallucinations, increased sensitivity to visual images, smells, tastes… and, depending on the dose, and how you react to the drug, you might experience all
kinds of other things. Nausea, anxiety, stomach pains, headaches, depression…’ Dad paused, taking a deep breath, keeping his eyes fixed worriedly on mine. ‘Did
you
feel anything like that?’

It was hard to concentrate now. My mind was racing with all kinds of mixed-up emotions – shock, anger, realization, relief… and I
was
strangely relieved. If Pauly had drugged the tequila, and I didn’t doubt that he had, then that would explain everything – all the weirdness, the visions, the voices, the madness inside my head…

It wasn’t madness; it was drugs.

But I didn’t really want to share that relief with Dad, because I didn’t think he’d find it very relieving. So I lied.

‘I don’t think I felt anything particularly strange,’ I told him. ‘I mean, I was pretty drunk, I suppose, and I felt a bit sick and dizzy a couple of times, but that’s about it.’

‘Are you sure?’ Dad said.

I nodded. ‘It was the first time I’ve ever tasted tequila, and I didn’t really like it that much. I only had a tiny little sip.’

‘What about the others? Did they drink a lot of it?’

I pictured Nicole in the den, taking constant little sips from the bottle, and Pauly, glugging it down like a maniac…

‘Pete?’ Dad said.

‘Yeah, sorry… I can’t really remember if the others were drinking it or not. I’m pretty sure Raymond didn’t have any.’

‘Well, someone must have drunk it,’ Dad said. ‘The bottle was almost empty. Are you sure you can’t remember who brought it?’

I shook my head. ‘It was just there… I didn’t see where it came from. And it was almost empty the first time I saw it anyway, so maybe there wasn’t much in it to start with.’

‘Maybe not… but it was still a ridiculously stupid thing to do. Whoever did it – and it has to be
one
of you… you
do
realize that, don’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘One of your so-called friends tried to
poison
you, Pete. It’s as serious as that. So if you’re trying to cover up for them –’

‘I’m not.’

‘You’d better not be. And I want you to tell me immediately if you start feeling anything strange, anything at all. This TCI stuff can carry on affecting you for weeks after you take it. It can make you feel ill, depressed, it can give you flashbacks…’ He looked at me. ‘Do you know what a flashback is?’

‘Like a memory of something?’

‘It’s more than a memory. It’s when you experience the full effects of a psychedelic drug again without actually taking it. You might suddenly start hallucinating, seeing things, hearing things, imagining things… so, if anything like that happens, if you start feeling weird or sick or anything, I want you to tell me straight away. Do you understand?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good.’

I looked at him. ‘Have Eric and Nic been told about this?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Why not? Shouldn’t they be warned?’

Dad looked at me. ‘What makes you think that one of them didn’t spike the tequila? Or both of them.’

‘Nicole wouldn’t do anything like that.’

‘No? What about Eric? Or Pauly? And Raymond can’t be ruled out either –’

‘Raymond doesn’t know anything about drugs.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘I know him, Dad. I’ve known him for years. I probably know him better than anyone.’

‘Did you know he was spying on Nicole that night?’

I had to feign surprise for a while then as Dad told me about Nic’s encounter with Raymond at Luke’s trailer. He didn’t go into as much detail as Nic had, and I guessed he was trying to spare me from whatever embarrassment I might have felt. I’m not sure if he understood
why
I might be embarrassed, but I suppose it was pretty obvious that there was a good chance I would be. My childhood ‘girlfriend’ had got hopelessly drunk and spent the night with a casual fairground worker who she’d only just met, and that was after she’d tried to seduce
me
just a few hours earlier…