He stopped talking as the door to the interview room opened and my heart sank as Senior Group Leader Ffoxe walked in. I suppose I should have guessed he’d be listening in to the conversation, but up to now I’d not really appreciated how I was not just one strand of enquiry – but the main one.
‘Hello, Peter,’ said the fox.
‘Look, I’m doing what you asked me,’ I said, perhaps a little bit too defensively.
‘I know, I know,’ said Mr Ffoxe in a semi-soothing manner. ‘I’m not here to make threats. No one’s eye is coming out.’
And he then sat down and stared at me for a long time without blinking, while I sat there fidgeting. I’d told him all about my meeting with Finkle and the Venerable Bunty four hours after I’d met them, which gave me credibility for at least a couple of days.
‘It’s been almost a week,’ he said finally, ‘and you’ve been making the job of my boys really difficult.’
‘I’m doing the best I can. If Connie doesn’t tell me anything, I can’t repeat it.’
Despite my outwardly timid manner, which I was exaggerating at Connie’s suggestion, I was actually feeling a little braver, probably because I sensed the fox still needed me. Mr Ffoxe opened his mouth, removed a piece of gristle from between his teeth, stared at it for a moment, then said:
‘Whose idea was it to send your mobile phones in a cab all the way up to Tarbuck International?’
‘Connie’s.’
‘Have the Rabbits asked you to do anything for them?’
‘No.’
‘Have you heard anything that you feel might be useful?’
‘No.’
‘Then we’ll have to up our game. Will you be seeing the Rabbits later today?’
‘Almost certainly. It’s Doc’s first Parish Council meeting and they’ve invited me to supper afterwards.’
‘Perfect. I want you to wear a listening device. Ask them about Bunty, the Rehoming, Finkle, RabSAg – anything you can. I want to hear them talk, get an idea of their mood. Quiz them, but I also want to hear you make some sort of effort on our behalf, because I really don’t think you’re trying hard enough.’
‘I’ll … want something in return,’ I said, scratching my nose nervously. ‘If they find out I’m wearing a wire, they could do what they did to Toby but without the “returning safely” part.’
‘We’re listening,’ said Whizelle.
‘My daughter is in Colony One, which is currently encircled by TwoLegsGood and Taskforce personnel. I want her and an unnamed rabbit to be given safe passage to the Isle of Man.’
Mr Ffoxe smiled.
‘OK,’ said Mr Ffoxe, ‘you got yourself a deal. Pippa Knox plus one rabbit. Make a note, Weasel.’
‘It’s Whi-zelle for the hundredth time,’ I heard Whizelle mutter under his breath.
There was no doubt in my mind Mr Ffoxe would not lift a paw to help Pippa or her significant rabbit. To him, my daughter had already crossed the species divide and would be treated accordingly. The only reason I asked was to make him think I would not wear a wire lightly. Mr Ffoxe walked around the table and made to shake my hand, but instead grabbed my head and thumped it painfully on the interview-room desk. Then, after a pause, he did it again, harder, then once more, harder still. I felt a tooth break in my jaw.
‘Shit,’ I said, ‘that really hurt.’
‘The first was to make the point,’ he said, ‘that if you double-cross me I will find you, wherever you are, and make good on the whole eye-coming-out-and-eating-it scenario. The second was for betraying your own species.’
‘And the third?’ I asked.
‘That one,’ he said, leaning closer to whisper in my ear, ‘was simply for pleasure.’
Dinner & Deity
Thumping the hind leg upon the ground was a good method of non-verbal communication with a range of about four hundred yards, sort of like rabbit WiFi. Using Morse code, entire books could be transmitted to a large group of rabbits while occupied on assembly-line work. It is the origin of the phrase ‘a thumping good tale’.
I drove straight home, my head still throbbing. The bugging device that Whizelle had given me was a plain Parker ballpoint that required me only to click it once to switch on, once to switch off. The battery, he’d said, would last for six hours and transmit up to a mile away.
The thing was, I was under no illusion that I was fooling Mr Ffoxe. He’d know I’d tell them I was wired, so he’d also know they’d only give up intel that they wanted him to hear. Was I a bunnytrap-trap trap, or a bunnytrap-trap-trap trap? It was impossible to know. I gave up on trying to figure it all out and instead went and fed Finkle’s owl, who stared back at me blankly.
The clock was indicating six when there was a knock on the door. It was Doc. He was returning the Henry vacuum cleaner with an apologetic ‘sorry, don’t know why she keeps pinching them when I’m the one that does the cleaning’ and also wanting to know whether I fancied watching him make a fool of himself at the Parish Council. I told him I wouldn’t miss it for anything as council meetings were often closer to live cabaret than the first tier of democracy. We walked the short distance to the village hall, talking about how all of his security consultancy contracts had been withdrawn or cancelled without explanation.
‘The Rehoming is putting a spanner in the works for legal off-colony rabbits,’ he said. ‘I have a feeling we won’t be off-colony for long.’
Doc’s initiation into the Parish Council all seemed to go fairly well. Victor had been the chairman for decades, and although Norman was not on the council he was there with the public, sitting next to me, and I saw him nod imperceptibly while listening to Doc’s robust arguments regarding the best strategy to improve traffic calming, and how the local playground could be upgraded with minimum outlay. There was an embarrassing moment when Article 15 on the agenda was read out, which related to the council contributing to the ‘leaving payment’ the village had been gathering to buy the Rabbits out. With true professionalism Doc recused himself from the argument and went to smoke his pipe outside until recalled to discuss allocating more funds to tidying up the churchyard for when the Spick & Span judges returned – something Councillor Wainwright thought would be next Tuesday at three, although when pressed he gave no answer as to why he should think that. When the meeting finished and the usual post-meeting talks were going on, Victor had a call on his mobile and rapidly departed, along with his brother.
I would find out why later.
‘I think that all went fairly well, don’t you?’ said Doc as we walked back from the village hall an hour later.
‘They’re being pleasant because they’ve been told to,’ I said; ‘it won’t last.’
‘True,’ said Doc, ‘but let’s enjoy it while we can, eh?’
I’d had a brief call earlier from Pippa saying she was fine and that Bobby and Harvey had been looking after her at Colony One, and not to worry about her as she had found the place and the person she wanted to be, and the rabbit who she wanted to share that with.
I asked Doc whether Bobby had been in touch with her or Connie, and he said she hadn’t.
‘Constance always remarked that Bobby was a little headstrong,’ he said, ‘and watched a lot of ’Allo ’Allo when she was young, so I suppose it was inevitable she’d end up doing all the cloak-and-dagger stuff. Her Underground name is Bridgette, apparently.’
‘Do you think she’s in any danger at Colony One?’ I asked, more out of concern for Pippa.
‘Who knows? It’s really down to whether Smethwick and Mr Ffoxe order the enforced clearance of the colonies and exercise all their powers to do so. I know the citizens of the UK are not wildly pro-rabbit, but oddly, they can become very interested – albeit for a short period of time – if there is any cruelty to animals involved. It’s always been their soft spot.’