The Constant Rabbit

‘Whether you did or you didn’t, old boy, it doesn’t really matter. And you know what? I believe you. But since we are so close to the Rehoming, I don’t think it’s in anyone’s best interest to be making waves. What’s more, because of your unique circle of friends and intimate associations, I can offer you a deal whereby all this goes away, you get full pension rights, a fifty-grand cash bonus and not a blemish on your record. How does that sound?’

‘It sounds like it has strings attached.’

‘Astute of you. Here it is: we have reason to believe Constance Rabbit has connections to the Rabbit Underground, and we think she is a bunnytrap, simply there to gain access to the Taskforce’s mainframe through you, the dupe.’

I’d not thought about this before. It didn’t sound true, and for one good reason:

‘I don’t have access to the Taskforce’s mainframe.’

‘The Underground don’t know that. I want you to work for us, working against them, together. They want to make Britain into a rabbit nation, with their laws, their heathen god, their aggressive veganism and quasi-rodent way of doing things. This sceptr’d isle, this green and pleasant land, is reserved for humans and a few foxes, not for a plague of vermin. And they can do that, they can make that happen, just by doing what they like to do best. They’re planning on outnumbering us. The LitterBomb. It’s on the cards, I know.’

It was all UKARP conspiracy-theory nonsense. Nigel Smethwick had been spouting similar stuff for years, and none of it remotely proven.

‘They’re just rabbits, sir. Herbivores. Compliant, trusting, hard-working. I’ve spoken to them, I think I kind of know them. I don’t believe they have any agenda at all. They simply want … to be.’

Mr Ffoxe laughed.

‘Knoxie, my old chum, that’s exactly what they want you to believe. The truth, my friend, is far bleaker: all that cute cuddly stuff – don’t be fooled. You saw Mrs Rabbit with that knife against my throat in All Saints?’

‘You crushed her niece’s head in your jaws.’

‘Well, woop-woop,’ he said, ‘one rabbit down is not any kind of a loss. It was just my very good fortune that I didn’t become another victim of rabbit-on-fox violence.’

It was a stretch that even Smethwick would have been hard-pressed to make.

‘She wouldn’t have killed you,’ I said, ‘not with the likely reprisals.’

He stared at me coldly.

‘Reprisals are vital to maintain order,’ he said. ‘Besides, sixty seconds of what the rabbits jokingly call passion would soon make up those losses. Now: I can make everything go away and give you your pension and some cash, or we can bump the charges up from simple association to lending material support to the Rabbit Underground – which is a banned disruptionist movement. It’s a minimum ten years.’

‘Wait, wait,’ I said, ‘material support?’

‘Sure. Were you paid to get Harvey McButtercup into the MegaWarren, or were you simply pulling a solid for your furry woodland friends?’

‘I … I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Sure you do. How do you think Lugless managed to leave his car in the car park when he arrived in the coach? The rabbit masquerading as Lugless was with you when we spoke at MegaWarren. I smelled the fear on him. I’d met Lugless before and he didn’t fear me at all. I liked him. The best kind of rabbits are furry on the inside.’

‘That’s the evidence of your nose against my eyes, Mr Ffoxe,’ I said, feeling braver externally but not within, as a nasty churning feeling seemed to be going on inside, and my mouth felt dry.

‘There’s more,’ said Mr Ffoxe. ‘When Lugless was cropped they would have kept his ears. They always do. It’s a religious “going to rabbit heaven complete” sort of deal. Trouble is, they preserve them in hot sand which tends to turn them into hard leather.’

Tamara chucked an evidence bag on to the table containing Lugless’s rolled-up ears, badly charred but more or less still extant.

‘If we had the forensic boys unroll these I’d bet my foxy left nut we’d find a pattern of duel-holes that exactly matched AY-002’s. He fought a lot of duels. Liked the ladies. A little too much, as it turned out.’

‘Perhaps he carried his ears with him, as, I don’t know – a memento?’

‘Cropped rabbits are denied their ears. That’s the point. No, I think Lugless swapped with Harvey in exchange for his ears and an honourable death. I think you were the one who used Lugless’s computer to look up Harvey McButtercup, and you vouched for Harvey when he inveigled his way into MegaWarren. You’ve seen him out there in the real world. Where, I don’t know. But I’ll find out.’

This was all annoyingly excellent detective work. You can’t outfox the fox.

‘Conjecture,’ I said.