Dead Simple

been a badger taking something to its lair? What would a badger want with a length of rubber tubing? Besides, the footsteps had been too heavy. It had been a human, for sure.
    Who?
    Why?
    Where was Ashley, his beloved, darling, gorgeous, caring Ashley? What was she thinking right now, what was going through her mind?
    He kept hoping, every moment, that this was some terrible nightmare and in a minute he would wake and be in his bed with Ashley beside him. It just did not make any sense.
    There was a sudden sharp hiss, stark and clear. The walkie-talkie!
    Then a voice, in a thick Southern drawl said: ‘You have any idea how much damage they do? Huh? You got yourself any idea?’
    Frantically, Michael scrabbled in the darkness for his torch.
    The voice continued, ‘Y’know, most folk ain’t got no idea. You git them durn conservationalists talking ’bout protecting the wildlife, but them guys, they don’t know shit, know what I’m saying?’
    Michael found the torch, switched it on, located the walkie-talkie and pressed the talk button. ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Hello? Davey?’
    ‘Uh huh, I’m talking to ya! Bet you don’t have no idea, right?’
    ‘Hello, who are you?’
    ‘Hey dude, you don’t need to worry ’bout who I am. Thing is five danged rabbits eat near enough the same amount of grass as one sheep. Go figure.’
    Michael gripped the black box, totally confused, wondering if he was hallucinating. What the hell was going on? ‘Can I speak to Mark? Or Josh? Or Luke? Or Pete? Robbo?’
    There was silence for some moments.
    ‘Hello?’ Michael said. ‘Are you still there?’
    ‘Ma friend, I ain’t going nowhere.’
    ‘Who are you?’
    ‘Maybe I’m the Man With No Name.’
    ‘Listen, Davey, this joke’s gone on too long, OK? Too fucking long. Please get me out of here.’
    ‘You gotta be impressed with two hundred rabbits, right?’
    Michael stared at the walkie-talkie. Had everyone gone totally insane? Was this the lunatic who had just taken out the breathing tube? Michael tried desperately to think clearly.
    ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’ve been put here as a joke by some friends. Can you get me out of here, please?’
    ‘You in some kind of bad shit?’ the American voice said.
    Still unsure whether this was some kind of game, Michael said, ‘Bad shit, you got it.’
    ‘What do you think about two hundred rabbits?’
    ‘What do you want me to think about two hundred rabbits?’
    ‘Well dude, what I want you to think is that any dude wastes two hundred rabbits, he’s gotta be an OK kind of a dude, know what I’m saying?’
    ‘Totally,’ Michael said. ‘I totally agree with you.’
    ‘OK, we’re on the same page, that’s cool.’
    ‘Sure is. Cool.’
    ‘Don’t get much cooler, right, dude?’
    ‘You got it,’ Michael said, trying to humour him. ‘So maybe you could lift the lid off for me and we could have a discussion about this face to face?’
    ‘I’m kinda tired now. Think I’m going to hunker down, get me some shut-eye, know what I’m saying?’
    Panicking, Michael said, ‘Hey, no, don’t do that, let’s keep talking. Tell me more about the rabbits, Davey.’
    ‘Told ya, I’m the Man With No Name.’
    ‘OK, Man With No Name, you don’t happen to have a couple of Panadols, because I’ve one mother of a headache?’
    ‘Panadols?’
    ‘Yes.’
    There was silence. Just the crackle of static.
    ‘Hello?’ Michael said. ‘You still there?’
    There was a chuckle. ‘Panadol?’
    ‘Come on, please get me out of here.’
    After another long silence the voice said, ‘Guess that depends where here is.’
    ‘I’m in the goddamn coffin.’
    ‘You’re shittin’ me.’
    ‘No shit.’
    Another chuckle. ‘No shit, Sherlock, right?’
    ‘Right! No shit, Sherlock.’
    ‘I have to go now, it’s late. Shut-eye!’
    ‘Hey, please wait – please—’
    The walkie-talkie went silent.
    In the fading beam of the flashlight Michael saw that the water had risen considerably just in the past hour. He tested the depth again with his hand. An hour ago it had reached the knuckle of his index finger.
    Now it covered his hand completely.

25
    Roy Grace, in a white short-sleeved shirt and sombre tie, his collar loose, stared at the text message on his phone, and frowned:
     
    Can’t stop thinking about you! Claudine xx
     
    Claudine?
    Sitting in his office shortly after 9 a.m., in front of his computer screen, which was pinging with new emails every few moments,