Rabbit Hole by Jon Richter

Rabbit Hole

Rabbit Hole by Jon Richter
English | 2020 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 2.9 MB

How far would you go to solve a murder?
Elaine Napier, an investigative journalist who is made redundant from her job, decides to record a true-crime podcast. All she needs is a story.
When Elaine stumbles upon the five-year-old cold case of Katrin, she begins an investigation that will quickly become a fixation.
After an early breakthrough, Elaine’s investigation leads her to Hannibal Heights, an apartment building that Katrin helped to design. The building is home to a sinister taxidermy museum, a host of intriguing residents, and more than its share of secrets.
But despite the obvious danger, Elaine’s obsession continues to grow.
As her investigation threatens to spiral out of control, Napier receives threats and police pressure to shut the broadcast down.
Can Elaine solve the mystery and keep her own sense of right and wrong intact?
Or will the shocking truth distort everything Elaine holds dear?

‘One.’

Napier grimaced in determination and flung her fist at the pad.

‘One, two.’

Another left jab, with as much snap as she could muster, followed by a sluggish right cross.

‘One, two, three.’

Jab, cross, left hook. Her punches were growing increasingly weak and ineffectual. But she kept going: after all, soon she would have to survive three whole rounds of this punishment.

‘One, two, three, four.’ The buzzer sounded, muffling Martina’s final syllable, but Napier knew her coach would still expect her to complete the set. She clenched her jaw once again, picturing the pads replaced by the pair of faces she’d most like to cave in; the only trouble was that there were many more than two. She settled for Sycophantic Steve at the Chron, and Tim, her most recent (but by no means most detestable) ex, and slammed her gloves into the pads once again, snarling with venom as she drove the uppercut into what she imagined to be Steve’s chin. Then she sagged to the floor, breathless, her body dripping with sweat.

‘Now give me twenty push-ups,’ came her coach’s unforgiving baritone. Napier looked up pleadingly, but the expression on the Italian’s face was pitiless.

It’s all right for you, Napier thought as she struggled into position. You’re still in your twenties and have a body like a bunch of elevator cables. ‘Do you delight in torturing people?’ she hissed as she lowered herself to the boxing ring’s sweat-stained canvas.

‘First push-ups, then talk.’

Napier’s eyes narrowed as she forced herself upwards. You try doing this when you’re pushing forty and drink too much. Push-ups while wearing boxing gloves were hard. All the pressure had to be exerted through her balled fists instead of open palms, and she gasped with the effort as she dropped her nose to the mat, then forced herself back up into a plank position.

‘Keep your core engaged,’ Martina barked, and Napier fantasised for a moment about ‘accidentally’ landing one of the left jabs right on her coach’s pretty face during their next session. Not that she was insane enough to try it; when she wasn’t working as a personal trainer and boxing instructor, Martina Mazziotto was a semi-professional MMA fighter with a 4-0 win record.

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